“In declining to acknowledge yourself one already. You make yourself such by refusing what is true, and for that you will sorely punish yourself.” “How, again?” “By believing what is not true.” “Then, if I walk to the other side of that tree, I shall walk through the kitchen fire?” “Certainly. You would first, however, walk through the lady at the piano in the breakfast-room. That rosebush is close by her. You would give her a terrible start!” “There is no lady in the house!” “Indeed! Is not your housekeeper a lady? She is counted such in a certain country where all are servants, and the liveries one and multitudinous!” “She cannot use the piano, anyhow!” “Her niece can: she is there--a well-educated girl and a capital musician.” “Excuse me; I cannot help it: you seem to me to be talking sheer nonsense!” “If you could but hear the music! Those great long heads of wild hyacinth are inside the piano, among the strings of it, and give that peculiar sweetness to her playing!--Pardon me: I forgot your deafness!” “Two objects,” I said, “cannot exist in the same place at the same time!” “Can they not? I did not know!--I remember now they do teach that with you. It is a great mistake--one of the greatest ever wiseacre made! No man of the universe, only a man of the world could have said so!” “You a librarian, and talk such rubbish!” I cried. “Plainly, you did not read many of the books in your charge!” “Oh, yes! I went through all in your library--at the time, and came out at the other side not much the wiser. I was a bookworm then, but when I came to know it, I woke among the butterflies. To be sure I have given up reading for a good many years--ever since I was made sexton.--There! I smell Grieg’s Wedding March in the quiver of those rose-petals!” I went to the rose-bush and listened hard, but could not hear the thinnest ghost of a sound; I only smelt something I had never before smelt in any rose. It was still rose-odour, but with a difference, caused, I suppose, by the Wedding March. When I looked up, there was the bird by my side. “Mr. Raven,” I said, “forgive me for being so rude: I was irritated. Will you kindly show me my way home? I must go, for I have an appointment with my bailiff. One must not break faith with his servants!” “You cannot break what was broken days ago!” he answered. “Do show me the way,” I pleaded. “I cannot,” he returned. “To go back, you must go through yourself, and that way no man can show another.” Entreaty was vain. I must accept my fate! But how was life to be lived in a world of which I had all the laws to learn? There would, however, be adventure! that held consolation; and whether I found my way home or not, I should at least have the rare advantage of knowing two worlds!