"Speak for heaven's sake!" he cried. "Am I dreaming?"

"Remember the banks of the Seine!" said a singularly sweet voice, which
sounded to Mr. Paul Linmere as if it came from leagues and leagues away.
"When you sit by the side of the living love, remember the dead! Think of
the dark rolling river, and of what its waters covered!"

He started from the strange presence, and caught at a post for support.
His self-possession was gone; he trembled like the most abject coward.
Only for a moment--and then, when he looked again, the apparition had
vanished.

"Good God!" he cried, putting his hand to his forehead. "Do the dead
indeed come back! I saw them take her from the river--O heaven! I saw her
when she sank beneath the terrible waters! Is there a hereafter, and does
a man sell his soul to damnation who commits what the world calls
murder?"

He stopped under a lamp and drew out his pocket-book, taking therefrom a
soiled scrap of paper.

"Yes, I have it here. 'Found drowned, the body of a woman. Her linen was
marked with the name of Arabel Vere. Another unfortunate--' No, I will
not read the rest. I have read it too often, now, for my peace of mind.
Yes, she is dead. There is no doubt. I have been dreaming to-night. Old
Trevlyn's wine was too strong for me. Arabel Vere, indeed! Pshaw! Paul
Linmere, are you an idiot?"

Not daring to cast a look behind him, he hurried home, and up to his