directly on "Nora's ghost," as we had come to call
it--though it was but rarely alluded to before the child herself--I
should not now have been able to give them with circumstantiality.

Fully fifteen months after the visit to my sister, during which we had
met Sir Robert, the whole was suddenly and unexpectedly recalled to my
memory. Mark and Nora the elder--my sister, that is,--were in their turn
staying with us, when one morning at breakfast the post brought for the
latter an unusually bulky and important-looking letter. She opened it,
glanced at an outer sheet enclosing several pages in a different
handwriting, and passed it on to me.

"We must read the rest together," she said in a low voice, glancing at
the children, who were at the table. "How interesting it will be!"

The sheet she had handed to me was a short note from Mr. Grenfell. It
was dated from some place in Norway where he was fishing, and from
whence he had addressed the whole packet to my sister's own home, not
knowing of her absence.

"MY DEAR MRS. DAVENTRY"--it began--"The enclosed will have been a long
time of reaching its real destination, for it is, as you will see,
really intended for your sister. No doubt it will interest you too, as
it has done me, though I am too matter-of-fact and prosaic to enter into
such things much. Still it is curious. Please keep the letter; I am sure
my friend intends you to do so.
"Yours very truly,
"RALPH GRENFELL."

The manuscript enclosed was, of course, from Sir Robert himself. It was
in the form of a letter to young Grenfell; and after explaining that he
thought it better to write to him, not having my address, he plunged
into the real object of his communication.

"You will not," he said, "have forgotten the incident of the 'ghost-cup,'
in the summer of last year, and the curious story your friend was so
good as to tell us about it. You may remember--Mrs. ---- will, I am
sure, do so--my strong impression that I had recently seen one like it.
After I left you I could not get this feeling out of my head. It is
always irritating not to be able, figuratively speaking, 'to lay your
hand' on a recollection, and in this instance I really wanted to get the
clue, as it might lead to some sort of 'explanation' of the little
girl's strange experience. I cudgelled my brains, but all to no purpose;
I went over in memory all the ho