But to-day I had another kind of delusion, for I went out alone in Uncle Jasper’s woods to gather early primroses. It was in the dusk, just when the woods were growing dark and filled with mystery. But I’m not frightened now, for ever since I saw that man in church I love to go out in that gloaming time and let the ’longing that is not akin to pain’ steal over me. And then I saw him coming down the little path, and when he drew quite near he saw me, too, and a startled look came in his eyes and a great wonder. He stopped a moment and it seemed as if he half held out his hands to me. And I? I don’t know what I felt save that it seemed again as if I had met some one I had _known_ before. I dropped my flowers and ran home with my heart beating. But I knew, of course, he did not _really_ stop. I _must_ have dreamed the startled wonder of his face, that look of sudden adoration in his eyes. Father met me at the entrance of the Park. ’Why, darling! were you frightened in the woods?’ ’No,’ I said, but I clung to his arm, and he turned autocratic then, and in his funny way forgot that I am grown up now, and forbade me to go out alone so late, because he thought that I had had a sudden fright such as I had when I was little, and the woods grew tulgy, and the trees turned to fantastic shapes, and strange things rustled in the undergrowth. Then daddy told me a most amazing piece of news. There has been a family row at the Manor House, the first I ever remember. Eustace told his father that he didn’t want to go into the army after all, but that he wished to join the Roman church and be a monk instead. Imagine that bombshell in an Evangelical parish. Mercifully Aunt Amelia is not staying here just now. Ross’s comments are not really printable. Uncle Jasper came over to see father about it in a towering temper just before dinner. I don’t know what daddy said to him, but I was in the garden when he went away and I heard him say,— ’Yes, Anthony, I promise, at least, that it shan’t be you over again. But I will never consent to it, never. A monk! My son!’ I wonder what that bit about father meant. Daddy went to dine at the Manor House, so Ross and I had dinner alone as we weren’t asked. My brother’s mind is full of Monkeries, as he persists in railing them. ’What a mug Eustace is,’ said he. ’Fancy wanting to give up his dogs and horses.’ ’But giving up is very hard.’ ’Yes, but it isn’t giving up in his case; he was never keen on horses—thought the Derby wicked.’ ’Well, but Ross, you know——’