One night, two or three weeks after the bridal return, when the boywas gone to bed, Rhoda sat a long time over the turf ashes that shehad raked out in front of her to extinguish them. She contemplatedso intently the new wife, as presented to her in her mind's eye overthe embers, that she forgot the lapse of time. At last, weariedwith her day's work, she too retired.

　　But the figure which had occupied her so much during this and theprevious days was not to be banished at night. For the first timeGertrude Lodge visited the supplanted woman in her dreams. RhodaBrook dreamed--since her assertion that she really saw, beforefalling asleep, was not to be believed--that the young wife, in thepale silk dress and white bonnet, but with features shockinglydistorted, and wrinkled as by age, was sitting upon her chest as shelay. The pressure of Mrs. Lodge's person grew heavier; the blueeyes peered cruelly into her face; and then the figure thrustforward its left hand mockingly, so as to make the wedding-ring itwore glitter in Rhoda's eyes. Maddened mentally, and nearlysuffocated by pressure, the sleeper struggled; the incubus, stillregarding her, withdrew to the foot of the bed, only, however, tocome forward by degrees, resume her seat, and flash her left hand asbefore.

　　Gasping for breath, Rhoda, in a last desperate effort, swung out herright hand, seized the confronting spectre by its obtrusive leftarm, and whirled it backward to the floor, starting up herself asshe did so with a low cry.

　　'O, merciful heaven!' she cried, sitting on the edge of the bed in acold sweat; 'that was not a dream--she was here!'

　　She could feel her antagonist's arm within her grasp even now--thevery flesh and bone of it, as it seemed. She looked on the floorwhither she had whirled the spectre, but there was nothing to beseen.

　　Rhoda Brook slept no more that night, and when she went milking atthe next dawn they noticed how pale and haggard she looked. Themilk that she drew quivered into the pail; her hand had not calmedeven yet, and still retained the feel of the arm. She came home tobreakfast as wearily as if it had been suppertime.

　　'What was that noise in your chimmer, mother, last night?' said herson. 'You fell off the bed, surely?'

　　'Did you hear anything fall? At what time?'

　　'Just when the clock struck two.'

　　She could not explain, and when the meal was done went silentlyabout her household work, the boy assisting her, for he hated goingafield on the farms, and she indulged his reluctance. Betweeneleven and twelve the garden-gate clicked, and she lifted her eyesto the window. At the bottom of the garden, within the gate, stoodthe woman of her vision. Rhoda seemed transfixed.

　　'Ah, she said she would come!' exclaimed the boy, also observingher.

　　'Said so--when? How does she know us?'

　　'I have seen and spoken to her. I talked to her yesterday.'

　　'I told you,' said the mother, flushing indignantly, 'never to speakto anybody in that house, or go near the place.'

　　'I did not speak to her till she spoke to me. And I did not go nearthe place. I met her in the road.'

　　'What did you tell her?'

　　'Nothing. She said, "Are you the poor boy who had to bring theheavy load from market?" And she looked at my boots, and said theywould not keep my feet dry if it came on wet, because they were socracked. I told her I lived with my mother, and we had enough to doto keep ourselves, and that's how it was; and she said then, "I'llcome and bring you some better boots, and see your mother." Shegives away things to other folks in the meads besides us.'

　　Mrs. Lodge was by this time close to the door--not in her silk, asRhoda had seen her in the bed-chamber, but in a morning hat, andgown of common light material, which became her better than silk.

　　On her arm she carried a basket.

　　The impression remaining from the night's experience was stillstrong. Brook had almost expected to see the wrinkles, the scorn,and the cruelty on her visitor's face.

　　She would have escaped an interview, had escape been possible.

　　There was, however, no backdoor to the cottage, and in an instantthe boy had lifted the latch to Mrs. Lodge's gentle knock.

　　'I see I have come to the right house,' said she, glancing at thelad, and smiling. 'But I was not sure till you opened the door.'

　　The figure and action were those of the phantom; but her voice wasso indescribably sweet, her glance so winning, her smile so tender,so unlike that of Rhoda's midnight visitant, that the latter couldhardly believe the evidence of her senses. She was truly glad thatshe had not hidden away in sheer aversion, as she had been inclinedto do. In her basket Mrs. Lodge brought the pair of boots that shehad promised to the boy, and other useful articles.

　　At these proofs of a kindly feeling towards her and hers Rhoda'sheart reproached her bitterly. This innocent young thing shouldhave her blessing and not her curse. When she left them a lightseemed gone from the dwelling. Two days later she came again toknow if the boots fitted; and less than a fortnight after that paidRhoda another call. On this occasion the boy was absent.

　　'I walk a good deal,' said Mrs. Lodge, 'and your house is thenearest outside our own parish. I hope you are well. You don'tlook quite well.'

　　Rhoda said she was well enough; and, indeed, though the paler of thetwo, there was more of the strength that endures in her well-definedfeatures and large frame, than in the soft-cheeked young womanbefore her. The conversation became quite confidential as regardedtheir powers and weaknesses; and when Mrs. Lodge was leaving, Rhodasaid, 'I hope you will find this air agree with you, ma'am, and notsuffer from the damp of the water-meads.'

　　The younger one replied that there was not much doubt of it, hergeneral health being usually good. 'Though, now you remind me,' sheadded, 'I have one little ailment which puzzles me. It is nothingserious, but I cannot make it out.'

　　She uncovered her left hand and arm; and their outline confrontedRhoda's gaze as the exact original of the limb she had beheld andseized in her dream. Upon the pink round surface of the arm werefaint marks of an unhealthy colour, as if produced by a rough grasp.

　　Rhoda's eyes became riveted on the discolorations; she fancied thatshe discerned in them the shape of her own four fingers.

　　'How did it happen?' she said mechanically.

　　'I cannot tell,' replied Mrs. Lodge, shaking her head. 'One nightwhen I was sound asleep, dreaming I was away in some strange place,a pain suddenly shot into my arm there, and was so keen as to awakenme. I must have struck it in the daytime, I suppose, though I don'tremember doing so.' She added, laughing, 'I tell my dear husbandthat it looks just as if he had flown into a rage and struck methere. O, I daresay it will soon disappear.'

　　'Ha, ha! Yes . . . On what night did it come?'

　　Mrs. Lodge considered, and said it would be a fortnight ago on themorrow. 'When I awoke I could not remember where I was,' she added,'till the clock striking two reminded me.'

　　She had named the night and the hour of Rhoda's spectral encounter,and Brook felt like a guilty thing. The artless disclosure startledher; she did not reason on the freaks of coincidence; and all thescenery of that ghastly night returned with double vividness to hermind.

　　'O, can it be,' she said to herself, when her visitor had departed,'that I exercise a malignant power over people against my own will?'

　　She knew that she had been slily called a witch since her fall; butnever having understood why that particular stigma had been attachedto her, it had passed disregarded. Could this be the explanation,and had such things as this ever happened before?