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“Possession, child! what do you mean?”

“I think there is something trying to influence me. Perhaps it is the way fellows go mad; but it won’t let me alone. I’ve seen it three times, think of that!”

“Well, dear, and what have ye seen?” she asked, with an uneasy cheerfulness, smiling, with eyes fixed steadily upon him; for the idea of a madman — even gentle Philip in that state — was not quieting.

“Do you remember the picture, full-length, that had no frame — the lady in the white-satin saque — she was beautiful, funeste,” he added, talking more to himself; and then more distinctly to Mrs. Julaper again ——“in the white-satin saque; and with the little mob cap and blue ribbons to it, and a bouquet in her fingers; that was — that — you know who she was?”

“That was your great-grandmother, my dear,” said Mrs. Julaper, lowering her eyes. “It was a dreadful pity it was spoiled. The boys in the pantry had it for a year there on the table for a tray, to wash the glasses on and the like. It was a shame; that was the prettiest picture in the house, with the gentlest, rosiest face.”