curiosity of epistolary
composition. I see in it the prophecy--strangely fulfilled in later
years--of events in Mary's life, and in mine, which future pages are now
to tell.

My mother decided on leaving the letter unanswered. Like many of her
poorer neighbors, she was a little afraid of Dame Dermody; and she
was, besides, habitually averse to all discussions which turned on the
mysteries of spiritual life. I was reproved, admonished, and forgiven;
and there was the end of it.

For some happy weeks Mary and I returned, without hinderance or
interruption, to our old intimate companionship The end was coming,
however, when we least expected it. My mother was startled, one
morning, by a letter from my father, which informed her that he had been
unexpectedly obliged to sail for England at a moment's notice; that he
had arrived in London, and that he was detained there by business which
would admit of no delay. We were to wait for him at home, in daily
expectation of seeing him the moment he was free.

This news filled my mother's mind with foreboding doubts of the
stability of her husband's grand speculation in America. The sudden
departure from the United States, and the mysterious delay in London,
were ominous, to her eyes, of misfortune to come. I am now writing of
those dark days in the past, when the railway and the electric telegraph
were still visions in the minds of inventors. Rapid communication
with my father (even if he would have consented to take us into his
confidence) was impossible. We had no choice but to wait and hope.

The weary days passed; and still my father's brief letters described him
as detained by his business. The morning came when Mary and I went out
with Dermody, the bailiff, to see the last wild fowl of the season lured
into the decoy; and still the welcome home waited for the master, and
waited in vain.

CHAPTER III. SWEDENBORG AND THE SIBYL.

MY narrative may move on again from the point at which it paused in the
first chapter.

Mary and I (as you may remember) had left the bailiff alone at the
decoy, and had set forth on our way together to Dermody's cottage.

As we approached the garden gate, I saw a servant from the house waiting
there. He carried a message from my mother--a message for me.

"My mistress wishes you to go home, Master George, as soon as you can. A
letter has come by the coach. My master means to take a post-chaise from
London, and sends word that we may expect h