"You are aware," said I, falteringly, "of the extraordinary charge from
which that part of my reputation dearest to all men has just emerged!"

He had but seen a short account in a weekly journal, written after my
release. He asked details, which I postponed.

Reaching my home, I hastened to provide for the comfort of my two
unexpected guests; strove to rally myself, to be cheerful. Not till
night, when Julius Faber and I were alone together, did I touch on what
was weighing at my heart. Then, drawing to his side, I told him all,--all
of which the substance is herein written, from the deathscene in Dr.
Lloyd's chamber to the hour in which I had seen Dr. Lloyd's child at her
father's grave. Some of the incidents and conversations which had most
impressed me I had already committed to writing, in the fear that,
otherwise, my fancy might forge for its own thraldom the links of
reminiscence which my memory might let fall from its chain. Faber
listened with a silence only interrupted by short pertinent questions;
and when I had done, he remained thoughtful for some moments; then the
great physician replied thus:--

"I take for granted your conviction of the reality of all you tell me,
even of the Luminous Shadow, of the bodiless Voice; but, before admitting
the reality itself, we must abide by the old maxim, not to accept as cause
to effect those agencies which belong to the Marvellous, when causes less
improbable for the effect can be rationally conjectured. In this case are
there not such causes? Certainly there are--"

"There are?"