The eyes are fixed on mine
with an infinite gravity which is not reproach, nor
hate, nor menace, nor anything less terrible than
recognition. Before this awful apparition I retreat in
terror--a terror that is upon me as I write. I can
no longer rightly shape the words. See! they--
Now I am calm, but truly there is no more to tell:
the incident ends where it began--in darkness and
in doubt.
Yes, I am again in control of myself: 'the captain
of my soul.' But that is not respite; it is another stage
and phase of expiation. My penance, constant in de-
gree, is mutable in kind: one of its variants is tran-
quillity. After all, it is only a life-sentence. 'To Hell
for life'--that is a foolish penalty: the culprit
chooses the duration of his punishment. To-day my
term expires.
To each and all, the peace that was not mine.
3: Statement of the Late Julia Hetman, through the
Medium Bayrolles
I had retired early and fallen almost immediately
into a peaceful sleep, from which I awoke with that
indefinable sense of peril which is, I think, a com-
mon experience in that other, earlier life. Of its
unmeaning character, too, I was entirely persuaded,
yet that did not banish it. My husband, Joel Het-
man, was away from home; the servants slept in
another part of the house. But these were familiar
conditions; they had never before distressed me.
Nevertheless, the strange terror grew so insupport-
able that conquering my reluctance to move I sat
up and lit the lamp at my bedside.
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