One thing I was decided on—to watch by
my sister this night. It was in vain that my
husband opposed me; in vain that he coaxed
me by his caresses, or tried to terrify me with
angry threats. Something of my sister's
nature seemed to have passed into me; and
unless he had positively prevented me by
force, no other means would have had any
effect. He gave way to me at last—angrily
—and the night came on and found me sitting
by the bedside watching my dear sister.

How beautiful she looked! Her face,
still with the gentle mark of sorrow on
it that it had in life, looked so grand! She
was so great, so pure; she was like a goddess
sleeping; she was not like a mere woman
of this earth. She did not seem to be dead;
there was life abouit her yet, for there was
still the look of power and of human sympathy
that she used to have when alive. The
soul was there still, and love, and knowledge.

By degrees a strange feeling of her
living presence in the room came over
me. Alone in the still midnight, with no
sound, no person near me, it seemed as if I
had leisure and power to pass into the world
beyond the grave. I felt my sister near me;
I felt the passing of her life about me, as
when one sleeps, but still is conscious that
another life is weaving in with ours. It
seemed as if her breath fell warm on my
face; as if her shadowy arms held me in
their clasp; as if her eyes were looking
through the darkness at me; as if I held
her hands in mine, and her long hair floated
round my forehead. And then, to shake off
these fancies, and convince myself that she
was really dead, I looked again and again at
her lying there: a marble corpse, ice-cold
with the lips set and rigid, and the death
band beneath her chin. There she was,
stiff in her white shroud, the snowy linen
pressing so lightly on her; no life within, no
warmth about her, and all my fancies
were vain dreams. Then I buried my face
in my hands, and wept as if my heart was
breaking. And when I turned away my
eyes from her, the presence came around me
again. So long as I watched her, it was not
there; I saw the corpse only; but when I
shut this out from me, then it seemed as if a
barrier had been removed, and that my sister
floated near me again

I had been praying, sitting thus in these
alternate feelings of her spiritual presence
and her bodily death, when, raising my head
and looking towards the farther corner of the
room, I saw, standing at some little distance,
my sister Ellen. I saw her distinctly, as distinctly
as you may see that red fire blaze.
Sadly and lovingly her dark eyes looked at
me, sadly her gentle lips smiled, and by look
and gesture too she showed me that she
wished to speak to me. Strange, I was not
frightened, it was so natural to see her
there, that for the moment I forgot that she
was dead.

" Ellen!" I said, "what is it?"

The figure smiled. It came nearer. Oh!
do not say it was fancy! I saw it advance;
it came glidingly; I remembered afterwards
that it did not walk—but it came forward—
to the light, and stood not ten paces from
me. It looked at me still, in the same sad
gentle way, and somehow—I do not know
whether with the hand or by the turning of
the head—it showed me the throat, where
were the distinct marks of two powerful
hands. And then it pointed to its heart;
and looking, I saw the broad stain of blood
above it. And then I heard her voice—I
swear I was not mad—I heard it, I say to you
distinctly—whisper softly, "Mary! "and then
it said, still more audibly, " Murdered!"

And then the figure vanished, and suddenly
the whole room was vacant. That one
dread word had sounded as if forced out by
the pressure of some strong agony, —like a man
revealing his life's secret when dying. And
when it had been spoken, or rather wailed
forth, there was a sudden sweep and chilly
rush through the air; and the life, the soul, the
presence, fled. I was alone again with Death.
The mission had been fulfilled; the warning
had been given; and then my sister passed
away,—for her work with earth was done.

Brave and calm as the strongest man that
ever fought on a battle-field, I stood up beside
my sister's body. I unfastened her last dress,
and threw it back from her chest and shoulders;
I raised her head and took off the
bandage from round her face; and then I
saw deep black bruises on her throat, the
marks of hands that had grappled her from
behind, and that had strangled her. And
then I looked further, and I saw a small
wound below the left breast, about which hung
two or three clots of blood, that had oozed up,
despite all care and knowledge in her manner
of murder. I knew then she had first been suffocated,
to prevent her screams, and then stabbed
where the wound would bleed inwardly,
and show no sign to the mere bystander.

I covered her up carefully again. I laid
the pillow smooth and straight, and laid the
heavy head gently down. I drew the shroud
close above the dreadful mark of murder.
And then—still as calm and resolute as I
had been ever since the revelation had come
to me—I left the room, and passed into my
husband's study. It was on me to discover all
the truth.

His writing-table was locked. Where my
strength came from, I know not; but, with a
chisel that was lying on the table, I prized
the drawer and broke the lock. I opened it.
There was a long and slender dagger lying
there, red with blood; a handful of woman's
hair rudely severed from the head, lay near
it. It was my sister's hair! —that wavy
silken uncurled auburn hair that I had
always loved and admired so much! And
near to these again, were stamps, and dies,
and moulds, and plates, and handwritings