“But why did you come out on such a night? What possessed you, little one--in such a storm? I begin to be afraid what next you may do.” “I never do anything--now--that I think you would mind me doing,” I answered. “But if you will write out a little book of _mays_ and _maynots_, I will learn it by heart.” “No, no,” he returned; “we are not going back to the tables of the law! You have a better law written in your heart, my child; I will trust to that.--But tell me why you came out on such a night--and as dark as pitch.” “Just because it was such a night, uncle, and you were out in it,” I answered. “Ain't I your own little girl? I hope you ain't sorry I came, uncle! I am glad; and I shouldn't like ever to be glad at what made you sorry.” “What are you glad of?” “That I came--because I've found you. I came to look for you.” “Why did you come to-night more than any other night?” “Because I wanted so much to see you. I thought I might be of use to you.” “You are always of use to me; but why did you think of it just to-night?” “I don't know.--I am older than I was last night,” I replied. He seemed to understand me, and asked me no more questions. All the time, we had been standing still in the storm. He took Zoe's head and turned it toward home. The dear creature set out with slow leisurely step, heedless apparently of storm and stable. She knew who was by her side, and he must set the pace! As we went my uncle seemed lost in thought--and no wonder! for how could the sight we had seen be accounted for! Or what might it indicate? Many were the strange tales I had read, and my conviction was that the vision belonged to the inexplicable. It grew upon me that I had seen my uncle's double. That he should see his own double would not in itself have much surprised me--or, indeed, that I should see it; but I had never read of another person seeing a double at the same time with the person doubled. During the next few days I sought hard for some possible explanation of what had occurred, but could find nothing parallel to it within the scope of my knowledge. I tried _fata morgana, mirage, parhelion_, and whatever I had learned of recognized illusion, but in vain sought satisfaction, or anything pointing in the direction of satisfaction. I was compelled to leave the thing alone. My uncle kept silence about it, but seemed to brood more than usual. I think he too was convinced that it must have another explanation than present science would afford him. Once I ventured to ask if he had come to any conclusion; with a sad smile, he answered, “I am waiting, little one. There is much we have to wait for. Where would be the good of having your mind made up wrong? It only stands in the way of getting it made up right!”