ng with you, Mr. Durnford."

The minister looked enquiringly at Miss Owen,

"What do you say, my dear?"

"I am entirely in your hands, sir, and those of Mr. Horn."

"Well," said Mr. Durnford, "if you really wish it. Mr. Horn, Miss Owen
shall come to you to-night."

And thus it was arranged.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ATTACK ON THE CORRESPONDENCE.

When "Cobbler" Horn's secretary awoke next morning, she experienced a
return of the feeling of familiarity with her surroundings of which she
had been conscious on first entering the house. The little white-washed
bedroom, with its simple furniture, seemed like a vision of the past.
She had a dreamy impression that she had slept in this little white room
many times before. There was, in particular, a startling appearance of
familiarity in a certain picture which hung upon the wall, beyond the foot
of the bed. It was an old-fashioned coloured print, in a black frame, and
represented Jacob's dream. For a long time she gazed at the picture. Then
she gave herself a shake, and sighed, and laughed a low, pathetic little
laugh.

"What nonsense!" she thought. "As if I could ever have been here before,
or set eyes on the picture! Though I may have seen one like it somewhere
else, to be sure."

Then she roused herself, and got out of bed. But when, having dressed, she
went downstairs, the same sense of familiarity with her surroundings
surged over her again. The boxed-up staircase seemed to her a not
untrodden way; and when she emerged in the kitchen at its foot, and saw
the round deal table spread for breakfast with its humble array, she
almost staggered at the familiarity of the scene.

"Cobbler" Horn was in his workshop, and Miss Jemima had gone into the
yard; and, as the young girl gazed around the humble room it seemed, in
some strange fashion, to have belonged to her past life. The very tap-tap
of "Cobbler" Horn's hammer, coming cheerily from the workshop behind,
awoke weird echoes in her brain, and helped to render her illusion
complete.

All breakfast-time she felt like one in a dream. She seemed to be drifting
into a new life, which was not new but old; and she almost felt as if she
had _come home_. She was utterly unable to imagine what might be the
explanation of this strange experience. She had not a glimmering of the
actual truth. She struggled against the feeling which possessed her, and
partly overcame it; but it