desired my absence, I was turning away, when I heard Miss Blake say:

"Where is she--the creature? What have they done with her at all?"

"I have sent her home," was Mr. Craven's reply. "How could you be so
foolish as to mislead me as you have done?"

"Come," thought I, smelling the battle afar off, "we shall soon have
Craven _v_. Blake tried privately in our office." I knew Mr. Craven
pretty well, and understood he would not readily forgive Miss Blake for
having kept Miss Helena's experiences a secret from him.

Over and over I had heard Miss Blake state there was not a thing really
against the house, and that Helena, poor dear, only hated the place
because she had there lost her father.

"Not much of a loss either, if she could be brought to think so,"
finished Miss Blake, sometimes.

Consequently, to Mr. Craven, as well as to all the rest of those
connected with the firm, the facts elicited by Serjeant Playfire were
new as unwelcome.

If the daughter of the house dreamed dreams and beheld visions, why
should strangers be denied a like privilege? If Miss Elmsdale believed
her father could not rest in his grave, how were we to compel belief as
to calm repose on the part of yearly tenants?

"Playfire has been pitching into us pretty strong," remarked Taylor,
when I at length elbowed my way back to where our manager sat. "Where is