Doctor McKirdy, coming in as he always did come each evening, was the only human being to whom Mrs. Rebell ever told what had occurred; and she was indifferent to the knowledge that he discredited her statement as to how far Madame Sampiero had walked before she, Barbara, had caught the swaying figure in her arms. Would she herself have believed the story, had it been told her? No, for nothing could have convinced her of its truth but the evidence of her own eyes. As was his way when what he judged to be serious illness or disturbance was in question, the old Scotchman was very silent, intent at first only on soothing his patient, and on having her transported upstairs as quickly and as quietly as possible. At last Barbara heard the words, "I promise ye most solemnly I will look mysel', but no doubt he's away by now, slipt out somehow"--uttered in the gentle voice he only kept for the woman to whom he was speaking, and which he rarely used even to her. And so, when Madame Sampiero was finally left with Jean--Jean, whose stern countenance showed no quiver of curiosity or surprise, though she must have known well enough that something very unusual had happened--Mrs. Rebell followed Doctor McKirdy downstairs. "Then you do think it really was Lord Bosworth?" she asked rather eagerly. "Indeed I do not!" he turned on her fiercely, "I just think it was nobody but your fancy!" Barbara felt foolishly vexed. "But, Doctor McKirdy, some man undoubtedly came in, and walked across the hall. We both heard him, quite distinctly." "And of whom were ye thinking,--ay, and may-be talking,--when ye both heard this mysterious person?" It was a random shot, but Barbara reddened and remained silent. Doctor McKirdy, however, did not pursue his advantage. "Look ye here," he said, not unkindly, "try and get that notion out of her head, even if ye can't out of yours. If I thought he had come, that it was he"--he clenched his hands, "'Twould be a dastardly thing to do after what I've told him of her state! But, Mrs. Barbara, believe me, 'twas all fancy,"--he looked at her with an odd twisted smile, "I'll tell you something I've never told. Years ago, just after Madam's bad illness, I went away, more fool I, for what they call a change. Well, wherever I went they followed me--she and little Julia, as much there before me as you are now! 'Twas vain to reason with myself. Julia, poor bairn, was dead--who should know it as well as I?--and Madam lay stretched out here. And yet--well, since then I've known that seeing is not all believing. Once I got back,--to her, to them,--I laid their wraiths." Barbara shuddered. "Then you are not going to look any more? I quite admit that whoever came in is probably gone away by now." "Of course I'll make a round of the place. D'ye think I'd break my word in that fashion?"