"I did not think you would take that commonplace view," she responded.
"I am sorry I have offended you," I answered. "Girls like you do have bad dreams when they are in trouble, and those dreams are often so vivid, that they mistake them for realities."
"Very well, then, I have had more of those vivid dreams. I have seen my father again. The last time I saw him he was in the house. It was about a month ago. As usual, I could not sleep, and I went downstairs quite late to get the second volume of a novel which interested me. There was father walking across the passage. His back was to me. He opened the study door and went in. He shut it behind him. I rushed to it in order to open it and follow him. It was locked, and though I screamed through the key-hole, no one replied to me. Mother found me kneeling by the study door and shouting through the key-hole to father. She was up and dressed, which seemed strange at so late an hour. She took me upstairs and put me to bed, and pretended to be angry with me, but when I told her that I had seen father she burst into the most awful bitter tears and said:—
"'Oh, Gabrielle, he is dead—dead—quite dead!'
"'Then he comes here from the dead,' I said. 'No, he is not dead. I have just seen him.'
"'My poor child,' said mother, 'I must take you to a good doctor without delay. You must not get this thing on your brain.'
"'Very well,' I replied; 'I am quite willing to see Dr. Mackenzie.'"
I interrupted the narrative to inquire who Dr. Mackenzie was.
