“And do you really believe that your dead wife will be able by the aid of Magic to return to you in bodily shape and satisfy your curiosity on this subject?” questioned the Doctor, almost amused at the idea--so impossible did it appear to him. “Why not? Why not?” inquired Ricardo, impatiently. “Others have come, and why not my beautiful Leonora? Surely, you do not disbelieve in the possibility of the spirit’s return to earth? It has happened in all ages! Why not in this?” “I know too little of the matter to be able to give you a sensible answer,” said the Doctor, “but if possible, it seems most undesirable to me. These things will all be cleared up for us by and by, in the Hereafter, if there be an Hereafter. Meanwhile, cannot you persuade yourself to wait patiently until you join your wife in the Great Beyond? If you committed an unfortunate error and she was innocent, why disturb her in the rest she must have gained?--and if, on the contrary, she really deceived you, may you not be doing yourself an injury by drawing back to earth a malevolent spirit, who may still be harbouring thoughts of revenge against you?” “No! no!” said the Professor, shaking his head, “you will not convince me I am doing wrong, or rob me of my one unceasing hope to see and speak with her again. It is the awful doubt, the suspense, that has turned my hair grey before its time, and made my voice quaver like that of an old man. If I could only raise her from the dead for one little moment--hear her say, ‘I am innocent, and I forgive you!’ I should ask no more--I should live contentedly and die happy!” “And what means do you take to this end?” demanded Karl Steinberg, who could not help feeling a certain amount of interest in the matter, since his friend appeared so earnest over it. Ricardo looked round the room as though to assure himself that he had no listeners--then rising, went to the door, and having locked it, turned to Steinberg, and said, “Come with me and see my séance room!” He stepped towards the door of the third room, which constituted him such a Mystery to his landlady, and which opened from the one in which they sat, and turned the key. Steinberg followed him curiously, but all he saw was, that the small apartment was hung round the walls and over the window and floor, with black stuff, and that it contained no furniture, unless a couple of cushions thrown on the ground can be called so. “No air and no light!” exclaimed the Doctor. “And what do you do here?” “When the household have gone to bed,” said Ricardo, mysteriously, “and I am sure of not being disturbed, I shut myself in and burn the different incenses recommended in the books of Magic, and after a while the spirits come, and sit down on the floor beside me.” “Do you mean me to believe that?” exclaimed Steinberg, staring at Ricardo as though he were insane, as indeed, at that moment, he believed him to be. “You can believe it, or not,” replied the Professor, “but it is true.”