“Madness, say you? Are you sure? Were not these sights, and these sounds, really seen and heard?” My uncle was surprized at my question. He looked at me with apparent inquietude. “Can you doubt,” said he, “that these were illusions? Does heaven, think you, interfere for such ends?” “O no; I think it not. Heaven cannot stimulate to such unheard-of outrage. The agent was not good, but evil.” “Nay, my dear girl,” said my friend, “lay aside these fancies. Neither angel nor devil had any part in this affair.” “You misunderstand me,” I answered; “I believe the agency to be external and real, but not supernatural.” “Indeed!” said he, in an accent of surprize. “Whom do you then suppose to be the agent?”