at that same instant the whole scene vanished. I was standing in the cabin of the Water Lily. The moon was stealing through the little narrow casement Violet was creeping to my side. She stole into my arms. I held her to me.
"Eric," she moaned.
For myself, I am not ashamed to own that, temporarily, I had lost the use of my tongue. When, in a measure, the faculty of speech returned to me —
"Was it a dream?" I whispered.
"It was a vision."
"A vision?" I shuddered. "Look!"
As I spoke she turned to look. There, in the moonbeams, we saw a woman in her nightdress, lying on the cabin floor. We saw that she had golden hair. It seemed to us that she was dead. We saw her but a moment — she was gone! It must have been imagination; we know that these things are not, but it belonged to that order of imagination which is stranger than reality.
My wife looked up at me.
"Eric, it is a vision which has been sent to us in order that we may expose in the light of day a crime which was hidden in the night."
I said nothing. I felt for a box of matches on the table. I lit a lamp. I looked round and round the cabin, holding the lamp above my head the better to assist my search. It was with a feeling of the most absurd relief that I perceived that everything was unchanged, that, so far as I could see, there was no one there but my wife and I.
"I think, Violet, if you don't mind, I'll have some whisky."
