The house door was opened by an old man. He looked reproachfully at Mirabel. “You have been told already,” he said, “that no strangers are to see my wife?” Encouraged by discovering that the man was Mr. Rook, Emily mentioned her name. “Perhaps you may have heard Mrs. Rook speak of me,” she added. “I’ve heard her speak of you oftentimes.” “What does the doctor say?” “He thinks she may get over it. She doesn’t believe him.” “Will you say that I am anxious to see her, if she feels well enough to receive me?” Mr. Rook looked at Mrs. Ellmother. “Are there two of you wanting to go upstairs?” he inquired. “This is my old friend and servant,” Emily answered. “She will wait for me down here.” “She can wait in the parlor; the good people of this house are well known to me.” He pointed to the parlor door--and then led the way to the first floor. Emily followed him. Mirabel, as obstinate as ever, followed Emily. Mr. Rook opened a door at the end of the landing; and, turning round to speak to Emily, noticed Mirabel standing behind her. Without making any remarks, the old man pointed significantly down the stairs. His resolution was evidently immovable. Mirabel appealed to Emily to help him. “She will see me, if _you_ ask her,” he said, “Let me wait here?” The sound of his voice was instantly followed by a cry from the bed-chamber--a cry of terror. Mr. Rook hurried into the room, and closed the door. In less than a minute, he opened it again, with doubt and horror plainly visible in his face. He stepped up to Mirabel--eyed him with the closest scrutiny--and drew back again with a look of relief. “She’s wrong,” he said; “you are not the man.” This strange proceeding startled Emily. “What man do you mean?” she asked. Mr. Rook took no notice of the question. Still looking at Mirabel, he pointed down the stairs once more. With vacant eyes--moving mechanically, like a sleep-walker in his dream--Mirabel silently obeyed. Mr. Rook turned to Emily. “Are you easily frightened?” he said “I don’t understand you,” Emily replied. “Who is going to frighten me? Why did you speak to Mr. Mirabel in that strange way?” Mr. Rook looked toward the bedroom door. “Maybe you’ll hear why, inside there. If I could have my way, you shouldn’t see her--but she’s not to be reasoned with. A caution, miss. Don’t be too ready to believe what my wife may say to you. She’s had a fright.” He opened the door. “In my belief,” he whispered, “she’s off her head.” Emily crossed the threshold. Mr. Rook softly closed the door behind her. CHAPTER LXI. INSIDE THE ROOM. A decent elderly woman was seated at the bedside. She rose, and spoke to Emily with a mingling of sorrow and confusion strikingly expressed on her face. “It isn’t my fault,” she said, “that Mrs. Rook receives you in this manner; I am obliged to humor her.”