I saw she was very frightened, so I called up the servants, and had our beds removed to a room on the other side of the house, and then she told me what she had seen.  She said:  “I was sitting reading as you saw me, when looking round, I saw the figure of an Englishman standing close by my bedside, a fine-looking man with a large fair moustache and dressed in a grey suit.  I was so surprised that I could not speak, and we remained looking at each other for about a minute.  Then he bent over me and whispered:  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ and with that there was the sound of a shot, and everything was in darkness.”

“My dear girl, you must have fallen asleep over your book and been dreaming,” I said.

“No, I was wide awake,” she insisted; “you were asleep, but I was awake all the time.  But you heard the shot, did you not?”

“Yes,” I replied, “that is what woke me—­some one must have fired a shot outside.”

“But why should any one be shooting in our garden at nearly midnight?” my wife objected.

It certain seemed strange, but it was the only explanation that suggested itself; so we had to agree to differ, she being convinced that she had seen a ghost, and that the shot had been inside the room, and I being equally convinced that she had been dreaming, and that the shot had been fired outside the house.

The next morning the owner of the bungalow, an old widow lady, Mrs. La Chaire, called to make kindly enquiries as to whether she could be of any service to us on our arrival.  After thanking her, my wife said:  “I expect you will laugh at me, but I cannot help telling you there is something strange about the bungalow”; and she then went on to narrate what she had seen.

Instead of laughing the old lady looked more and more serious as she went on, and when she had done asked to be shown exactly where the apparition had appeared.  My wife took her to the spot, and on being shown it old Mrs. La Chaire exclaimed:  “This is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard of.  Eighteen years ago my bed was on the very spot where yours was last night, and I was lying in it too ill to move, when my husband, whom you have described most accurately, stood where you saw him and shot himself dead.”

This statement of the widow convinced me that my wife had really seen what she said she had, and had not dreamed it; and this experience has led me to make further enquiries into the nature of happenings of this kind, with the result, that after carefully eliminating all cases which could be accounted for in any other manner, I have found myself compelled to admit a considerable number of instances of what are called “ghosts,” on the word of persons whose veracity and soundness of judgment I should not doubt on any other subject.  It is often said that you never meet any one who has himself seen a ghost, but only those who have heard of somebody else seeing one.  This I can entirely contradict, for I have met with many trustworthy persons of both sexes, who have given me accounts of such appearances having been actually witnessed by themselves.  In conclusion, I may mention that I was telling this story some twenty years later to a Colonel Fox, who had known the unfortunate man who committed suicide, and he said to me:  “Do you know what were the last words he said to his wife?”