us at times.
For many years my friend held a post at Court, which she resigned soon after she began to know me; and although her Royal Mistress, in her gracious kindness, assigned two houses to her, she gave them both up, to be free to live near me in B ---- ; indeed, she gave up relatives, old servants and comforts in order that she might come and live (and die, alas!) in lodgings, over a shop, near me. But she was not happy. She “gloomed” over the inevitable fact that, in consequence of the difference in her home-circumstances and mine, I could not be with her every day, and all day long. I think she was naturally of an unhappy disposition, being deeply, passionately, and unjustifiably jealous, and also painfully incapable of taking things and people as they were. All this gave me often much annoyance; but we were all the same, sometimes very cheerful and happy together, and sometimes — the reverse.
Later on, she, poor soul, was taken ill, and during months of fluctuating health I nursed her — sometimes in hope, sometimes without — and at moments during her illness she found strange comfort in foretelling to me, after the most “uncanny” fashion, things which she declared would happen to me after her death. They were mostly trivialities — little episodes concerning people and things over whom and which we had talked and laughed together for she was gifted with a keen sense of the ridiculous.
Amongst other things, she said to me one afternoon: — “This bazaar for which we are working” (she had been helping me for weeks for a charity bazaar, and I can now see her dainty little hands, as she manipulated the delicate muslin and lace. Poor, poor L ... !) “I shall be dead before it takes place, and I shall see you at your stall, and on one of the days of the bazaar, an old lady will come up to you and say: ‘Have you any of poor Miss L ... ’s work?’ (mentioning me). And you will answer, ‘Yes! here is some!’ and you will show her this which I am working, and she’ll say, ‘Have you any more?’ and you’ll say, ‘Yes’ again; and she’ll carry it all off, and say she buys it for ‘poor Miss L ... ’s sake.’ And I shall know and see it all!”
I remember repeating, wonderingly, “What lady?”
She answered dreamily, “Oh! I don’t know — but — some old lady! You’ll see!”
And I am bound to say, this is exactly what occurred at the bazaar, months after her death; an old lady, with whom I was not acquainted, did buy all her work, having asked for it, and carrying it away “for her sake!” An old lady, too, whom I had never seen.
One other curious circumstance which attended her death was that, after looking forward with more than usual pleasure to my coming birthday (which she said would be “a more than commonly happy anniversary”), that was the very day on which she died!
I think that one of the sharpest regrets which I ever experienced in my life consisted in the fact that I was not with my dearest friend at the moment that she passed away. She had made me promise that I would be with her at the time, and, God knows, I had the fullest intention of fulfilling her wish, but on that very evening, of all others I was called away, and she died in my absence. I had been sitting by her bed-side all the afternoon, and all that evening I had held her dear hand, and had kept whispering comforting words in her ear; but latterly she had made no response, and was, seemingly, unconscious.
Suddenly a messenger came from my house (not a hundred yards, it was, away), saying my husband wanted me at once, as one of my children was ill. I looked at the nurse, who assured me there was “nothing immediate” impending; so, stooping over my poor friend, I whispered — at the same time pressing a kiss on her forehead — that “half an hour should see me at her side again.” But she took no notice, and much against my will I hastily, and noiselessly, left the room.
Throwing a shawl over my head I hurried across the square, and as I passed the church the clock struck twelve, and I suddenly remembered that — to-day was my birthday!
I got back in less than half an hour, and on my return heard, to my everlasting sorrow, that I had not been gone ten minutes before my dear L--- became restless and uneasy, then suddenly starting up in her bed, she looked hastily around the room, gave a cry, then there came a rush of blood to her mouth, and after a few painful struggles, she sank back, gasped once or twice, and never moved again.
Of course, I thought then, and do to this day, that she was looking round the room for me, and that she had died feeling I had broken my faith with her. A bitter, never-failing regret!
I have given this slight sketch of the feelings which existed between me and my poor friend (before narrating the circumstances of her supernatural visit to me), just to emphasize the facts of the alluring fascination, the intense affection, which existed between us during her life-time, and which, I firmly believe, have lasted beyond her grave.
Quite a year and a half after her death, my poor L... , with what motive I know not (unless it may have been, as I sometimes fondly hope, to assure me that she understood and sympathized with my sorrow at my having failed her at the moment of her extremity), appeared to me the same once — but never again. It occurred thus: — I had been suffering all day from brow ague, and had gone early to bed — but not to sleep. All the evening I had been kept painfully awake by that same church clock which I have mentioned above. It seemed to strike oftener, louder, and more slowly than any clock I had ever had the misfortune to come across. Of course, my ailment of the moment caused the clock’s vagaries to appear peculiarly painful, and I bore the annoyance very restlessly, with my face turned pettishly to the wall; but when the midnight hour began to chime, I felt as though I could bear it no longer. Muttering an impatient exclamation, I turned in my bed, so as to face the room, and looking across it, I saw my poor ..., standing close to a screen between me and the door, looking at me.
She was in her usual dress, wearing (what was then called) a “cross-over,” which was tied behind; while her bonnet (which she was always in the habit of taking off as she came upstairs) was, as usual, hanging by the ribbon, on her arm. She had a smile on her face, and I distinctly noticed her lovely little white ears, which were always my admiration, and which were only half covered by her soft brown hair.
She stood — a minute it seemed — looking at me, then she glided towards me, and I, half-apprehensive that she was about to throw herself on my bed, exclaimed, jumping up in a sitting posture: — “Dearest! what brings you here so late?”
With deep reverence be it spoken; but as soon as these words were out of my mouth I was irresistibly reminded of those spoken (Holy Writ tell us) by Saint Peter at the awful moment of the Transfiguration! Awed and dazed at the sight of the spiritual visitants, we are told he uttered words “not knowing what he said.” These words of mine also seemed to leap to my lips, but with little meaning in them — if any.
As soon, however, as my voice had ceased, the apparition disappeared, and I remained some moments motionless.
One of the most curious features of the case is that, although I was very especially restless and awake at the moment of the appearance, I recognized my friend so completely, that I forgot also to recognize the fact that she had died; or, rather, it happened too quickly for me to bring that fact to mind. Indeed, it all took place in such a flash — in such a moment of time — so much quicker than I can tell it — and she looked so exactly like her well-known self, and that till she had disappeared, I really believed I was seeing her in the flesh! Of course, as soon as I had time to reflect, I remembered, and realized what it was I had seen!
I was not frightened, but I felt colder than I had ever felt in my life, and I have never felt so cold since, but the moisture seemed to pour off my body. I called no one to my assistance; all I realized was that God had permitted me to see her once more, and that perhaps He might send her to me again. But He has not done so, and, probably, now, He never will.
I lay
