NTRY

II. IN WHICH I HEAL A BICYCLE AND COME TO THE WHEEL OF
PLEASURE

III. TWO TOWN MICE AT A COUNTRY INN

IV. MARRIAGE A LA MODE

V. CONCERNING THE HAVEN OF YELLOW SANDS

VI. THE MOORLAND OF THE APOCALYPSE

VII. "COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS!"

VIII. THE TWELVE GOLDEN-HAIRED BAR-MAIDS

IX. SYLVIA JOY

X. IN WHICH ONCE MORE I BECOME OCCUPIED IN MY OWN AFFAIRS

XI. "THE HOUR FOR WHICH THE YEARS FOR WHICH I DID SIGH"

XII. AT THE CAFE DE LA PAIX

XIII. THE INNOCENCE OF PARIS

XIV. END OF BOOK THREE

BOOK IV

THE POSTSCRIPT TO A PILGRIMAGE

I. SIX YEARS AFTER

II. GRACE O' GOD

III. THE GOLDEN GIRL

Gennem de Mange til En!

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

AN OLD HOUSE AND ITS BACHELOR

When the knell of my thirtieth birthday sounded, I suddenly realised,
with a desolate feeling at the heart, that I was alone in the world.
It was true I had many and good friends, and I was blessed with
interests and occupations which I had often declared sufficient to
satisfy any not too exacting human being. Moreover, a small but
sufficient competency was mine, allowing me reasonable comforts, and
the luxuries of a small but choice library, and a small but choice
garden. These heavenly blessings had seemed mere than enough for
nearly five years, during which the good sister and I had kept house
together, leading a life of tranquil happy days. Friends and books and
flowers! It was, we said, a good world, and I, simpleton,--pretty and
dainty as Margaret was,--deemed it would go on forever. But, alas! one
day came a Faust into our garden,--a good Faust, with no friend
Mephistopheles,--and took Margaret from me. It is but a month since
they were married, and the rice still lingers in the crevices of the
pathway down to the quaint old iron-work gate. Yes! they have gone off
to spend their honeymoon, and Margaret has written to me twice to say
how happy they are together in the Hesperides. Dear happiness!
Selfish, indeed, were he who would envy you one petal of that wonderful
rose--Rosa Mundi--God has given you to gather.

But, all the same, the reader will admit that it must be lonely for me,
and not another sister left to take pity on me, all somewhere happily
settled down in the Fortunate Isles.

Poor lonely old house! do you, too, miss the light step of your
mistress? No longer shall her little silken figure flit up and down
your quiet staircases,