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“We therefore returned to the drawing-room, and as it became dark, candles were lighted. The singer sat at the instrument to accompany herself, on her right was the baroness, I was just behind, and my wife was on her left. We could not help admiring the voices and the style of the singers. The music by degrees became more animated and impassioned, and I had once already omitted turning the page, when, just as the next leaf was played, a long bony finger appeared on it, quickly turned the leaf at the right time, and the melody proceeded. I looked round and beheld the terrible Ernestine standing close by me behind the baroness; I know not how I kept my composure, but I looked searchingly and almost unmoved at the terrific apparition. She smiled at me with that malicious expression which, even when living, made her countenance repelling. She wore her usual dress, her eyes were fiery, and her face was white as chalk. I felt almost a satisfaction in the gloomy sensation of awe, remained silent, and was glad that Elizabeth did not perceive the spirit. Suddenly there was a shriek of terror, and my wife fell fainting on the ground, while the withered finger was just going again to turn the page. The music of course ended, my wife was in a fever, and our friends who had not seen the spectre returned home.”

Here the invalid paused. The physician looked significantly at me, shaking his head.

“And you have,” he at length said, “never before told your present doctor any thing of that apparition.”

“No,” replied Francis, “you may call it shame, or fear of his cold, searching understanding; you may call it weakness or what you please; suffice it to say I could not prevail on myself to make this confession.”

“But it was very necessary,” said the physician, “for how could he judge correctly of your illness without that information?”

“From that time,” resumed Francis in a faint voice, “we determined to quit the neighbourhood in hopes that the furious spectre would not follow us beyond the mountains. But while we continued in our house we often saw her, mostly in the music-room. Our doctor being with us one morning, he sat down to the instrument and played some passages extempore. Suddenly the terrible spectre again stood by my wife’s chair, and laid her cold withered hand on her shoulder. Hysterics and faintings again followed.”

“And did your doctor see it also?”

“No,” said Francis, “she appeared behind him, but I saw her distinctly then, as I often did afterwards by broad daylight. We had only to touch the keys of the instrument when she immediately appeared, so that to strike a note was a summons. When I once revisited the ancient Klausenburg, I found her sitting upon a stone staring at me. Thus persecuted, terrified, and in constant fear and anxiety, we have become ripe for death, and the physician despairing of our recovery advised us at last to visit this watering-place, as a last resource for restoring our shattered health. But hitherto we have not found any beneficial result. And who can assure us that the spectre may not here haunt us also. She intends to destroy us, and the most inconceivable things are possible to her strong will. I believe we need only sing an air, or play a sonata even at this distance, and she would make her appearance.”

“I will answer for that, count,” cried the doctor in a firm voice, “our faculty knows how to keep such malicious spirits at a distance.”

Here our conversation ended; we sent the patient home in a sedan chair to his hotel, and I accompanied the physician.

While walking in the quiet of night through the dark avenues of trees, he said to me, “Dear sir, we are too much excited to sleep, favour me with your company to my lodging; a powerful aromatic cardinal[2] will keep up our spirits, and I will there tell you my opinion respecting our two invalids, of whose recovery, after what I have heard, I no longer doubt. I would almost promise that in two months I shall send them home in tolerably good health.”