There it was—­to my eyes—­the detached hand, round which played a pale light—­the splendid sapphire gleaming unearthlily, like the flame of a candle that is burning blue.  But Harriet could see nothing.  She said that I frightened her, and shook her nerves, and took pleasure in doing so; that I was the author of all our trouble, and she wished I would drop the dreadful subject.  She would have said much more, but that I startled her by the vehemence of my interruption.  I said that the day was past when I would sacrifice my peace or my duty to her whims; and she ventured no remonstrance when I announced that I intended to follow the hand so long as it moved, and discover the meaning of the apparition.  I then flew downstairs and out into the garden, where it still gleamed, and commenced a slow movement towards the gate.  But my flight had been observed, Nelly, by Robert, our old butler.  I had always been his favourite in the family, and since my grief, his humble sympathy had only been second to that of Dr. Penn.  I had noticed the anxious watch he had kept over me since the trial, with a sort of sad amusement.  I afterwards learnt that all his fears had culminated to a point when he saw me rush wildly from the house that night.  He had thought I was going to drown myself.  He concealed his fears at the time, however, and only said—­

“What be the matter, Miss Dorothy?”

“Is that you, Robert?” I said.  “Come here.  Look!  Do you see?”

“See what?” he said.

“Don’t you see anything?” I said.  “No light?  Nothing?”

“Nothin’ whatever,” said Robert, decidedly; “it be as dark as pitch.”

I stood silent, gazing at the apparition, which, having reached the gate, was slowly re-advancing.  If it were fancy, why did it not vanish?  I rubbed my eyes, but it was there still.  Robert interrupted me, solemnly—­

“Miss Dorothy, do you see anything?”

“Robert,” I said, “you are a faithful friend.  Listen!  I see before me the lost hand of your dead master.  I know it by the sapphire ring.  It is surrounded by a pale light, and moves slowly.  My sister has seen it three times in her sleep; and I see it now with my waking eyes.  You may laugh, Robert; but it is too true.”

I was not prepared for the indignant reply: 

“Laugh, Miss Dorothy!  The Lord forbid!  If so be you do see anything, and it should be the Lord’s will to reveal anything about poor dear Master Edmund to you as loved him, and is his sister, who am I that I should laugh?  My mother had a cousin (many a time has she told me the story) as married a sailor (he was mate on board a vessel bound for the West Indies), and one night, about three weeks after her husband had—­”

“Robert!” I said, “you shall tell me that story another day with pleasure; but no time is to be lost now.  I mean to follow the hand:  will you come with me and take care of me?”

“Go in, ma’am,” he said; “wrap up warm, and put on thick shoes, and come quietly down to this door.  I’ll just slip in and quiet the servants, and meet you.”