"There is her house, or rather there is its position," said I, pointing to the trees. "Do you see that hedge? She was gliding alongside it when I saw her. Martelli, picture yourself alone here; disposed by the drowsy moonlight and vague murmurs in the air to unpleasant thoughts. Suddenly a white dim shape flits upon the gloom, pauses, vanishes, to reappear at your elbow--would you not use your legs?" His white teeth shone beneath his black moustache. "No. It would probably be the other who would use its legs. I should seize it--man or woman, angel or goblin!" "Then your nerves must be of galvanised wire, your muscles iron, your spirit something more surprising than the timid essence that vitalises such a lower order of being as I." He smoked the cheroot I had given him, without response. I lay back with my head reposing on my arm, my eyes fixed on the stars. "Look!" he suddenly cried; "there is your spirit!" I started--rose to my feet at once. She stood, habited as I had before seen her, at the gate of the garden, motionless. Martelli advanced, paused, beckoned. I went to him. "Shall we go to her?" he whispered. "If she sees us she will withdraw." "She will not see us." He laughed low. "She must be blind if she doesn't. But now is your opportunity to speak with her. Come with me--be bold, Sir. This is a rare chance. Should she not see us until we are near, and then attempt to withdraw, accost her bravely. Tell her you have met her here before--acquaint her with your alarm. The rest is easy." He moved forward; I followed. The moon gave us sharp, short shadows. I breathed quickly. He heard my pantings, and took my arm. She stood confronting us; but she did not stir. We drew near. I who knew her face, could shape from the countenance, whose lineaments were yet too dim to discern, the sorrowful sovereign eyes and immobile beauty. Suddenly Martelli stopped short. I looked at him. He was staring and trembling. His breath seemed to die. His eyes were round and lively with an expression that seemed to me akin to horror. I heard him gasp "_Dio mio! Dio mio!_" several times. Somehow the failure of his courage was the renewal of mine. Much of her mystery had at least fallen from this woman. I knew who she was, at all events. But how strange, how startling was it to see her gazing steadfastly in our direction, and not offering to move. I whispered to Martelli: "Come, come! where are your nerves?" He could not answer me. There he stood, rooted to the ground, with his face in the moonlight blanched to the colour of a corpse. At this moment the figure turned, made a gesture with her right hand and withdrew.