uite harmless!"

Granny Marrable was grave and oppressed by this news. "The poor old
soul!--think of it!" said she. "Oh, but how many's the time I've thanked
God in His mercy for sparing me my senses! To think we might any of us
be no better off, but for Him, than the man our Lord found naked in the
tombs, in the country of the Gadarenes! But she is not bad like that,
this Mrs. Prichard?"

"Oh no!--that was a severe case, with complications. Not a legion of
devils, this time! One or two little ones. Just simple delusions. Might
have yielded to Treatment, taken younger. Too late, now, altogether.
Wastage of the brain, no doubt! She's quite happy, you know."

Although Dr. Nash had not shone as a reasoner forming square to resist
evidence, he had shrewd compartments in his mind, and in one of them a
clear idea that he would do ill to thrust forward the details of the
supposed simple delusions. This old lady must not be led to infer that
he was interested in _them_--mere scientific curiosities! She was sure
to ask for them in time; he knew that. And it was much better that he
should seem to attach no weight whatever to them.

Granny Marrable seemed to entertain doubts of the patient's happiness.
"I could never be happy," she said, "if I had been in a delusion."

"Not if you came to know it was a delusion. Very likely not!"

"But does not--does not--poor old Mrs. Prichard ever come to know she
has been in a delusion?"

"Not she! What she fancies she just goes on fancying. Sticks to it like
grim death."

"What sort of things now, doctor?"

This was a bite. But the doctor would play his fish. No hurry.
"_Perfectly_ crazy things! Oh--crack-brained! Has not your daughter told
you?... Oh, by-the-by!--yes!--I did tell her she had better not.... I
don't think it matters, though."

"But not if you would rather not, doctor!" This clearly meant the
reverse.

"Well now--there was the first thing that happened, about that little
model thing that stands on your mantelshelf at the cottage."

"What--my father's mill? Davy's mill, we call it now, because the child
took to it so, and would have me tell him again and again about
Muggeridge and the horses...."

"Ah--you told him about Muggeridge and the horses!"

"Yes, sure! And I lay, now, he'd told Mrs. Prichard all about _that_!"

"Trust him! Anyhow, he _did_. And she knew all about it before ever she
came to Chorlton. But her mind got a queer twist over it, and she forgot