Her manner almost led one to believe that Angelo had been casting the "evil eye" upon her, and that the operation hurt. All looks were turned towards him; but whatever peculiarity his eyes may have displayed had quite vanished now: they manifested only their usual quiet dreamy expression. "The girl is as mad," he said with a scornful air, "as your curiosity of a butler, who takes the caterwauling of a tom-cat for the cry of a banshee." He had quite recovered from his outburst of excitement, and seemed by far the calmest person present. "Egad, you're right!" replied the Baronet. "They both seem anxious to qualify themselves for Bedlam." The doctor said nothing, but rubbed his hands with the air of a man who has arrived at a satisfactory solution of some problem that has been puzzling him. Well, the picture was gone, nor could it be seen in any part of the gallery. The ladies expressed a wish to retire, and, headed by the whispering servants, we all withdrew. I was the last to leave, lingering awhile to explore the recesses of the hall in the vain hope of lighting on the missing picture. On gaining the drawing-room I found Daphne alone waiting for me. The rest of the company had retired to dress for their expedition to the church. "Oh, Frank, I feel so frightened!" she said, referring to the incident of the missing picture, and laying both her hands on my arm. "And I am not very easy in my mind," returned I. "Silverdale seems more mysterious than Rivoli." "What can it all mean? There was some one in my room last night; and now the butler declares that he has seen a figure in a grey cloak in the gallery. Can it"--and her voice sank to a whisper of awe--"have anything to do with--with George?" This was the first time she had mentioned his name to me since our leaving Rivoli. While pronouncing it she gave a shiver of terror, and I saw clearly that of all persons on earth, the one whom she was least desirous of meeting was--George! "There is a tide in the affairs of men," etc. I resolved without delay to take advantage of the tide, that seemed to have turned full in my favour. "No, no," I said. "You mustn't let that stupid fellow's ghost story trouble you. He's a fool! All butlers are," I added, with a hasty generalisation; "they're always so old, you see." "Then what can it all mean?" repeated she. "We seem to be leading haunted lives. I have become so nervous of late. I look in the glass every morning to see whether my hair is turning grey. I live in daily dread of--I don't know what, and at night I am as afraid of the dark as a little child." She was trembling like a leaf. She looked so pretty and interesting in her grief that I could not resist the temptation of placing my arm sympathisingly around her waist. She did not resent the action. On the contrary, the new light that sprang up in her eyes could only be caused by one feeling.