e is constantly reading, of
trials, dangers, and escapes in the Arctic seas. The most startling
things that she may say or do are all attributable to this cause, and
may all be explained in this way." So the doctors have spoken; and, thus
far, Mrs. Crayford has shared their view. It is only to-night that the
girl's words ring in her ear, with a strange prophetic sound in them.
It is only to-night that she asks herself: "Is Clara present, in the
spirit, with our loved and lost ones in the lonely North? Can mortal
vision see the dead and living in the solitudes of the Frozen Deep?"

Chapter 14.

The night had passed.

Far and near the garden view looked its gayest and brightest in the
light of the noonday sun. The cheering sounds which tell of life and
action were audible all round the villa. From the garden of the nearest
house rose the voices of children at play. Along the road at the back
sounded the roll of wheels, as carts and carriages passed at intervals.
Out on the blue sea, the distant splash of the paddles, the distant
thump of the engines, told from time to time of the passage of steamers,
entering or leaving the strait between the island and the mainland. In
the trees, the birds sang gayly among the rustling leaves. In the house,
the women-servants were laughing over some jest or story that cheered
them at their work. It was a lively and pleasant time--a bright,
enjoyable day.

The two ladies were out together; resting on a garden seat, after a walk
round the grounds.

They exchanged a few trivial words relating to the beauty of the day,
and then said no more. Possessing the same consciousness of what she had
seen in the trance which persons in general possess of what they
have seen in a dream--believing in the vision as a supernatural
revelation--Clara's worst forebodings were now, to her mind, realized
as truths. Her last faint hope of ever seeing Frank again was now at an
end. Intimate experience of her told Mrs. Crayford what was passing in
Clara's mind, and warned her that the attempt to reason and remonstrate
would be little better than a voluntary waste of words and time. The
disposition which she had herself felt on the previous night, to attach
a superstitious importance to the words that Clara had spoken in the
trance, had vanished with the return of the morning. Rest and reflection
had quieted her mind, and had restored the composing influence of
her sober sense. Sympathizing with Clara