unutterably from the effort of calling up another of like sort to
follow it.






CHAPTER IX.

HATEFUL SUSPICIONS





The rest of that night I lay awake in my bed, the scene in the
verandah by the big blue-gum-trees haunting me all the time, much as
in earlier days the Picture of the murder had pursued and haunted
me. Early in the morning I rose up, and went down to Jane in her
little parlour. I longed for society in my awe. I needed human
presence. I couldn't bear to be left alone by myself with all these
pressing and encompassing mysteries.

"Jane," I said after a few minutes' careless talk--for I didn't
like to tell her about my wonderful dream,--"where exactly did you
find the picture of that house hanging over in the corner there?"

"Lor' bless your heart, miss," Jane answered, "there's a whole
boxful of them at The Grange. Nobody ever cared for them. They're up