Dr. Penn was with George this day, and was to be with him to the last.
His duty was taken by a curate.

I will not attempt to describe my feelings at this terrible time, but
merely narrate circumstantially the wonderful events (or illusions, call
them which you will) of the evening.

We sat up-stairs in the blue room, and Harriet fell asleep on the sofa.

It was about half-past ten o'clock when she awoke with a scream, and in
such terror that I had much difficulty in soothing her. She seemed very
unwilling to tell me the cause of her distress; but at last confessed
that on the two preceding nights she had had a vivid and alarming dream,
on each night the same. Poor Edmund's hand (she recognized it by the
sapphire ring) seemed to float in the air before her; and even after she
awoke, she still seemed to see it floating towards the door, and then
coming back again, till it vanished altogether. She had seen it again
now in her sleep. I sat silent, struggling with a feeling of
indignation. Why had she not spoken of it before? I do not know how long
it might have been before I should have broken the silence, but that my
eyes turned to the partially-open window and the dark night that lay
beyond. Then I shrieked, louder than she had done--

"Harriet! _There it is!_"

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