“The next time was the night YOU were so queer, Dick, sitting on that stone bench. When I left you--I thought you didn't care to have me stay--I went to seek Aunt Viney at the bottom of the garden. I was very sad, but suddenly I found myself very gay, talking and laughing with her in a way I could not account for. All at once, looking up, I saw HIM standing by the little gate, looking at me very sadly. I think I would have spoken to Aunt Viney, but he put his finger to his lips--his hand was so slim and white, quite like a hand in one of those Spanish pictures--and moved slowly backwards into the lane, as if he wished to speak with ME only--out there. I know I ought to have spoken to Aunty; I knew it was wrong what I did, but he looked so earnest, so appealing, so awfully sad, Dick, that I slipped past Aunty and went out of the gate. Just then she missed me, and called. He made a kind of despairing gesture, raising his hand Spanish fashion to his lips, as if to say good-night. You'll think me bold, Dick, but I was so anxious to know what it all meant, that I gave a glance behind to see if Aunty was following, before I should go right up to him and demand an explanation. But when I faced round again, he was gone! I walked up and down the lane and out on the plain nearly half an hour, seeking him. It was strange, I know; but I was not a bit FRIGHTENED, Dick--that was so queer--but I was only amazed and curious.” The look of spiritual terror in Dick's face here seemed to give way to a less exalted disturbance, as he fixed his eyes on Cecily's. “You remember I met YOU coming in: you seemed so queer then that I did not say anything to you, for I thought you would laugh at me, or reproach me for my boldness; and I thought, Dick, that--that--that--this person wished to speak only to ME.” She hesitated. “Go on,” said Dick, in a voice that had also undergone a singular change. The chestnut head was bent a little lower, as the young girl nervously twisted her fingers in her lap. “Then I saw him again--and--again,” she went on hesitatingly. “Of course I spoke to him, to--to--find out what he wanted; but you know, Dick, I cannot speak Spanish, and of course he didn't understand me, and didn't reply.” “But his manner, his appearance, gave you some idea of his meaning?” said Dick suddenly. Cecily's head drooped a little lower. “I thought--that is, I fancied I knew what he meant.” “No doubt,” said Dick, in a voice which, but for the superstitious horror of the situation, might have impressed a casual listener as indicating a trace of human irony. But Cecily did not seem to notice it. “Perhaps I was excited that night, perhaps I was bolder because I knew you were near me; but I went up to him and touched him! And then, Dick!--oh, Dick! think how awful--” Again Dick felt the thrill of superstitious terror creep over him. “And he vanished!” he said hoarsely.