A woman did, I doubt not, enter your room: and that woman was--must have been--Grace Poole.

You call her a strange being yourself: from all you know, you have reason so to call her--what did she do to me?
what to Mason?
In a state between sleeping and waking, you noticed her entrance and her actions; but feverish, almost delirious as you were, you ascribed to her a goblin appearance different from her own: the long dishevelled hair, the swelled black face, the exaggerated stature, were figments of imagination; results of nightmare: the spiteful tearing of the veil was real: and it is like her.

I see you would ask why I keep such a woman in my house: when we have been married a year and a day, I will tell you; but not now.

Are you satisfied, Jane?
Do you accept my solution of the mystery ?" I reflected, and in truth it appeared to me the only possible one: satisfied I was not, but to please him I endeavoured to appear so--relieved, I certainly did feel; so I answered him with a contented smile.

And now, as it was long past one, I prepared to leave him.
"Does not Sophie sleep with Adele in the nursery ?" he asked, as I lit my candle.
"Yes, sir." "And there is room enough in Adele's little bed for you.