The next morning the family went off on a week's excursion. I had intended to go with them, but now I changed my mind, hoping that their absence would give me a better chance to see more of my uninvited guest who haunted the mirror.
The next day, when I began my music, I was conscious of her presence even before I saw her face in the glass. There was one curious fact in regard to this. I looked directly at the triplicate mirror and saw nothing. It was only when I saw its reflection in the long cheval mirror that she became visible—just as if it required a four-fold reflection to enable the image to become apparent to my sight. This time the face was partly covered by a paper on which was written:
"Do not come too near. You were angry last time because you thought I had gone, but you came so close that you could not see me, although I had not moved."
"Forgive me," I said contritely, as the paper disappeared, leaving in full view the pretty face. "I will be careful. My people are away, so we can have a talk and get acquainted. I saw your portrait at your father's and I know who you are, so I stayed at home today because I hoped you would come again. We can talk quite well, for I can ask questions and you can answer by 'yes' or 'no' with your head, or you can write. First: Why do you come here?"
"I go to many places, for I am very lonely, but you are the only person that has seen me for two years. I was frightened at first, but when you offered to be friends I was glad. I have wanted a friend so long."
"You poor child! Can't you find friends anywhere else?"
She shook her head sadly.
"Can you tell me the reason?"
"Because I can neither come back nor go on," she wrote.
AT THIS moment the door-bell rang. It proved to be a college chum unexpectedly in the neighborhood, and I could do no less than invite him to spend Sunday with me.
Often in the lulls of conversation I pondered on that strange answer: "I can neither come back nor go on." What could she have meant by that? And for the first time since I had known him I was glad when my chum left and I was free to watch for my new-found friend again.
I waited nearly all the afternoon before she came, and then I reproached her for her lateness.
"I have been here several times," she wrote, "but you were not alone, and to-day I was very busy."
"Busy! What were you doing?"
"Trimming a hat," she replied, to my astonishment, and then I noticed that she did have on a different hat.
My ghostly girl, then, was not above coquetry, so I complimented her on the new creation, and she seemed as pleased as any ordinary girl.
"Tell me why I can see you only in the mirror."
She shook her head slowly as though in doubt, and after a minute's reflection she wrote: "I can not explain, only that I am higher than you and you can not find the direction."
"How, then, can I see your image in the mirror?"
"I do not understand it well myself, for I am not free from the body, but I think it is because I am permitted to get into the right angle of reflection, because they are sorry for me and they are trying to help me."
"What astonishing philosophy is this!" I mused. "What can she mean?"
Aloud I asked, "Who do you mean by they?"
"The ones higher up that take care of me—and, oh, will you tell my father that they take GOOD care of me?—only I am lonely because I don't belong anywhere."
"Why can't your father see you?"
"I do not know, but perhaps he can explain it all to you; he knows so much more than I do; but will you be sure to tell him for me, because he has grieved so every day, and he is so unhappy. They are calling me now and I must go. Promise me to tell him."
I promised, and instantly the mirror was empty. I was left to meditate on what she had said. She was not yet free from her body. How then could she be a spirit? Was it a dream I was living or was I becoming insane?
I sat down at once and sent a note to her father, asking if I could see him on a matter of importance, and received the reply: "Come this evening at seven thirty."
WHEN I said I wished to speak of his daughter, Mr. Dolber answered, "No, no, I cannot talk about her. You spoke the other day as if you had met her, but how and where?"
"Listen to my story, which only you can explain."
Several times as I told of my experiences with the mirror he started as if most excited, but restrained himself until I had finished, when he rose and holding on to his chair as if to steady himself said:
"Thank you for coming. The message is a relief and comfort to me, but to-night"—his voice faltered—"I must think—this has overcome me. I will send for you soon and explain what I can."
Early in the morning I received a telephone message from Hugelschon, asking me to come over at once. I found everything there in confusion. Professor Dolber had been found dead in the library. His physician had just come and pronounced it heart failure. As I was the last person to see him, and as on the table there was a letter addressed to me, I was sent for.
As soon as the doctor had gone the housekeeper begged me to come into the library. She told me she had been in the family for thirty years and that since his wife's death he had taken her into his confidence and had depended upon her in many ways.
"Something entirely upset him last night," she added, "for when I took in some tea as I often did when he sat up late, his head was buried in his hands, and when I spoke he did not look up nor answer."
I decided to tell her of my experience and what I had said to the professor, and to ask her advice. As I told my story she did not seem in the least surprised.
"I am glad you told me about this, for many things of a strange nature have happened here since Freda disappeared, and Mr. Dolber allowed no one but me to enter her room. All her things were kept just as she had left them, only many of them had to be replaced. That is the strange part of it and what worried my master most of all. In fact, night or day, he had no peace of mind for fear she might need something he couldn't remember. Ah, my poor master my heart ached for him, and I am glad he is at rest." Here she broke down and sobbed bitterly.
When she was calm I asked: "What do you mean by things being replaced?"
"I mean that her clothes, hats, dresses, and many other things disappear. And we have to buy new ones." She lowered her voice. "We are sure that Freda takes them, for everything is kept locked and no one but ourselves has gone in there since she disappeared. It is all a mystery to me, but I never questioned Mr. Dolber, though he trusted me, and I bought new things as fast as he thought
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