“What is the matter?” he inquired.

“Down, Pilot!” I again said. He checked the water on its way to his lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down. “This is you, Mary, is it not?”

“Mary is in the kitchen,” I answered.

He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing where I stood, he did not touch me. “Who is this? Who is this?” he demanded, trying, as it seemed, to _see_ with those sightless eyes—unavailing and distressing attempt! “Answer me—speak again!” he ordered, imperiously and aloud.

“Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what was in the glass,” I said.

“_Who_ is it? _What_ is it? Who speaks?”

“Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came only this evening,” I answered.

“Great God!—what delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?”

“No delusion—no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong for delusion, your health too sound for frenzy.”