Note 125 — Chapter XII
Reading edition
Proc. American S.P.R., pp. 405-408. The reader may be interested in comparing the ragged and possibly commonplace account given in the text with the following spirited version of the same incident quoted from the Arena, March 1892. The writer of the account states that "the story, as I tell it, was given me by the wife." But he does not, it will be observed, quote it as in Mrs. W. O. S.'s words. After describing how the doctor was awakened by a strong light in the room and saw the figure of a woman, whom he at first mistook for his wife, the writer in the Arena proceeds as follows:—
"By this time he was broad awake, and sat upright in bed staring at the figure. He noticed that it was a woman in a white garment; and looking sharply, he recognised it, as he thought, as one of his patients who was very ill. Then he realised that this could not be so, and that if any one was in the room, it must be an intruder who had no right to be there. With the vague thought of a possible burglar thus disguised, he sprang out of bed and grasped his revolver, which he was accustomed to have near at hand. This brought him face to face with the figure, not three feet away. He now saw every detail of dress, complexion, and feature, and for the first time recognised the fact that it was not a being of flesh and blood. Then it was that, in quite an excited manner, he called his wife, hoping that she would get there to see it also. But the moment he called her name, the figure disappeared, leaving, however, the intense yellow light behind, and which they both observed for five minutes by the watch before it faded out.
"The next day it was found that one of his patients, closely resembling the figure he had seen, had died a few minutes before he saw his vision,—had died calling for him.
"It will be seen that this story, like the first one in this article, is perfectly authentic in every particular. There is no question as to the facts."
That, no doubt, is how the thing ought to have happened. A revolver and a watch are essential to a properly upholstered ghost-story. There ought to have been the dramatic confrontation of the living man with his spectral visitant; there ought to have been the instant recognition and as instant disappearance. Above all, there ought to have been the exquisite adjustment in the times of vision and death.