"I understand your motive for concealing from me the presence of that miserable woman in the house," she said. "It is good and kind, like all your motives; but it is useless. While I lay in the trance I saw everything exactly as it was in the reality; and I, too, saw that frightful face!" Those words literally electrified me. My conversation of that morning with my mother instantly recurred to my memory. I started to my feet. "Good God!" I exclaimed, "what do you mean?" "Don't you understand yet?" she asked in amazement on her side. "Must I speak more plainly still? When you saw the apparition of me, did you see me write?" "Yes. On a letter that the lady was writing for me. I saw the words afterward; the words that brought me to you last night: 'At the month's end, In the shadow of Saint Paul's.'" "How did I appear to write on the unfinished letter?" "You lifted the writing-case, on which the letter and the pen lay, off the lady's lap; and, while you wrote, you rested the case on her shoulder." "Did you notice if the lifting of the case produced any effect on her?" "I saw no effect produced," I answered. "She remained immovable in her chair." "I saw it differently in my dream. She raised her hand--not the hand that was nearest to you, but nearest to me. As _I_ lifted the writing-case, _she_ lifted her hand, and parted the folds of the veil from off her face--I suppose to see more clearly. It was only for a moment; and in that moment I saw what the veil hid. Don't let us speak of it! You must have shuddered at that frightful sight in the reality, as I shuddered at it in the dream. You must have asked yourself, as I did: 'Is there nobody to poison the terrible creature, and hide her mercifully in the grave?'" At those words, she abruptly checked herself. I could say nothing--my face spoke for me. She saw it, and guessed the truth. "Good heavens!" she cried, "you have not seen her! She must have kept her face hidden from you behind the veil! Oh, why, why did you cheat me into talking of it! I will never speak of it again. See, we are frightening the child! Come here, darling; there is nothing to be afraid of. Come, and bring your cake with you. You shall be a great lady, giving a grand dinner; and we will be two friends whom you have invited to dine with you; and the doll shall be the little girl who comes in after dinner, and has fruit at dessert!" So she ran on, trying vainly to forget the shock that she had inflicted on me in talking nursery nonsense to the child.