In the space of his long gasp, her hand touched the gas jet. It went out; the room faded into absolute darkness. And the vision which stood out from the black background made him sway and clutch at the garments in the closet. For her robes radiated dull light, like a coal seen behind ashes. It was as though she were about to burst into flame. On her head gleamed a dull star; from it, the radiance of her robe fell away toward her feet in lesser light, like the tail-streamer of a comet. All emotion of despair, disillusion, rage, were expressed for a moment within him by an emotion of supernatural awe which sent the tremors running from his face to his spine, and his spine to his feet. She stood a perfect phantom of the night, like Annette called back from the dead. The pillar of dull light was moving now. She had stooped; he heard a faint creak, he imagined that he felt new air. Suddenly, too, a voice which had been droning far away became audible. And now the pillar of light was sinking, sinking through the floor. The feet were gone, the torso; the star of light was level with the floor, was gone. He was looking into darkness. Mrs. Markham's controlled, vibrant voice rose clearly from below--he caught every word: "Come, Helen; be strong. He loves you. His love calls you!" Silence for a quarter of a minute; then a swish as of garments agitated by some swift motion; then Annette's well-remembered contralto voice of a boy--Annette's voice, which had spoken such things to him-- "_Robert, dearest, I have come again. Robert, I keep for you out here the little ring. Robert, we will be happy!_" And the voice of a man, sobbing and breaking between the exclamatives: "_My little Lallie--Dear Helen--how long I've waited--sweetheart--how many years!_" And the voice of Annette. "_Only a few more years to wait, dearest--and now that you have faith, I can come to you sometimes--but, oh, dearest, I foresee a danger--a great danger!_" Ten minutes later, Rosalie tiptoed from the library from which she had observed the seance to the last detail of method, and made her way to the closet wherein she had shut Dr. Blake. She opened the door with all precaution, fumbled, found nothing, whispered. No one answered. At last she stepped within, plugged the keyhole with her key, and lit a match. The closet was empty. Rosalie crept upstairs to her own room. When she lit the gas, she was crying softly and--as of old habit under emotional stress--talking to herself under her breath. "I had to do it," she whispered. "He'd believe nothin' but his eyes!" She sat down then, and surveyed her belongings. "The job's over. What whelps it makes people--just to touch this business!" XII ANNETTE LIES