watered copiously to "sattle 'em."

His real name was not Adolphe, but Thomas. As this, however, had created
some confusion between him and the cat, my great-grandmother had named
him afresh, after a retainer of the de Vandaleurs in days gone by,
whose faithful service was a tradition in the family.

I was very happy at The Vine--by day. I feel ashamed now to recall how
miserable I was at night, and yet I know I could not help it. In old
times I had always been accustomed to be watched to sleep by Ayah. After
I came to Aunt Theresa, I slept in the same room with one or more of the
other children. At The Vine, for the first time, I slept alone.

This was not all. It was not merely the being alone in the dark which
frightened me. Indeed, a curious little wick floating on a cup of oil
was lighted at night for my benefit, but it only illumined the great
source of the terror which made night hideous to me.

Some French refugee artist, who had been indebted to my
great-grandparents for kindness, had shown his gratitude by painting a
picture of the execution of that Duc de Vandaleur who perished in the
Revolution, my great-grandfather having been the model. It was a
wretched daub, but the subject was none the less horrible for that, and
the caricatured likeness to my great-grandfather did not make it seem
less real or more pleasant.

That execution which was never over, this ghastly head which never found
rest in the grave, that awful-looking man who was, and yet was not,
Grandpapa--haunted me. They were the cause of certain horrible dreams,
which I can remember quite as clearly at this day as if I dreamed them
last night, and which I know I shall never forget. The dreams again
associated themselves with the picture, and my fears grew instead of
lessening as the time went by.

Very late one night Elspeth came in and found me awake, and probably
looking far from happy. I had nothing to say for myself, but I burst
into tears. Elspeth was tenderness itself, but she got hold of a wrong
idea. I was "just homesick," she thought, and needed to be "away home
again," with "bairns like myself."

I do not know why I never explained the real reason of my
distress--children are apt to be reticent on such occasions. I think a
panic seized upon the members of the household, that they were too old
to make a child happy. I was constantly assured that "it was very
natural," and I "had been very good." But I was sent back to Riflebury.