'I believe I dreamed it,' he smiled to himself at last in despair. 'I do believe it was a dream--a fragment of some jolly dream I had in my Fairyland of little Bourcelles!' Children, stars, Fairyland, dreams--these brought it somehow. His cousin's story also had to do with it, chiefly perhaps after all--this great story. 'I shall have to go back there to get hold of it completely,' he added with conviction. He almost felt as if some one were thinking hard about him--one of the characters in the story, it seemed. The mind of some one far away, as yet unknown, was searching for him in thought, sending forth strong definite yearnings which came to rest of their own accord in his own being, a garden naturally suited to their growth. The creations of his boyhood's imagination had survived, the Sweep, the Dustman, and the Lamplighter, then why not the far more powerful creations in the story...? Thought was never lost! 'But no man in his senses can believe such a thing!' he exclaimed, as the train ran booming through the tunnel. 'That's the point,' whispered a voice beside him. 'You are _out_ of your senses. Otherwise you could not feel it!' He turned sharply. The carriage was empty; there was no one there. It was, of course, another part of himself that supplied the answer; yet it startled him. The blurred reflection of the lamp, he noticed, cast a picture against the black tunnel wall that was like a constellation. The Pleiades again! It almost seemed as if the voice had issued from that false reflection in the shaking window-pane....