It will be observed that the Imp had been alleviating the pangs of her own perplexity by a dexterous ministering to the delusions of others. Not for the world would she have contradicted Miss S.'s assertions; she would as soon have thought of giving that lady a plain and unvarnished account of the late Monsieur Zabriska's very ordinary and quite reputable life and death. No doubt she was right. Both she and the neighborhood had to wait, and her efforts did something to make the period more bearable for both of them. The only sufferer was poor Mr Gainsborough, who was driven from Blentmouth and the curiosity shop by the sheer terror of encountering ladies from villas who told him all about what his daughter was going to do. The outbreak came, and in a fashion as Tristram-esque as Mina could desire, for all that the harbinger of it was frightened little Mr Gainsborough, more frightened still. He came up the hill one evening about six, praying Mina's immediate presence at Blent. Something had happened, he explained, as they walked down. Cecily had had a letter--from somebody in London. No, not Harry. She must see Mina at once. That was all he knew, except that his daughter was perturbed and excited. His manner protested against the whole thing with a mild despair. "Quick, quick!" cried the Imp, almost making him run to keep up with her impatient strides. Cecily was in her room--the room that had been Addie Tristram's. "You've moved in here!" was Mina's first exclamation. "Yes; the housekeeper said I must, so I did. But----" She glanced up for a moment at Addie's picture and broke off. Then she held up a letter which she had in her hand. "Do you know anything of Lord Southend?" she asked. "I've heard Mr Iver and Mr Neeld speak of him. That's all." "He writes to say he knew Lady Tristram and--and Harry, and hopes he'll know me soon." "That's very friendly." Mina thought, but did not add, that it was rather unimportant. "Yes, but it's more than that. Don't you see? It's an opening." She looked at her friend, impatient at her want of comprehension. "It makes it possible to do something. I can begin now." "Begin what?" Mina was enjoying her own bewilderment keenly. "How long did you think I could stand it? I'm not made of--of--of soap! You know Harry! You liked him, didn't you? And you knew Lady Tristram! I've slept in this room two nights and----" "You haven't seen a ghost?" "Ghost! Oh, don't be silly. I've lain here awake, looking at that picture. And it's looked at me--at least it seemed to. 'What are you doing here?' That's what it's been saying. 'What are you doing here?' No, I'm not mad. That's what I was saying myself. But the picture seemed to say it." There was a most satisfactory absence of Gainsborough about all this. "Then I go into the Long Gallery! It's no better there!" Her hands were flung out despairingly. "You seemed to have settled down so well," murmured Mina.