past cannon, pointing threateningly from the Hudson's Bay
post, recrossed to the wooded west bank again, and paddled on till I
caught a glimpse of a little, square, whitewashed house in a grove of
fine old trees. This I knew, from Frances Sutherland's description, was
her father's place.

Mooring among the shrubbery I had no patience to hunt for beaten path;
but digging my feet into soft clay and catching branches with both
hands, I clambered up the cliff and found myself in a thicket not a
stone's throw from the door. The house was in darkness. My heart sank at
a possibility which hardly framed itself to a thought. Was the
apparition in the Mandane lodge some portent? Had I not read, or heard,
of departed spirits hovering near loved ones? I had no courage to think
more.

Suddenly the door flung open. Involuntarily, I slipped behind the
bushes, but dusk hid the approaching figure. Whoever it was made no
noise. I felt, rather than heard, her coming, and knew no man could walk
so silently. It must be a woman. Then my chest stifled and I heard my
own heart-beats. Garments fluttered past the branches of my
hiding-place. She of whom I had dreamed by night and thought by day and
hoped whether sleeping, or waking, paused, not an arm's length away.

Toying with the tip of the branch, which I was gripping for dear life,
she looked languorously through the foliage towards the river. At first
I thought myself the victim of another hallucination, but would not stir
lest the vision should vanish. She sighed audibly, and I knew this was
no spectre. Then I trembled all the more, for my sudden appearance might
alarm her.

I should wait until she went back to the house--another of my brave vows
to keep myself in hand!--then walk up noisily, giving due warning, and
knock at the door. The keeping of that resolution demanded all my
strength of will; for she was so near I could have clasped her in my
arms without an effort. Indeed, it took a very great effort to refrain
from doing so.

"Heigh-ho," said a low voice with the ripple of a sunny brook tinkling
over pebbles, "but it's a long day--and a long, long week--and a long,
long, long month--and oh!--a century of years since----" and the voice
broke in a sigh.

I think--though I would not set this down as a fact--that a certain
small foot, which once stamped two strong men into obedience, now vented
its impatience at a twig on the grass. By the code of eastern
proprieties, I may no