are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet.
"The black press? where is that?" I asked. "You are talking in your sleep!"
"It's against the wall, as it always is," she replied. "It does appear odd—I see a face in it!"
"There is no press in the room, and never was," said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain that I might watch her.
"Don't you see that face?" she enquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.
And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl.
"It's behind there still!" she pursued, anxiously. "And it stirred. Who is it?" I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the room is haunted! I'm afraid of being alone!"
I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed, for a succession of shudders convulsed
