I administered restoratives to the dying woman, and did what I could to
check the haemorrhage. After a time Lady Studley opened her dim eyes.

"Oh, Henry!" she said, stretching out a feeble hand to him, "come with
me, come with me. I am afraid to go alone."

"My poor Lucilla," he said. He smoothed her cold forehead, and tried to
comfort her by every means in his power.

After a time he left the room. When he did so she beckoned me to
approach. "I have failed," she said, in the most thrilling voice of
horror I have ever listened to. "I must go alone. He will not come
with me."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

She could scarcely speak, but at intervals the following words dropped
slowly from her lips:--

"I was the apparition. I did not want my husband to live after me.
Perhaps I was a little insane. I cannot quite say. When I was told by
Sir Joseph Dunbar that there was no hope of my life, a most appalling
and frightful jealousy took possession of me. I pictured my husband with
another wife. Stoop down."

Her voice was very faint. I could scarcely hear her muttered words. Her
eyes were glazing fast, death was claiming her, and yet hatred against
some unknown person thrilled in her feeble voice.

"Before my husband married me, he loved another woman," she continued.