With almost a cordial air, Miss Jemima invited the visitors to sit down. As Miss Owen glanced a second time around the room, a look of perplexity came into her face.
“Do you know, Miss Horn,” she said, “your house seems quite familiar to me. I almost feel as if I had been here before. Of course I never have. It’s just one of those queer feelings everybody has sometimes, as if what you are going through at the time had all taken place before.”
She spoke out the thought of her mind with a simple impulsiveness which had its own charm.
“No doubt,” said Miss Jemima, with a start; but she was deterred from further remark by Mr. Durnford’s rising from his seat.
“I think I’ll leave you,” he said, “and call for Miss Owen in—say a quarter of an hour. With your permission, Mr. Horn, she will sleep at our house to-night.”
“Don’t go, sir,” said “Cobbler” Horn. “Your presence will be a help to us on both sides.”
It needed no further pursuasion to induce the minister to remain: with his assistance, “Cobbler” Horn soon came to terms with the young lady; and, as, upon a hint conveyed in the letter she had received from the minister, she had come to Cottonborough prepared, if necessary, to remain, it was arranged that she should commence her duties on the following day.
“And would it not be as well for her to come to us to-night?” asked “Cobbler” Horn. “The sooner she begins to get used to us the better. And she can still spend the evening with you, Mr. Durnford.”
The minister looked enquiringly at Miss Owen,
“What do you say, my dear?”