“Yes, oh, yes, I am all right. I am not ill. I am so much ashamed of myself for disturbing you. I don’t know how to apologize,” answered Mrs. Dale, trying bravely to speak in her usual tone, but glancing at the door and then back to the windows as she uttered the words: “It must have been a dream, of course, that frightened me.” And then, quite suddenly, she broke down again, and slipping from the supporting arm of her young companion, she threw herself into the wicker arm-chair, and burst into a passion of tears. Uncertain what to do, Mabin, in her sympathy and kindness, did exactly the right thing. She drew another chair besides the wicker one, sat down in it, and putting her right arm round Mrs. Dale’s shoulder, and holding the poor lady’s trembling fingers in her own, remained in perfect silence until the first ebullition of violent grief had passed away. “I shall never forget your kindness, child, never,” said Mrs. Dale, when, as suddenly as it had begun, her passion of tears ended. “You have saved me from going mad--yes, mad. I--I must leave you now, or you won’t get any rest.” She rose as she spoke; but Mabin saw that the panic of terror which had been upon her at her entrance was regaining its hold upon her as she approached the door. With her fingers on the handle she stopped, and seemed once more to grow rigid with fear. Mabin was by her side in an instant. “Stay here,” she said. “You will have the dream again perhaps, if you go away by yourself.” At these words a shiver ran through Mrs. Dale, and she faltered. “It must have been that gloomy room!” she said at last in a whisper. “And the effect of her visit! But it will kill me if it comes again!” Suddenly she turned to Mabin. “May I lie on the sofa until the morning?” she asked piteously. “I won’t disturb you. I feel as if I should be safe from--it--in here with you?” The wistful pleading in her eyes brought the tears to Mabin’s. “Of course you must stay,” she cried heartily. “And I do hope you will get to sleep, and not have any more dreams.” Very quietly Mrs. Dale lay down on the couch between the windows, and drawing the sofa blanket over her, and refusing any other covering, she closed her eyes. Mabin knew that this apparent tranquillity was assumed only, and she placed herself on the bed in such a position that she could watch her friend, while appearing to be herself asleep. Before many minutes had passed, she saw, from between half-closed eyelashes, that Mrs. Dale was sitting up, and bending her head in a listening attitude. And presently the slender figure with its white dressing-gown slipped softly off the sofa, and hurried on tiptoe across the floor to the door. There it knelt down and listened again. And after a few minutes Mrs. Dale turned the key in the lock and crept back, not to the couch, but to the arm-chair. Mabin shut her eyes and tried to disentangle the knot of strange ideas that filled her brain: