There was a gallery along one side of the house, which soon became a favourite resort; it made a pleasant lounging-place, in the day-time especially, though less so in the evening, as the fireplace at one end warmed it but imperfectly, and besides this it was difficult to light up. It was draughty, too, as there was a superfluity of doors, two of which, one at each end, we at once condemned. They were not needed, as the one led by a very long spiral staircase, to the unused attic rooms, the other to the kitchen and offices. And when we did have afternoon tea in the gallery, it was easy to bring it through the dining or drawing-rooms, long rooms, lighted at their extreme ends, which ran parallel to the gallery lengthways, both of which had a door opening on to it as well as from the hall on the other side. For all the principal rooms at Finster were on the first-floor, not on the ground-floor. The closing of these doors got rid of a great deal of draught, and, as I have said, the weather was really mild and calm. One afternoon--I am trying to begin at the beginning of our strange experiences; even at the risk of long-windedness it seems better to do so--we were all assembled in the gallery at tea-time. The "children," as we called Sophy and Dormer, much to Sophy's disgust, and their governess, were with us, for rules were relaxed at Finster, and Miss Larpent was a great favourite with us all. Suddenly Sophy gave an exclamation of annoyance. "Mamma," she said, "I wish you would speak to Dormer. He has thrown over my tea-cup--only look at my frock!" "If you cannot sit still," she added, turning herself to the boy, "I don't think you should be allowed to come to tea here." "What is the matter, Dormy?" said mother. Dormer was standing beside Sophy, looking very guilty, and rather white. "Mamma," he said, "I was only drawing a chair out. It got so dreadfully cold where I was sitting, I really could not stay there," and he shivered slightly. He had been sitting with his back to one of the locked-up doors. Phil, who was nearest, moved his hand slowly across the spot. "You are fanciful, Dormy," he said, "there is really no draught whatever." This did not satisfy mother. "He must have got a chill, then," she said, and she went on to question the child as to what he had been doing all day, for, as I have said, he was still delicate. But he persisted that he was quite well, and no longer cold. "It wasn't exactly a draught," he said, "it was--oh! just icy, all of a sudden. I've felt it before--sitting in that chair."