but to the family the really important thing seemed that, with trifling exceptions, the new inmate of the household was gentle and kind; her housekeeping a miracle and her cooking a dream.  In the years she had lived with them there had been but one serious thrill of anxiety, and that came when Dr. Coombe had discovered her endeavouring to infect Jane with her delusions.  This had been strictly forbidden and the child’s mind, duly warned, was soon safeguarded by her own growing comprehension.  Jane quickly understood that it was foolish to shut the garden gate three times every time she came through it, and that no one save Aunt Amy thought it necessary to count all the boards in the sidewalk or to touch all the little posts under the balustrade as one came down stairs.  Some of the prettier, more elusive fancies she may have retained, but, if so, they did her no harm.

As for Aunt Amy herself, she lived her shadow-haunted life not unhappily.  Dr. Coombe she had worshipped, yet his death had not affected her as much as might have been feared.  Perhaps it was one of her compensations that death to her was not quite what it is to the more normal consciousness.  It was noticeable that she always spoke of the doctor as if he were in the next room.  Her devotion to him had been caused by his success in partially relieving her of the most distressing burden of her disordered brain—­the delusion of persecution.  Aunt Amy knew that somewhere there existed a mysterious power known vaguely as “They” who sought unceasingly to injure her.  Of course it was only once in a while that “They” got a chance, for Aunt Amy was very clever in providing no opportunities.  More than once had she outwitted “Them.”  Still, one must be always upon one’s guard!  From this harrowing delusion the doctor had done much to deliver her, indeed she had become more normal in every way under his care.  It was only now, a year after his death, that Esther imagined sometimes that there was a slipping back—­

The ill effects of sitting at a round table, for instance?  It was a long time since this particular fancy had been spoken of and Esther had considered it gone altogether.  Yet here it was, cropping out again and just at a time when other problems threatened.  Things seemed determined to be difficult to-day.

The fact was that Esther was suffering from the need of a confidant.  Really worried as she felt about her step-mother’s health, the burden of taking any determined action against the wishes of the patient herself was a serious one for a young girl.  Yet in whom could she confide?  Girl friends she had in plenty but not one whose judgment she could trust before her own.  Had the minister been an older man or a man of different calibre she might have gone to him, but the idea of appealing to Mr. Macnair was distasteful.  Neither among her father’s friends was there one to whom she cared to go for advice concerning her father’s widow.  They had one and all disapproved, she knew, of the sudden second marriage and Dr. Coombe had never quite forgiven their disapproval.