"Don't go, sir," said "Cobbler" Horn. "Your presence will be a help to us on both sides." It needed no further pursuasion to induce the minister to remain: with his assistance, "Cobbler" Horn soon came to terms with the young lady; and, as, upon a hint conveyed in the letter she had received from the minister, she had come to Cottonborough prepared, if necessary, to remain, it was arranged that she should commence her duties on the following day. "And would it not be as well for her to come to us to-night?" asked "Cobbler" Horn. "The sooner she begins to get used to us the better. And she can still spend the evening with you, Mr. Durnford." The minister looked enquiringly at Miss Owen, "What do you say, my dear?" "I am entirely in your hands, sir, and those of Mr. Horn." "Well," said Mr. Durnford, "if you really wish it. Mr. Horn, Miss Owen shall come to you to-night." And thus it was arranged. CHAPTER XVI. THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE. When "Cobbler" Horn's secretary awoke next morning, she experienced a return of the feeling of familiarity with her surroundings of which she had been conscious on first entering the house. The little white-washed bedroom, with its simple furniture, seemed like a vision of the past. She had a dreamy impression that she had slept in this little white room many times before. There was, in particular, a startling appearance of familiarity in a certain picture which hung upon the wall, beyond the foot of the bed. It was an old-fashioned coloured print, in a black frame, and represented Jacob's dream. For a long time she gazed at the picture. Then she gave herself a shake, and sighed, and laughed a low, pathetic little laugh. "What nonsense!" she thought. "As if I could ever have been here before, or set eyes on the picture! Though I may have seen one like it somewhere else, to be sure." Then she roused herself, and got out of bed. But when, having dressed, she went downstairs, the same sense of familiarity with her surroundings surged over her again. The boxed-up staircase seemed to her a not untrodden way; and when she emerged in the kitchen at its foot, and saw the round deal table spread for breakfast with its humble array, she almost staggered at the familiarity of the scene. "Cobbler" Horn was in his workshop, and Miss Jemima had gone into the yard; and, as the young girl gazed around the humble room it seemed, in some strange fashion, to have belonged to her past life. The very tap-tap of "Cobbler" Horn's hammer, coming cheerily from the workshop behind, awoke weird echoes in her brain, and helped to render her illusion complete.