Yes, he had walked and talked with one of the Holy Ones.

Had Edwin's death, quenched his human affections, and altered his human heart?
If not, might not he be there even now, leaning over his friend with the beauty of his invisible presence?
The thought startled him, and seemed to give an awful lustre to the moonbeam which fell into the room.

No; he could not endure such a presence now, with his weak conscience and corrupted heart; and Eric hid his head under the clothes, and shut his eyes.
Once more the pang of separation entered like iron into his soul.

Should he ever meet Russell again?
What if _he_ had died instead of Edwin, where would he have been?
"Oh, no! no!" he murmured aloud, as the terrible thought came over him of his own utter unfitness for death, and the possibility that he might never, never again hear the beloved accents, or gaze on the cherished countenance of his school friend.
In this tumult of accusing thoughts he fell asleep; but that night the dew of blessing did not fall for him on the fields of sleep.

He was frightened by unbidden dreams, in all of which his conscience obtruded on him his sinfulness, and his affection called up the haunting lineaments of the dear dead face.