nd thought not unworthy of placing
in the Berlin Gallery. I expect you know Dr. Bode."

"Not personally," I said, as we stepped into the Long Gallery.

It was a delightful panelled room, with oak-beamed ceiling. Between the
mullioned windows were old Venetian mirrors and seventeenth-century
chairs. At the end, concealed by a rich crimson brocade, hung the
Vandyck, the only picture on the walls.

It was the Colonel himself who drew aside the curtain which veiled
discreetly the famous picture of Sir Rupert Brodie at the age of thirty-
two, in the beautiful costume of the period. The face was unusually
pallid; it was just the sort of portrait you would expect to walk out of
its frame.

"You have never seen a finer Vandyck, I am sure," said Mrs. Brodie,
anxiously. I examined the work with great care, employing a powerful
pocket-glass. There was an awkward pause for about five minutes.

"Well, sir," said the Colonel, sternly, "have you nothing to say?"

"It is a very interesting and excellent work, though _not_ by Vandyck; it
is by Jamieson, his Scotch pupil; the morphic forms . . ."--but I got no
further. There was a loud clap of thunder, and Flora fainted away. I
was hastening to her side when her father's powerful arm seized my
collar. He ran me down the gallery and out by an egress which led into
the entrance hall, where some menial opened the massive door. I felt one
stinging blow on my face; then, bleeding and helpless, I was kicked down
the steps into the snow from which I was picked up, half stunned, by one
of the gillies.

"Eh, mon, hae ye seen the bogles at Hootawa?" he observed.

"It will be very civil of you if you will conduct me to the depot, or the
nearest caravanserai," I replied.

I never saw Flora again.'

* * * * *

'But what has happened about the ghost, Mr. Sweat? You never told us
anything about it. Did you ever see it?' asked one of the listeners in a
disappointed tone.

'Oh, I forgot; no, that was rather tragic. _Sir Rupert Brodie never
appeared again_, not even in the spare bedroom; he seemed offended.
Eventually his portrait was sent up to London, where Mr. Lionel Cust
pointed out that it could not have been painted until after Vandyck's
death, at which time Sir Rupert was only ten years old. Indeed, there
was some uncertainty whether the picture represented Sir Rupert at all.
Mr. Bowyer Nichols found fault with the costume, which belonged to an
earlier date prior to Sir