 The Silver Mirror by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. January 3. This affair of white and the Wotherspoon's accounts proves to be a gigantic task. There are twenty thick ledgers to be examined and checked. Who would be a junior partner? However, it is the first big bit of business which has been left entirely in my hands. I must justify it. But it has to be finished so that the lawyers may have the result in time for the trial. Johnson says this morning that I should have to get the last figure out before the twentieth of the month. Good lord! Well, have at it, and if human brain and nerve can stand the strain, I'll win out the other side. It means office work from ten to five, and then a second sitting from about eight to one in the morning. There's drama in an accountant's life. When I find myself in the still early hours while the world sleeps, hunting through column after column for those missing figures, which will turn a respected alderman into a felon, I understand that it is not such a prosaic profession, after all. On Monday I came on the first trace of defalcation. No heavy game hunter ever got a finer thrill when he first caught sight of the trail of his quarry, but I look at the twenty ledgers and think of the jungle, through which I have to follow him before I get my kill. Hard work, but rare sport too, in a way. I saw the fat fellow once at a city dinner, his red face glowing above a white napkin. He looked at the little pale man at the end of the table. He would have been pale too if he could have seen the task that would be mine. January 6. What a perfect nonsense it is for doctors to prescribe rest when rest is out of the question, asses. They might as well shout to a man who has a pack of wolves at his heels that what he wants is absolute quiet. My figures must be out by a certain date. Unless they are, so I shall lose the chance of my lifetime. So how on earth am I to rest? I'll take a week or so after the trial. Perhaps I was a fool to go to the doctor at all, but I get nervous and highly strong when I sit alone at my work at night. It's not a pain, only a sort of fullness of the head with an occasional mist over the eyes. I thought perhaps some bromide, or chloral, or something of the kind might do me good. But stop work? It's absurd to ask such a thing. It's like a long distance race, you feel queer at first and your heart thumps in your lungs pant, but if you have only the pluck to keep on you get your second wind. I'll stick to my work and wait for my second wind. If it never comes, all the same I'll stick to my work. Two ledgers are done, and I am well on the third. The rascal has covered his tracks well, but I picked them up for all that. January 9. I had not meant to go to the doctor again, and yet I have had to. Straining my nerves, risking a complete breakdown, even endangering my sanity. That's a nice sentence to have fired off at one. Well, I'll stand the strain and I'll take the risk. But so long as I can sit in my chair and move a pin, I'll follow the old sinner's slot. By the way, I may as well sit down here the queer experience which drove me the second time to the doctor. I'll keep an exact record of my symptoms and sensations, because they are interesting in themselves. A curious psychophysiological study, says the doctor, and also because I am perfectly certain that when I am through with them they will all seem blurred and unreal, like some queer dream between sleeping and waking. So now, while they are fresh, I will just make a note of them, if only as a change of thought after the endless figures. There is an old silver-framed mirror in my room. It was given to me by a friend who had taste for antiquities, and he, as I happen to know, picked it up as a sale and had no notion where it came from. It's a large thing, three feet across and two feet high, and it leans at the back of a side table on my left as I write. The frame is flat, about three inches across, and very old. Far too old for hallmarks or other methods of determining its age. The glass part projects with a beveled edge and has the magnificent reflecting power, which is only, as it seems to me, to be found in very old mirrors. There is a feeling of perspective when you look into it, such as no modern glass can ever give. The mirror is so situated that as I sit at the table, I can usually see nothing in it but the reflection of the red window curtains. But a queer thing happened last night. I had been working for some hours, very much against the grain, with continual bouts of that mistiness of which I have complained. Again and again I had to stop and clear my eyes. Well, on one of these occasions, I chanced to look at the mirror. It had the oddest appearance. The red curtains, which should have been reflected in it, were no longer there, but the glass seemed to be clouded and steamy, not on the surface, which glittered like steel, but deep down in the very grain of it. This opacity, when I stared hard at it, appeared to slowly rotate this way and that, until it was a thick white cloud swirling in heavy race. So real and solid was it, and so reasonable was I that I remember turning, with the idea that the curtains were on fire. But everything was deadly still in the room. No sound saved the ticking of the clock, no movement saved the slow gyration of that strange woolly cloud deep in the heart of the old mirror. Then, as I looked, the mist, or smoke, or cloud, whatever one they call it, seemed to coalesce and solidify at two points quite close together, and I was aware, with a thrill of interest, rather than of fear, that these were two eyes looking out into the room, a vague outline of a head I could see, a woman's by the hair, but this was very shadowy. Only the eyes were quite distinct, such eyes, dark, luminous, filled with some passion of emotion, fear or horror, I could not say which. Never have I seen such eyes which were so full of intense, vivid life. They were not fixed upon me, but stared out into the room. Then, as I sat erect, passed my hand over my brow and made a strong conscious effort to pull myself together, the dim head faded into the general opacity, the mirror slowly cleared, and there were the red curtains once again. A skeptic would say, no doubt, that I had dropped asleep over my figures and that my experience was a dream. As a matter of fact, I was never more vividly awake than my life. I was able to argue about it, even as I looked at it, and to tell myself that it was a subjective impression, a chimera of a nerves, begotten by worry and insomnia. But why this particular shape? And who is the woman, and what is the dreadful emotion which I read in those wonderful brown eyes? They come between me and my work. For the first time, I have done less than a daily tally which I had marked out. Perhaps that is why I have no abnormal sensations tonight. Tomorrow, I must wake up, come what may. January 11. All well, and good progress with my work. I wind the net, coil after coil, round that bulky body. But the last smile may remain with him if my own nerves break over it. The mirror would seem to be a sort of barometer which marks my brain pressure. Each night, I have observed that it had clouded before I reached the end of my task. Dr. Sinclair, who is, it seems a bit of a psychologist, was so interested in my account that he came round this evening to have a look at the mirror. I had observed that something was scribbled and crabbed old characters upon the metalwork at the back. He examined this with a lens but could make nothing of it. Sinc, ex, pal, was his first reading of it. But that did not bring us any further. He advised me to put it away into another room. But after all, whatever I may see in it is, by his own account, only a symptom. It is in the cause of the danger lies. The twenty ledgers, not the silver mirror, should be packed away if I could only do it. I'm at the eighth now, so I progress. January 13. Perhaps it would have been wiser after all if I had packed away the mirror. I had an extraordinary experience with it last night. And yet, I find it so interesting, so fascinating, that even now I will keep it in its place. What on earth is the meaning of it all? I suppose it was about one in the morning, and I was closing my book's preparatory to staggering off the bed, when I saw her there in front of me. The stage of mistiness and development must have passed unobserved, and there she was in all her beauty and passion and distress as clear cut as if she were really in the flesh before me. The figure was small, but very distinct, so much so that every feature and even every detail of dress is stamped in my memory. She is seated on the extreme left of the mirror. A sort of shadowy figure crutches down beside her. I can dimly discern that it is a man, and then behind them is a cloud, in which I see figures, figures which move. It is not a mere picture upon which I look. It is a scene in life, an actual episode. She crutches and quivers. The man beside her cowers down. The vague figures make abrupt movements and gestures. All my fears were swallowed up in my interest. It was maddening to see so much, and not to see more. But I can at least describe the woman to the smallest point. She is very beautiful and quite young. Not more than five and twenty I should judge. Her hair is of a very rich brown with a warm chestnut shade finding into gold at the edges. A little flat pointed cap comes to an angle in front and is made of lace edge with pearls. The forehead is high, too high perhaps for a perfect beauty, but one would not have it otherwise to what would have otherwise been a softly feminine face. The brows are most delicately curved over heavy eyelids and then come those wonderful eyes so large, so dark, so full of overmastering emotion of rage, of horror contending with a pride of self-control which hold her from sheer frenzy. The cheeks are pale, the lips white with agony, the chin and throat most exquisitely the rounded. The figure sits and leans forward in the chair straining and rigid, cataleptic with horror. The dress is black velvet, a jewel gleams like a flame in the breast and a golden crucifix smolders in the shadow of a fold. This is the lady whose image still lives in the old silver mirror. What dire deed could it be which has left its impress there so that now in another age, if the spirit of a man be but attuned to it, he may be conscious of its presence. One other detail, down on the left side of the skirt the dress was what I thought at first was a shapely bunch of white ribbon. Then as I looked more intently or as a vision defined itself more clearly I perceived what it was. It was the hand of a man clinched and knotted in agony which held on with a convulsive grasp to the fold of the dress. The rest of the crouching figure was a mirror vague outline but that strenuous hand shown clear in the dark background with a sinister suggestion of tragedy in its frantic clutch. Horribly frightened. That I can clearly discern. What has terrified him so? Why does he grip the woman's dress? The answer lies amongst those moving figures in the background. They have brought danger both to him and to her. The interest of the thing fascinated me. I thought no more of its relation to my own nerves but I stared and stared as if in a theater. But I could get no further. The mist thinned. There were tumultuous movements in which all the figures remained. Then the mirror was clear once more. The doctor says I must drop work for a day and I can afford to do so for I have made good progress lately. It is quite evident that the visions depend entirely upon my own nervous state for I sat in front of the mirror for an hour tonight with no result whatever. My soothing day has chased them away. I wonder whether I shall ever penetrate what they all mean. I examined the mirror this evening under a good light and besides the mysterious inscription. I was able to discern some signs or heriotic marks very faintly visible upon the silver. They must be very ancient as they are almost obliterated. So far as I could make out there were three spearheads, two above and one below. I will show them to the doctor when he calls tomorrow. January 14 feel perfectly well again and I intend that nothing else shall stop me until my task is finished. The doctor was shown the marks on the mirror and agreed that they were more real bearings. He is deeply interested in all that I have told him and cross-questioned me closely on the details. It amuses me to notice how he is torn in two by conflicting desires. The one that his patient should lose his symptoms, the other that the medium, for so he regards me, should solve this mystery of the past. He advised continued rest, but did not oppose me too violently when I declared that such a thing was out of the question until the 10 remaining ledgers have been checked. January 17 For three nights I have had no experiences. My day of rest is borne fruit. Only a quarter of my task is left, but I must make a forged march for the lawyers are clamoring for their material. I will give them enough and to spare. I have them fast on a hundred counts. When they realize what a slippery cunning rascally is, I should gain some credit from the case. False trading accounts, false balance sheets, dividends drawn from capital, losses written down as profits, suppression of working expenses, manipulation of petty cash, it is a fine record. January 18 headaches, nervous twitches, mistiness, fullness of the temples, all the premonitions of trouble, and the trouble came sure enough, and yet my real sorrow is not so much that the vision should come as that it should cease before all is revealed. But I saw more tonight. The crouching man was as visible as the lady whose gown he clutched. He is a swarthy little fellow with a black pointed beard. He has a loose gown of Damasque trimmed with fur. The prevailing tints of his dress are red. What a fright the fellow is in, to be sure. He cowers and shivers and glares back over his shoulder. There was a small knife in his other hand, but he is far too tremulous and cowed to use it. Dimly now, I begin to see the figures in the background. Fierce faces, bearded and dark, shaped themselves out of the mist. There is one terrible creature, a skeleton of a man, with hollow cheeks and eyes sunk in his head. He also has a knife in his hand. On the right of the woman stands a tall man. Very young with flaxen hair, his face swollen and dour. The beautiful woman looks up at him in appeal, so does the man on the ground. This youth seems to be the arbiter of their fate. The crouching man draws closer and hides himself in the woman's skirts. The tall youth bends and tries to drag her away from him. So much I saw last night before the mirror cleared. Shall I never know what it leads to and when it comes? It is not a mirror imagination of that, I am very sure. Somewhere, some time, this scene has been acted, and this old mirror has reflected it. But when? Where? January 20. My work draws to a close, and it is time. I feel a tenseness within my brain, a sense of intolerable strain which warns me that something must give. I have worked myself to the limit. But tonight should be the last night. With a supreme effort I should finish the final ledger and complete the case before I arise from my chair. I will do it. I will. February 7. I did. My god, what an experience. I hardly know if I am strong enough yet to set it down. Let me explain in the first instance that I am writing this in Dr. Sinclair's private hospital some three weeks after the last entry in my diary. On the night of January 20th, my nervous system finally gave way, and I remember nothing afterwards until I found myself three days ago in this home of rest. And I can rest with a good conscience. My work was done before I went under. My figures are all in the solicitor's hands. The hunt is over. And now I must describe that last night. I had sworn to finish my work and so intently did I stick to it, though my head was bursting, that I would never look up until the last column has been added. And yet, it was fine self-restraint for all the time I knew that wonderful things were happening in the mirror. Every nerve in my body told me so. If I looked up, there was an end of my work. So I did not look up until I was all finished. Then, when at last with throbbing temples I threw down my pen and raised my eyes what a sight there was. The mirror and its silver frame was like a stage, brilliantly lit in which a drama was in progress. There was no mist now. The oppression of my own nerves had brought this amazing clarity. Every feature, every movement was as clear cut as in life. To think that I, a tired accountant, the most prosaic of mankind, with the account books of a swindling bankrupt before me, should be chosen of all the human race to look upon the scene. It was the same scene and the same figures, but the drama had advanced the stage. The tall young man was holding the woman in his arms. She strained away from him and looked up at him with loathing in her face. They had torn the crouching man away from his hold upon the skirt of her dress. A dozen of them were around him, savage men, bearded men. They hacked at him with knives. All seemed to strike him together. Their arms rose and fell. The blood did not flow from him. It squirted. His red dress was dabbled in it. He threw himself this way and that. Purple upon crimson, like an overripe plum. Still they hacked and still the jets shot from him. It was horrible, horrible. They dragged him kicking to the door. The woman looked over her shoulder at him and her mouth gaited. I heard nothing, but I knew that she was screaming. And then, whether it was this nerve-wracking vision before me, or whether my task finished, all the overwork of the past weeks came in one crushing weight upon me. The room danced round me. The floor seemed to sink away beneath my feet and I remembered no more. In the early morning, my landlady found me stretched senseless before the silver mirror, but I knew nothing myself until a few days ago I woke up in deep peace of the doctor's nursing home. February 9. Only today have I told Dr. Sinclair my full experience. He had not allowed me to speak of such matters before. He listened with an absorbed interest. You don't identify this with any well-known scene in history, he asked, with suspicion in his eyes. I assured him that I knew nothing of history. Have you no idea once that mirror came into whom it once belonged, he continued. Have you, I asked, for he spoke with meaning. It's incredible, said he, and yet how else can one explain it? The scenes which you described before suggested it, but now it has gone beyond all range of coincidence. I will bring you some notes in the evening. Later. He has just left me. Let me set down his words as closely as I can recall them. He began by laying several musty volumes upon my bed. These you can consult at your leisure, said he. I have some notes here which you can confirm. There is not a doubt that what you have seen is the murder of Rizio by the Scottish nobles in the presence of Mary, which occurred in March 1566. Your description of the woman is accurate. The high forehead and heavy eyelids combined with great beauty could hardly apply to women. The tall young man was her husband, Darnley. Rizio, says the chronicle, was dressed in a loose dressing gown of furred Damasque with a hose of russet velvet. With one hand down, with the other, he held a dagger. Your fierce, hollow-eyed man was withfin, who was new risen from a bed of sickness. Every detail is exact. But why to me, I asked, and bewilderment, why of all the human race, to me? Because you were in the fit mental state to receive the impression, because you chanced to own the mirror which gave the impression. The mirror. You think, then, that it was Mary's mirror, that it stood in the room where this deed was done? I am convinced that it was Mary's mirror. She had been queen of France. Her personal property would be stamped with royal arms. What you took to be three spearheads were really the lilies of France. And the inscription, Sank ex pal, who can expand it into Sank de Crecius palletium. Someone has made a note upon the mirror as to whence it came from. It was the palace of the Holy Cross. Holy rude, I cried. Exactly. Your mirror came from Holy Rude. You have had one very singular experience and have escaped. I trust that you will never put yourself in the way of having such another. End of The Silver Mirror by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by Daniel Defoe The preface This relation is matter of fact and attended with such circumstances as may induce any reasonable man to believe it. It was sent by a gentleman a justice of peace at Maidstone in Kent and a very intelligent person to his friend in London as it is here worded which discourse is attested by a very sober and understanding gentlewoman, a kinswoman of the said gentlemen's who lives in Canterbury within a few doors of the house in which the within named Mrs. Bargrave lives who believes his kinswoman to be of so discerning a spirit as not to be put upon by any fallacy and who positively assured him that the whole matter as it is related and laid down is really true and what she herself had in the same words as near as may be from Mrs. Bargrave's own mouth who, she knows, had no reason to invent and publish such a story or any design to forge and tell a lie being a woman of much honesty and virtue and her whole life of course as it were of piety the use which we ought to make of it is to consider that there is a life to come after this and a just God who will retribute to everyone according to the deeds done in the body and therefore to reflect upon our past course of life we have led in the world that our time is short and uncertain and that if we would escape the punishment of the ungodly and receive the reward of the righteous which is the laying hold of eternal life we ought, for the time to come to return to God by a speedy repentance ceasing to do evil and learning to do well to seek after God early if happily he may be found of us and lead such lives for the future as may be well pleasing in his sight a relation of the apparition of Mrs. Veal this thing is so rare in all its circumstances and on so good authority that my reading and conversation has not given me anything like it it is fit to gratify the most ingenious and serious inquirer Mrs. Bargrave is the person to whom Mrs. Veal appeared after her death she is my intimate friend and I can vouch for her reputation for these last 15 or 16 years on my own knowledge and I can confirm the good character she had from her youth to the time of my acquaintance though since this relation she is culminated by some people that are friends to the brother of this Mrs. Veal who appeared who think the relation of this appearance to be a reflection and endeavor what they can to blast Mrs. Bargrave's reputation and to laugh the story out of countenance but by the circumstances thereof and the cheerful disposition of Mrs. Bargrave notwithstanding the ill usage of a very wicked husband there is not yet the least sign of dejection in her face nor did I ever hear her let fall a desponding or murmuring expression nay, not when actually under her husband's barbarity I have been witness to and several other persons of undoubted reputation now you must know Mrs. Veal was a maiden gentlewoman of about 30 years of age and for some years last past had been troubled with fits which were perceived coming on her by her going off from her discourse very abruptly to some impertinence she was maintained by an only brother and kept his house in Dover she was a very pious woman and her brother a very sober man to all appearance but now he does all he can to knull or quash the story Mrs. Veal was intimately acquainted with Mrs. Bargrave from her childhood Mrs. Veal's circumstances were then mean her father did not take care of his children as he ought so that they were exposed to hardships and Mrs. Bargrave in those days had been to father though she wanted neither food nor clothing whilst Mrs. Veal wanted for both in so much as she would often say Mrs. Bargrave you are not only the best but the only friend I have in the world and no circumstance of life shall ever dissolve my friendship they would often condole each other's adverse fortunes and reamed together drilling court upon death and other good books and so like two Christian friends in their sorrow some time after Mr. Veal's friends got him a place in the Custom House at Dover which occasioned Mrs. Veal by little and little to fall off from her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave though there was never any such thing as a quarrel but an indifference came on by degrees till at last Mrs. Bargrave had not seen her in two years and a half though above twelve months of the time Mrs. Bargrave had been absent from Dover and this last half year has been in Canterbury about two months of the time dwelling in a house of her own in this house on the 8th of September 1705 she was sitting alone in the forenoon thinking over her unfortunate life and arguing herself into a due resignation to Providence though her condition seemed hard and said she I have been provided for hitherto and doubt not but I shall be still and am well satisfied that my afflictions shall end when it is most fit for me and then took up her sewing work which she had no sooner done but she hears a knocking at the door she went to see who was there and this proved to be Mrs. Veal her old friend who was in a riding habit at that moment of time the clock struck twelve at noon Madam Mrs. Bargrave I am surprised to see you you have been so long a stranger but told her she was glad to see her and offered to salute her which Mrs. Veal complied with till their lips almost touched and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes and said I am not very well and so waved it she told Mrs. Bargrave she was going a journey Mrs. Bargrave how came you to take a journey alone I am amazed at it because I know you have a fond brother ugh says Mrs. Veal I gave my brother the slip and came away because I had so great a desire to see you before I took my journey so Mrs. Bargrave went in with her into another room within the first and Mrs. Veal sat her down in an elbow chair in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she heard Mrs. Veal knock and said Mrs. Veal my dear friend I am coming to renew our old friendship again and beg your pardon for my breach of it and if you can forgive me you are the best of women oh! says Mrs. Bargrave do not mention such a thing I have not had an uneasy thought about it I can easily forgive it what did you think of me said Mrs. Veal says Mrs. Bargrave I thought you were like the rest of the world and that prosperity had made you forget yourself and me then Mrs. Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she did her in former days and much of the conversation they had with each other in the times of their adversity what books they read and what comfort in particular they received from Drellan Court's Book of Death which was the best she said on that subject she also mentioned Dr. Sherlock the two Dutch books which were translated written upon death and several others but Drellan Court she said had the clearest notions of death and of the future state of any who had handled that subject then she asked Mrs. Bargrave whether she had Drellan Court she said yes says Mrs. Veal fetch it and so Mrs. Bargrave goes upstairs and brings it down Dear Mrs. Bargrave if the eyes of our faith were as open as the eyes of our body we should see numbers of angels about us for our guard the notions we have of heaven now are nothing like what it is as Drellan Court says therefore be comforted under your afflictions and believe that the Almighty has a particular regard to you and that your afflictions are marks of God's favour and when they have done the business they have moved from you and believe me my dear friend believe what I say to you one minute a future happiness will infinitely reward you for all your sufferings for I can never believe and collapse her hand upon her knee with great onusness which indeed ran through most of her discourse that ever God will suffer you to spend all your days in this afflicted state but be assured that your afflictions shall leave you or you them in a short time she spake in that pathetical and heavenly manner that Mrs. Bargrave wept several times she was so deeply affected with it then Mrs. Veal mentioned Dr. Kenrick's ascetic at the end of which he gives an account of the lives of the primitive Christians their pattern she recommended to our imitation and said their conversation was not like this of our age for now says she there is nothing but frothy vein discourse which is far different from theirs theirs was to edification and to build one another up in faith so that they were not as we are nor we as they were but says she we ought to do as they did there was an arty friendship among them but where is it now to be found says Mrs. Bargrave it is hard indeed to find a true friend in these days says Mrs. Veal Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses called friendship in perfection which I wonderfully admire have you seen the book says Mrs. Veal no says Mrs. Bargrave but I have the verses of my own writing out have you says Mrs. Veal then fetch them which she did from above stairs and offered them to Mrs. Veal to read who refused and then desired Mrs. Bargrave to read them to her which she did as they were a firing friendship Mrs. Veal said dear Mrs. Bargrave I shall love you forever in these verses there is twice used the word Elysian ah says Mrs. Veal these poets have such names for heaven she would often draw her hand across her own eyes and say Mrs. Bargrave do not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits no says Mrs. Bargrave I think you look as well as ever I knew you after all this discourse which the apparition put in much finer words than Mrs. Bargrave she could pretend to and as much more as she can remember for it cannot be thought that an hour and three quarters conversation could be all retained though the main of it she thinks she does she said to Mrs. Bargrave to have her write a letter to her brother and tell him she would give him rings to such and such and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet and that she would have two broad pieces given to her cousin Watson talking at this rate Mrs. Bargrave thought that a fit was coming upon her and so placed herself in a chair just before her knees to keep her from falling to the ground if her fits should occasion it for the elbow chair she thought and to divert Mrs. Veal as she thought took hold of her gown sleeve several times and commended it Mrs. Veal told her it was a scoured silk and newly made up but for all this Mrs. Veal persisted in her request and told Mrs. Bargrave she must not deny her and she would have her tell her brother all their conversation when she had opportunity Dear Mrs. Veal says Mrs. Bargrave this seems so impertinent that I cannot tell how to comply with it and what a mortifying story will our conversation be to a young gentleman Why, says Mrs. Bargrave it is much better me things to do it yourself No, says Mrs. Veal though it seems impertinent to you now you will see more reason for it hereafter Mrs. Bargrave then to satisfy her importunity was going to fetch a pin and ink but Mrs. Veal said let it alone now but do it when I am gone but you must be sure to do it which was one of the last things she enjoyed her at parting and so she promised her then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's daughter she said she was not at home but if you remind to see her says Mrs. Bargrave I'll send for her Do, says Mrs. Veal on which she left her and went to her neighbors to see for her and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the street in the face of the beast market on a Saturday which is market day and stood ready to part as soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her she asked her why she was in such haste she said she must be going though perhaps she might not go her journey till Monday and told Mrs. Bargrave she hoped she should see her again at her cousin Watson's before she went with her she was going then she said she would take her leave of her and walked from Mrs. Bargrave in her view till a turning interrupted the sight of her which was three quarters after one in the afternoon Mrs. Veal died the seventh of September at twelve o'clock at noon of her Fitz four hours senses before her death in which time she received the sacrament the next day after Mrs. Veal's appearing being Sunday Mrs. Bargrave was mightily in disposed with a cold and a sore throat that she could not go out that day but on Monday morning she sent a person to Captain Watson's to know if Mrs. Veal was there they wandered at Mrs. Bargrave's inquiry and sent her word that she was not there nor was expected at this answer Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she had certainly mistook the name or made some blunder and though she was ill she put on her hood and went herself to Captain Watson's though she knew none of the family to see if Mrs. Veal was there or not they said they wandered at her asking for that she had not been in town they were sure if she had she would have been there says Mrs. Bargrave in Saturday almost two hours they said it was impossible for they must have seen her if she had in comes Captain Watson while they were in dispute and said that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead and her escutcheons were making this strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave when she sent to the person immediately who had the care of them and found it true then she related the whole story to Captain Watson's family and what gown she had on and how striped and that Mrs. Veal had told her it was scoured then Mrs. Watson cried out you have seen her indeed for none knew but Mrs. Veal and myself that the gown was scoured and Mrs. Watson owned that she described the gown exactly for she said I helped her make it up this Mrs. Watson blazed all about the town and avouched the demonstration of the truth of Mrs. Bargrave's seeing Mrs. Veal's apparition and Captain Watson carried two gentlemen immediately to Mrs. Bargrave's house to hear the relation of her own mouth and when it spread so fast that gentlemen and persons of quality the judicious and sceptical part of the world flocked in upon her it at last became such a task that she was forced to go out of the way for they were in general extremely satisfied with the truth of the thing and plainly saw that Mrs. Bargrave was no hypochondriac for she always appears with such a cheerful ear and placing mean that she has gained the favour and esteem of all the gentry and it is thought a great favour if they can but get the relation from her own mouth I should have told you before that Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave that her sister and brother-in-law were just come down from London to see her says Mrs. Bargrave how came you to order matters so strangely it could not be helped says Mrs. Veal and her brother and sister did come to see her and entered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was expiring Mrs. Bargrave asked her whether she would drink some tea says Mrs. Veal I do not care if I do but I'll warrant you this mad fellow Mrs. Bargrave's husband has broke all your trinkets but says Mrs. Bargrave I'll get something to drink in for all that but Mrs. Veal waved it and said it is no matter let it alone and so it passed all the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave which was some hours she recollected fresh sayings of Mrs. Veal and one material thing Shmore she told Mrs. Bargrave that old Mr. Breton Mrs. Veal ten pounds a year which was a secret an unknown to Mrs. Bargrave till Mrs. Veal told it to her Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story which puzzles those who doubt of the truth or are unwilling to believe it a servant in the neighbor's yard adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave's house heard her talking to somebody an hour of the time Mrs. Veal was with her Mrs. Bargrave went out to her next neighbor's the very moment she parted with Mrs. Veal and told her what ravishing conversation she had had with an old friend and told the whole of it Drellancourt's book of death is since this happened bought up strangely and it is to be observed that not withstanding all the trouble and fatigue Mrs. Bargrave has undergone upon this account she never took the value of a farthing of her daughter to take anything of anybody and therefore can have no interest in telling the story but Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the matter and said he would see Mrs. Bargrave but yet it is certain matter of fact that he had been a captain Wapsons since the death of his sister and yet never went near Mrs. Bargrave and some of his friends report her to be a liar and that she knew of Mr. Bretton's ten pounds a year but the person who pretends to say so has the reputation of a notorious liar being among persons whom I know to be of undoubted credit now Mr. Veal is more of a gentleman than to say she lies but says a bad husband has crazed her but she needs only present herself and it will effectually confute that pretence Mr. Veal says he asked his sister on her deathbed whether she had a mind to dispose of anything and she said no now the things which Mrs. Veal's apparition would have disposed of were so trifling and nothing of justice aimed at in their disposal that the design of it appears to me to be only in order to make Mrs. Bargrave so to demonstrate the truth of her appearance as to satisfy the world the reality thereof she had seen and heard and to secure her reputation among the reasonable and understanding part of mankind and then again Mr. Veal owns that there was a purse of gold but it was not found in her cabinet but in a comb box this looks improbable for that Mrs. Watson owned that Mrs. Veal was so very careful of the key and the cabinet that she would trust nobody with it and if so she would trust her gold out of it and Mrs. Veal's often drawing her hand over her eyes and asking Mrs. Bargrave whether her fits had not impaired her looks to me as if she did it on purpose to remind Mrs. Bargrave of her fits to prepare her not to think it's strange that she should put upon writing to her brother to dispose of rings and gold which looked so much like a dying person's request and it took accordingly with Mrs. Bargrave as the effects of her fits coming upon her and was one of the many instances of her wonderful love to her and care of her that she should not be affrighted which indeed appears in her whole management particularly in her coming to her in the day time waving this allutation and when she was alone and then the manner of her parting to prevent a second attempt to salute her Mrs. Veal should think this relation of reflection as it is plain he does by his endeavouring to stifle it I cannot imagine because the generality believe her to be a good spirit her discourse was so heavenly her two great errands were to comfort Mrs. Bargrave in her affliction and to ask her forgiveness for the breach of friendship and with a pious discourse to encourage her so that after all Mrs. Bargrave could hatch such an invention as this from Friday noon till Saturday noon supposing that she knew of Mrs. Veal's death the very first moment without jumbling circumstances and without any interest too she must be more witty, fortunate and wicked too than any indifferent person I dare say will allow I asked Mrs. Bargrave several times if she was sure she felt the gown she answered modestly and her substances be to be relied upon I am sure of it I asked her if she heard a sound when she clapped her hand upon her knee she said she did not remember she did but said she appeared to be as much a substance as I did who talked with her and I may said she be as soon persuaded that your apparition is talking to me now as that I did not really see her for I was under no manner of fear and received her as a friend and parted with her as such I would not, says she give one farthing to make anyone believe it I have no interest in it nothing but trouble is entailed upon me for a long time for what I know and had it not come to light by accident it would never have been made public but now she says she will make her own private use of it and keep herself out of the way as much as she can and so she has done since she says she had a gentleman who came 30 miles to hear the relation and that she had told it to a room full of people at a time several particular gentlemen have had the story from Mrs Bargrave's own mouth this thing has very much affected me and I am as well satisfied as I am of the best grounded matter of fact and why we should dispute the matter of fact because we cannot solve things of which we can have no certain or demonstrative notions seems strange to me Mrs Bargrave's authority and sincerity alone would have been undoubted in any other case End of a relation of the apparition of Mrs Veal by Daniel Defoe