"
Celia sank down on the bed's edge, the candle trembling in her
hand. Then, slowly, she turned her head and looked over her
shoulder, moving cautiously, until her fascinated eyes found the
glass behind her. The mirror hung there reflecting the flowered
wall opposite; a corner of the bed; nothing else.
He said in an even voice;
"From the first hour that you brought me into this room, she has
been here. I knew it instantly. . . . The first day she was
behind those curtains--was there a long while. I knew she was
there; I watched the curtains, expecting her to step out. I waited
all day, not understanding that I--that it was better that I should
speak. I fell asleep about dusk. She came out then and sat where
you are sitting."
"It was a dream, Phil. It was fever. Try to realise what you are
saying!"
"I do. The next evening I lay watching; and I saw a figure
reflected in the mirror. It was not yet dusk. Celia, in the
sunset light I saw her standing by the curtains. But it was
star-light before she came to the bed and looked down at me.
"I said very quietly: 'Mother dear!' _Then_ she spoke to me; and I
knew she was speaking, but I could not hear her voice.
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