“Well then,” he proceeded, “how do you feel physically? Are you growing calmer? Not much; for you tremble like a leaf still.”

It seemed to me, however, that I was sufficiently calm, at least I felt no longer terrified. I expressed myself composed.

“You are able, consequently, to tell me what you saw? Your account was quite vague, do you know? You looked white as the wall; but you only spoke of ‘something,’ not defining what . Was it a man? Was it an animal? What was it?”

“I never will tell exactly what I saw,” said I, “unless some one else sees it too, and then I will give corroborative testimony; but otherwise, I shall be discredited and accused of dreaming.”

“Tell me,” said Dr. Bretton; “I will hear it in my professional character: I look on you now from a professional point of view, and I read, perhaps, all you would conceal⁠—in your eye, which is curiously vivid and restless; in your cheek, which the blood has forsaken; in your hand, which you cannot steady. Come, Lucy, speak and tell me.”

“You would laugh⁠—?”

“If you don’t tell me you shall have no more letters.”

“You are laughing now.”

“I will again take away that single epistle; being mine, I think I have a right to reclaim it.”

I felt raillery in his words: it made me grave and quiet; but I folded up the letter and covered it from sight.