"What's that ?--Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son.
"The ceiling is breaking! the floor is opening! he is coming to me!" cried the unhappy woman.
"He stands before you," rejoined her son.
"Where ?" she cried.

"I can't see him.

Where is he ?" "Here," answered Jack.
"Are you his ghost, then ?" "No--no," answered Jack.

"I am your most unhappy son." "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours.
Jack did not advance to meet her.

He could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent.
"Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,--"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him.
Jack fell on his knees beside her.
"Who are you ?" inquired Mrs.Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder.
"Your son," replied Jack,--"your miserable, repentant son." "It is false," cried Mrs.Sheppard.