"Why so? I am sure you possess qualities that many married ladies might envy. Of course, you would require a husband who understood you and was able to appreciate your virtues." "You flatter me," she said. "Nevertheless, you will see that I shall never marry. Mark my words. I was not born for it. Do you know," she said, lowering her voice, and speaking in a solemn tone, "that of late I have had a strange presentiment that my end is not far off." "Now, really, Maud," said I, "pray do not talk like that, for I sincerely hope that nothing more serious than a little temporary indisposition has given rise to such a presentiment." "My health of late has been, if anything, better than usual. I do not think this presentiment can be reasonably accounted for in that way. At other times when I have felt at all poorly such a thought has never occurred to me." I merely shook my head and said that I hoped she would not encourage these presentiments. "William," she said, "remember my words; I shall not live till the year is out." I did not know what to answer, and gazed upon her in astonishment for some minutes, when suddenly her face grew agonised, and she manifested symptoms of impatience. "What is it, Maud?" I asked. "What ails you?" She seemed to have difficulty in answering, but I fancied that I understood the words, "I am drawn to the body; let me go." And rising suddenly from her chair and gasping, she made for the door, but disappeared from my sight before she had time to reach it. I remained stupefied at the figure's sudden disappearance, as well as at the whole occurrence of the evening. I knew not what to think. Had I been dreaming? No. This was not the first time, either, that I had seen her. I had been holding converse with no less a being than Maud's ghost; her own pure and beautiful spirit, drawn by my art from the body while yet breath remained. A horrid thought struck me. Perhaps I had detained the spirit too long away from the body. Perhaps there was no one in the house to wake her out of her trance. I reproached myself for not foreseeing the mischief that I might do, and returned home from the theatre that evening with Maud more than ever in my thoughts. Next morning when I awoke, whether from the excitement of the previous evening or from a cold caught by walking home in the rain, or both combined, perhaps, I found myself in a high fever. I was compelled to remain in bed, though I was averse to sending for the doctor until some days later, when I found the fever grew rapidly worse.