Yet now some instinct tells me that it is this very man whom you saw last night.

It is not for us to attempt to pierce the mystery which veils from our eyes the secrets of an after-death existence; but I can scarcely suppose that a spirit entirely at rest would feel so deeply the power of a certain melody as to be called back by it to his old haunts like a dog by his master's whistle.

It is more probable that there is some evil history connected with the matter, and this, I think, we ought to consider if it be possible to unravel." My brother assenting, he continued, "When this man left you, Johnnie, did he walk to the door ?" "No; he made for the side wall, and when he reached the end of the bookcase I lost sight of him." Mr.Gaskell went to the bookcase and looked for a moment at the titles of the books, as though expecting to see something in them to assist his inquiries; but finding apparently no clue, he said-- "This is the last time we shall meet for three months or more; let us play the _Gagliarda_ and see if there be any response." My brother at first would not hear of this, showing a lively dread of challenging any reappearance of the figure he had seen: indeed he felt that such an event would probably fling him into a state of serious physical disorder.

Mr.Gaskell, however, continued to press him, assuring him that the fact of his now being no longer alone should largely allay any fear on his part, and urging that this would be the last opportunity they would have of playing together for some months.
At last, being overborne, my brother took his violin, and Mr.Gaskell seated himself at the pianoforte.

John was very agitated, and as he commenced the _Gagliarda_ his hands trembled so that he could scarcely play the air.