Shortly afterwards, glancing casually towards the same box, which was
just opposite the doctor's, _I perceived Maud, dressed as on the evening
before_. I was horror-struck, for I knew now that I saw her spirit for certain,
and that the body was nearly a hundred miles off. The two gentlemen in
the box did not seem aware of her presence, while she looked neither to
the right nor to the left, but seemed thoroughly absorbed in the piece. Her apparition there on that night was not of such long duration as on
the evening of the tenth, probably because I was frightened at what I
had done and wished her spirit back to its earthly tenement. When I looked again towards the box after a quarter-of-an-hour Maud was
no longer there. At the conclusion of the play I undressed hurriedly,
and sought my friend the doctor among the crowd, but I could not find
him, so I strolled into a supper room hard by, just before returning
home, and there at a table I saw my friend. "Hullo! doctor," said I, "so you have come to refresh yourself after the
fatigue of seeing me act, eh?" "Why, you see," retorted he, merrily, "your capital acting has quite
given me an appetite." After one or two complimentary speeches on his part, I took my seat by
his side and gave my orders to a waiter. "Doctor," I said, after a pause, "I saw her again to-night." "Who?" "Why, Maud, to be sure." "Bah! I'll tell you what it is, young man, you want bleeding." Pulling out his lancet, he wanted to bleed me on the spot, but I refused
to be bled. "Nonsense, doctor," said I; "I haven't any more blood than I know what
to do with. I tell you I saw _her_ as distinctly as I see you now. She
was in the box opposite yours where those two gentlemen were, but she
did not seem to belong to them." "Well," said he, "I saw those two gentlemen in the box opposite mine,
and I can take my oath there was no one else there." "Mark my word," said I, "when you return to ---- and call on that
family, you will be informed that Maud has had another fit. This is the
15th. Mark the day and the hour, and if she has not, I will lose my
right hand, or I will give you permission to bleed me." "What connection is there between her having a fit and your imagining
that you saw her at the theatre? If she was at the theatre, I must have
seen her as well as you, and if she were in a fit this evening, how
could she be at the theatre?" I pretended to be convinced by his arguments, but forbore to explain
myself further, merely adding:

"Well, we shall see--if you hear Maud has had a fit on the evening of
the 15th, at about the same hour as the last one, you will let me know,
will you not?" "Oh, certainly." At this moment the waiter returned with my supper, and the conversation
took a different turn; but after we had finished and were returning
home, he urged me again to be bled or to try a little change of air, as
he observed that my nerves were evidently out of order. Having arrived
at the corner of a street, I shook hands with my friend, and we parted. It was about a week after our parting, on returning from a walk I found
a letter on my table. My servant told me that an elderly gentleman had
called and enquired if I were at home, and receiving an answer in the
negative, he had asked for pen, ink, and paper, and left me the
following lines:--

MY DEAR SIR--Since I saw you last I have received a letter from Mrs.
---- begging me to return as soon as I conveniently could, as Maud had
had another fit on the evening of the 15th, between nine and
half-past--the very day and hour, you will remember, you fancied you saw
her in the box opposite mine. I am not a believer in spiritual
apparitions, and therefore cannot set this down to anything more than a
very strange coincidence. I called at the house of Mrs. ---- and saw the
whole family. When the lady of the house had told me about Maud's fit, I
afterwards related to her, in the presence of the young lady herself,
the curious circumstance of her fancied appearance to you in the stage
box. Maud listened with great attention, and seemed to take more
interest in my recital than the rest did, for afterwards, taking me
apart, she asked me many questions about you; when I had seen you last,
how you were, etc., etc. I returned to town yesterday, and as you asked
me to let you know if your prophecy came true, I have left you this
note. Till we meet again,--Yours very truly,

                                                       JOHN MERRIVALE. How I triumphed inwardly on the perusal of this letter! I placed it in
my pocket, and taking my hat and cane, I left my lodgings and walked
about the streets with a buoyant step, hoping to meet Merrivale, just to
crow over him for disbelieving my vision. I would have called upon him,
had I known his address, but I saw no more of my friend--at least, for
some time afterwards. It happened that on that very evening a piece was
being performed at our theatre in which I did not act, and I thought I
would be a spectator for once in a way, so, from caprice, I took the
very box in which I had seen Maud. On entering the box I experienced all
the awe and veneration of a pious devotee when he kneels at some holy
shrine. "This place has been visited by Maud's spirit," said I to myself, as I
shut myself in. "This is the very chair she used." I seated myself, and the curtain drew up. It was a melodrama, if I
remember rightly, which was acted that night, but I was so occupied with
my thoughts about Maud, that I really cannot say with certainty what
piece it was. The audience applauded every now and then, so I suppose it
took well. As for myself, I had fallen into a reverie of which Maud was
the subject. That stage box had for me a certain sanctity and purity since the first
time I had seen her there. Whether it was that on this evening I had not
my part to think of and so felt my mind open to other thoughts than
those connected with my profession, or whether this hallowed spot awoke
in my breast certain feelings, I know not, but certain it was that never
had Maud so thoroughly taken possession of my thoughts as on that
evening. I attempted to analyse my thoughts. What was it that I felt for Maud? What was it that made me think more of her than of other girls? And why
did I think more and more about her every day? I hardly knew myself how
to answer these questions. Was it--could it be--no--_love_, that I felt
for her? No! it was not that; at least, if it was, it was not like other
men's love. It was a feeling far purer, far loftier than falls to the
lot of ordinary men's experience. I thought that the world did
not--never did, nor ever could contain another Maud. She was different
to the rest of her kind. _Her_ beauty, _her_ talents, _her_ beautiful
nature, could never excite in me such a vulgar passion as that which the
world calls love. The thought never entered my head to make her my own,
and I was content to worship her at a distance.