"You think so?" said the girl, with a strange smile. "Now let me go on with my story: It was at Christmas time I first saw my father. We live in an old house at Brixton. It has a walled-in garden. I was standing by my window about midnight. I had been in bed for an hour or more, but I could not sleep. The house was perfectly quiet. I got out of bed and went to the window and drew up the blind. I stood by the window and looked out into the garden, which was covered with snow. There, standing under the window, with his arms folded, was father. He stood perfectly still, and turned his head slowly, first in the direction of my room and then in that of mother's. He stood there for quite five minutes, and then walked across the grass into the shelter of the shrubbery. I put a cloak on and rushed downstairs. I unbolted the front door and went into the garden. I shouted my father's name and ran into the shrubbery to look for him, but he wasn't there, and I--I think I fainted. When I came to myself I was in bed and mother was bending over me. Her face was all blistered as if she had been crying terribly. I told her that I had just seen father, and she said it was a dream." "So it was," I replied. Miss Gabrielle's dark brows were knit in some pain. "I did not think you would take that commonplace view," she responded. "I am sorry I have offended you," I answered. "Girls like you do have bad dreams when they are in trouble, and those dreams are often so vivid, that they mistake them for realities." "Very well, then, I have had more of those vivid dreams. I have seen my father again. The last time I saw him he was in the house. It was about a month ago. As usual, I could not sleep, and I went downstairs quite late to get the second volume of a novel which interested me. There was father walking across the passage. His back was to me. He opened the study door and went in. He shut it behind him. I rushed to it in order to open it and follow him. It was locked, and though I screamed through the key-hole, no one replied to me. Mother found me kneeling by the study door and shouting through the key-hole to father. She was up and dressed, which seemed strange at so late an hour. She took me upstairs and put me to bed, and pretended to be angry with me, but when I told her that I had seen father she burst into the most awful bitter tears and said:-- "'Oh, Gabrielle, he is dead--dead--quite dead!' "'Then he comes here from the dead,' I said. 'No, he is not dead. I have just seen him.' "'My poor child,' said mother, 'I must take you to a good doctor without delay. You must not get this thing on your brain.' "'Very well,' I replied; 'I am quite willing to see Dr. Mackenzie.'" I interrupted the narrative to inquire who Dr. Mackenzie was. [Illustration: "I SCREAMED THROUGH THE KEY-HOLE."] "He is our family physician," replied the young lady. "He has attended us for years." "And what did your mother say when you proposed to see him?"