Veal said, “Let it alone now, but do it when I am gone; but you must be sure to do it”; which was one of the last things she enjoined her at parting, and so she promised her.

Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave’s daughter. She said she was not at home. “But if you have a mind to see her,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “I’ll send for her.” “Do,” says Mrs. Veal; on which she left her, and went to a neighbor’s to see her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning, Mrs. Veal was without the door in the street, in the face of the beast-market, on a Saturday (which is market-day), and stood ready to part as soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her why she was in such haste. She said she must be going, though perhaps she might not go her journey till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave she hoped she should see her again at her cousin Watson’s before she went whither she was going. Then she said she would take her leave of her, and walked from Mrs. Bargrave, in her view, till a turning interrupted the sight of her, which was three-quarters after one in the afternoon.

Mrs. Veal died the seventh of September, at twelve o’clock at noon, of her fits, and had not above four hours’ senses before her death, in which time she received the sacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal’s appearance, being Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed with a cold and sore throat, that she could not go out that day; but on Monday morning she sends a person to Captain Watson’s to know if Mrs. Veal was there. They wondered at Mrs. Bargrave’s inquiry, and sent her word she was not there, nor was expected. At this answer, Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she had certainly mistook the name or made some blunder. And though she was ill, she put on her hood and went herself to Captain Watson’s, though she knew none of the family, to see if Mrs. Veal was there or not. They said they wondered at her asking, for that she had not been in town; they were sure, if she had, she would have been there. Says Mr. Bargrave, “I am sure she was with me on Saturday almost two hours.” They said it was impossible, for they must have seen her if she had. In comes Captain Watson, while they were in dispute, and said that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead, and the escutcheons were making. This strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when she sent to the person immediately who had the care of them, and found it true. Then she related the whole story to Captain Watson’s family; what gown she had on, and how striped; and that Mrs. Veal told her that it was scoured. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, “You have seen her indeed, for none knew but Mrs. Veal and myself that the gown was scoured.” And Mrs. Watson owned that she described the gown exactly; “for,” said she, “I helped her to make it up.” This Mrs. Watson blazed all about the town, and avouched the demonstration of truth of Mrs. Bargrave’s seeing Mrs. Veal’s apparition. And Captain Watson carried two gentlemen immediately to Mrs. Bargrave’s house to hear the relation from her own mouth. And when it spread so fast that gentlemen and persons of quality, the judicious and skeptical part of the world, flocked in upon her, it at last become such a task that she was forced to go out of the way; for they were in general extremely satisfied of the truth of the thing, and plainly saw that Mrs. Bargrave was no hypochondriac, for she always appears with such a cheerful air and pleasing mien that she has gained the favor and esteem of all the gentry, and it is thought a great favor if they can but get the relation from her own mouth. I should have told you before that Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave that her sister and brother-in-law were just come down from London to see her. Says Mrs. Bargrave, “How came you to order matters so strangely?” “It could not be helped,” said Mrs. Veal. And her brother and sister did come to see her, and entered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was expiring. Mrs. Bargrave asked her whether she would drink some tea. Says Mrs. Veal, “I do not care if I do; but I’ll warrant you this mad fellow”—meaning Mrs. Bargrave’s husband—“has broke all your trinkets.” “But,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “I’ll get something to drink in for all that”; but Mrs. Veal waived it, and said, “It is no matter; let it alone,” and so it passed.

All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which was some hours, she recollected fresh saying of Mrs. Veal. And one material thing more she told Mrs. Bargrave, that old Mr. Bretton allowed Mrs. Veal ten pounds a year, which was a secret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave till Mrs. Veal told her.

Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story, which puzzles those who doubt of the truth, or are unwilling to believe it. A servant in the neighbor’s yard adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave’s house heard her talking to somebody an hour of the time Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs. Bargrave went out to her next neighbor’s the very moment she parted with Mrs. Veal, and told her what ravishing conversation she had had with