or a
moment or so he stood listening, almost expecting to hear a footstep
among the trees. Nothing but silence greeted him, however, broken only by
the faint rustling of the leaves.

He turned back to the garden. It was empty. There was nothing, nothing on
earth to prove that the whole thing had not been an extraordinarily vivid
waking dream. And if it were a dream, surely it was calculated to dispel
the relief the first dream had brought him. Yet was it a dream? Could it
have been? Wasn't he entirely awake, and in the possession of his right
senses?

Demanding thus of his soul, solemn, bewildered, and reflective, he turned
once more to his wheelbarrow. Ten minutes later, trundling it down a
cinder path, his eye fell on an object lying beneath a gooseberry bush.
He dropped the barrow, and picked up the object.

It was a long soft doe-skin glove.

"It wasn't a dream," said Antony triumphantly. "But where in the name of
all that's wonderful did she come from? And where did she vanish to?"

He put the glove into his pocket, and resumed his work.

"I am afraid," he remarked to himself as he heaved the leaf-mould out of
the barrow, "that she knew perfectly well there was no one at the gate. I
wonder why she said there was, and why, above all, she made such an
extraordinarily unexpected appearance."

These considerations engrossed his mind for at least the next half-hour,
when, the leaf-mould having been transported from the wood, he went round
to the front of the house to trim the edges of the lawn. He was on his
knees on the gravel path, busily engaged with a pair of shears, when he
heard the amazing sound of the front door opening and shutting. He looked
round over his shoulder, to see the same apparition that had appeared to
him from the wood, walking calmly down the steps and in the direction of
the drive. Apparently she was too engrossed with her own thoughts to
observe him where he was kneeling at a little distance to the eastward of
the front door.

"Well!" ejaculated Antony bewildered. And he gazed after her.

It was not till her white dress had become a speck in the distance, that
Antony remembered the long soft glove reposing in his pocket. He dropped
his shears, and bolted after her.

Trix was half-way down the drive, when she heard rapid steps behind her.
She looked back, to see that she was being pursued by the young man who
had formerly been trundling a wheelbarrow.

Her first instinct was one of f