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152 should believe you really were that withered hag, and I should think I was under Penistone Crag; and I’m conscious it’s night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet.” “The black press? where is that?” I asked. “You are talking in your sleep!” “It’s against the wall, as it always is,” she replied. “It does appear odd--I see a face in it!” “There is no press in the room, and never was,” said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain that I might watch her. “Don’t you see that face?” she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. “It’s behind there still!” she pursued anxiously. “And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the room is haunted! I’m afraid of being alone!” I took her hand in mine, and bid her be composed; for a succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass. “There’s nobody here!” I insisted. “It was yourself, Mrs. Linton,--you knew it a while since.” “Myself!” she gasped, “and the clock is striking twelve! It’s true, then! That’s dreadful!” Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek--the |