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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78060 ***
+
+Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
+
+New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
+public domain.
+
+
+                                 A
+
+                            YOUNG MAN'S
+
+                               STORY.
+
+
+                                 BY
+
+                           SARAH DOUDNEY
+
+
+
+                  The Girl's Own Annual Illustrated
+                           VOL. VII. 1886.
+               "FEATHERY FLAKES" EXTRA CHRISTMAS PART
+                      THE LEISURE HOUR OFFICE
+                    56, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
+
+
+
+                              CONTENTS.
+
+A YOUNG MAN'S STORY
+
+
+
+                        A YOUNG MAN'S STORY.
+
+
+YES, I confess I have known something which may fairly be termed a
+supernatural experience; but I did not care to talk about it in the
+smoking-room last night. Now that I am sitting here quietly with you
+and Susy, you may hear my story if you like. Perhaps it is hardly
+worth telling; perhaps you will both laugh at me when it is finished.
+However, it is the kind of story that ought to be told between the
+lights; so do not ring for the lamp till I have done.
+
+You have never heard much about my engagement to May Newton. There was
+nothing remarkable in the affair; it was only the oft-told tale of two
+persons being thrown together in a narrow sphere, and gliding naturally
+into close intimacy. I suppose you are aware that I met her first in
+an out-of-the-way village on the sea-coast where I went to stay with
+my uncle. It was the sort of place in which any man would have rapidly
+drifted into love-making—firstly, because there was no other way of
+killing time; and, secondly, because there was an air of romance about
+the spot. Although there were no great beauties in Longbeach, it had a
+certain charm of dreamy peace. The sea lulled it to sleep with drowsy
+murmurs; its ruined castle, grey and ivy-grown, was full of nooks where
+you might read or muse without fear of intrusion. There were one or two
+girls in the village who were prettier than May, and yet, after giving
+them all a fair trial, I settled down into a calm enjoyment of her
+companionship, and cared for no one else.
+
+In the beginning, I certainly had no serious intentions. I was not a
+marrying man, and the pleasure of "Shaking down loose blossoms from
+off a laden bough" had always been quite enough for such a trifler
+as myself. But does anyone ever know the precise moment when liking
+changes to love? I have looked back sometimes, and tried to see just
+the very spot where my path took that mysterious turn; but I never
+could discover it. All I know is that the jest became earnest, the
+shadow shaped itself into substance, and then the old idle days fled
+away for ever.
+
+We were not rich enough to think of a speedy marriage. She was living
+with a widowed mother and elder sister, and I knew from the first that
+their income was small. As for myself, you are pretty well acquainted
+with my means, and you know that I have only lately been smiled upon
+by fortune. We used to sketch out our future as we sat together on
+the shore. A golden future it was to be—bright as the sunlit sea that
+lay calm and glittering before our eyes. There were no storms to mar
+those tranquil days of late summer; hour after hour glided by in mellow
+sunshine, and the still atmosphere was full of that sense of ripeness
+which always deepens the feeling of repose.
+
+It was difficult to believe that a cold world was waiting outside our
+balmy paradise. Poor May, living her secluded country life, was utterly
+unable to realise the bitter struggle for existence which exhausts the
+heart and brain. While I was with her, the charm of her presence made
+me forget all about that struggle, and yet I knew that it had to be
+faced. We could not build our nest, like the birds, in some cranny of
+the old castle walls, and sing our lives away in an ivy bower. What a
+delightfully simple ending of a courtship that would be! I remember
+how we watched the happy feathered things flitting in and out of
+their haunts in the ruins, and wished that we could as easily provide
+ourselves with a home.
+
+
+The autumn had set in before I left Longbeach, and went up to town to
+seek my fortune. Through my uncle's influence, I had obtained the post
+of confidential clerk in a mercantile house; but the salary was small,
+and the business and its associations had few attractions for me. In
+fact, I hated the very name of business.
+
+Brought up to be an idler, I had never had any of the training that
+prepares a man for intercourse with the great City world. After a week
+or two of City life, I began to pine for the dreamy calm of Longbeach;
+I missed the lullaby of the sea, the soothing tones of May's sweet
+voice, the touch of her little hand. And then, as I grew more and
+more dissatisfied with my lot, I had moods of bitter discontent and
+impatience. I got angry with my uncle for not finding me a better
+place than the office of Marford and Knox, angry with myself for being
+unfitted to cope with the sharp City men around me—and angry (for no
+cause at all) with poor, innocent May.
+
+I never was a hero, you see; I set about doing my share of disagreeable
+work as badly as a man possibly could, and nothing sours the temper
+more than the secret consciousness of work ill done. So it came to pass
+that I went down to Longbeach, in an unamiable humour, to spend my
+holidays. It was December when I saw it again; our favourite paths were
+strewn with yellow leaves, the sea was cold and grey, and there was no
+singing of birds about the ruins. A chill breath seemed to have passed
+over both our hearts.
+
+[Illustration: MAY WAS SILENT AND MELANCHOLY.]
+
+May was silent and melancholy on our skating expedition, distrustful of
+herself and me. Her eyes looked the question that she did not speak.
+Had we made a mistake when we plighted our troth among roses? Had our
+love only a flower's life—"sweet, not lasting?"
+
+About May herself there was always something fragile and flower-like.
+She was slender, and she was pretty, but it was a beauty of colouring
+and expression, not of feature. Her cheeks had a delicate bloom that
+came and went quickly; her eyes, which were large and clear, would
+shine with a brilliant light in moments of excitement. There was a
+charming natural grace in all her movements that reminded you of a
+blossom swaying in the wind. Everybody liked her, and even strangers
+were won by that sweet, picturesque face and soft voice, but hers was
+too sensitive a nature to thrive without sunshine. She seemed to pale
+and wither in my gloomy presence, like an anemone that is blighted by a
+bitter blast.
+
+It vexed me to find that I had a blighting influence; I missed the
+blushes and brightness that had welcomed me in the bygone summer days,
+and I was not careful to conceal my annoyance. She saw that I was
+displeased, and shrank away in a helpless fashion that was painful to
+see.
+
+"You are greatly changed, May," I said, one day, in an irritable tone.
+
+We were walking up the garden path together, with the dead leaves
+drifting about our feet. I saw the sudden whitening of her cheeks and
+lips, and a sharp pang smote me, even as I spoke. But I did not let her
+see that I felt anything.
+
+"Yes," she answered, "I am changed, and I do not think my old self will
+ever come back. It was to that old gay self that you were pledged,
+Horace; I will not keep you bound to the dull girl of to-day. You used
+to say I was always bright, you know; well, I have lost my brightness,
+and we had better say good-bye."
+
+"Do you mean it?" I asked.
+
+"I do," she said, firmly and coldly.
+
+All the pride that was latent in her gentle nature was up in arms. She
+felt herself undervalued, unappreciated.
+
+And so we parted—parted, although I knew I could never love another
+woman in the world as I had loved her! An hour or two later I had left
+the place, and the train was whirling me back to town.
+
+
+A few weeks afterwards my uncle followed me to London. He had grown
+tired of village life, he said, and wanted to end his days in the old
+West-end street where he was born. Not one word did he say about the
+Newtons; in fact, he had made no intimate friends in Longbeach, and had
+concerned himself very little with his neighbours and their doings. He
+was, as you know, a man of excessively retiring habits, and never cared
+for any kind of society. Thus it fell out that all communication with
+Longbeach was cut off, and there was not a single link left to connect
+me with the past.
+
+About this time, I began to take a greater interest in the affairs
+of our firm, and applied myself more closely to business than I had
+ever done before. I did not forget May, but I resolutely put her image
+into the background of memory. There were new friends to be made, new
+pleasures to be enjoyed, new ambitions to give a zest to life. Yet
+her sweet face was always lurking in my thoughts, ready to come to
+the front whenever I was weary and alone. Sometimes I caught sight of
+faces that had a look of hers—in trains, in omnibuses, in the streets.
+I suppose you do not know what sharp pain may come with a chance
+resemblance. Well, you are happy if you have never known it. I have
+seen my lost love looking at me through a stranger's eyes, many a time;
+and in the tone of a strange voice, I have heard an echo of the voice
+that was still.
+
+So life went on with me through the winter and spring, and far into the
+summer, and then it was proposed to take another partner into the firm
+of Marford and Knox.
+
+It occurred to use that I knew the very man who was wanted by my
+employers. He was an idle man with a good deal of money and leisure
+hanging uselessly upon his hands, and I resolved at once to seek him
+out and press him into our service. My idea was favourably received
+by Mr. Knox. There was no time, he said, to be lost; the grass must
+not grow under my feet; it would be wise to look up this friend of
+mine without delay. The last time I had heard of him he was living at
+Monksbury, and I decided to go there and call upon him.
+
+I was not unacquainted with Monksbury. It was a gay little
+watering-place, where I had idled away pleasant hours in days gone by.
+It lies on the South Coast, and when I stepped into the train I knew
+that I was booked for a tedious journey of three hours at least. It
+was growing late in the summer; the air was sultry and still, not a
+cloud flecked the blue of the afternoon sky, scarcely a breath of wind
+wandered in at the open windows, and I leaned back in my corner, too
+languid even to unfold the papers I had bought to while the time away.
+
+I could not read and I could not sleep. My eyes were always seeking for
+familiar objects in the scenery, and I thought of the bygone summer
+when I had travelled along this line, gay of heart, to Longbeach.
+
+By-and-by, we must stop at the well-known little station. I should
+catch a glimpse of the ruined tower and the quiet fields where May and
+I had dreamed our brief love dream together. While I mused, the day was
+waning, swiftly and yet softly, as such cloudless days always do fade.
+Longer and longer grew the shadows. A faint mist came creeping over the
+downs, the blue above melted into gold. The gloaming was stealing on
+apace, bringing the freshness of dew into the air, softening all the
+harsher features of the landscape, and adding an indescribable sense of
+rest to the scene.
+
+My companions were two middle-aged men, who had dozed peacefully
+through the greater part of the journey. As the light faded and the
+atmosphere cooled, they woke up and made a few remarks on the crops and
+the weather. I gathered from their talk that they, too, were going as
+far as Monksbury to join their wives and children in seaside lodgings.
+Their conversation did not interest me then, but later on I remembered
+it, and even recalled the faces and voices of the speakers. One of them
+(the elder of the two) spoke tenderly of a delicate little daughter who
+was gaining strength from the sea-breezes, and wondered if she would be
+looking brighter when he saw her again.
+
+Gazing out of the window, I watched the afterglow dying off the
+sea, and felt the briny breath of a rising tide. We were drawing
+near Longbeach; the train slackened speed, and crawled into the
+little station; and my heart beat fast as the platform came in
+sight. Were there any familiar figures to be seen? Yes; there was
+the station-master, and beside him a slight little woman with a
+fleecy-white woollen shawl wrapped carelessly about her head. The light
+was growing dim, yet not too dim for me to distinguish her face, which
+was turned towards me. Good heaven! It was May herself!
+
+She was very pale and thin; but at the sight of me, her features were
+lit up by the brightest smile I had ever seen. It was more than a
+smile—it was a glory. In an instant, she had advanced close to the
+carriage window, and was beckoning impatiently with a little ungloved
+hand. There was a pretty imperiousness in the gesture that reminded me
+of the May of old days. I never thought of resisting it for a moment—I
+should not have been a man if I had. Seizing my travelling-bag, I
+opened the door and jumped out upon the platform, alighting close to
+the toes of Drake, the station-master, who looked at me, I fancied,
+with some surprise.
+
+"Good evening, Mr. Medway," he said, in rather a constrained tone.
+
+"Good evening," I responded, absently, walking with him along the
+platform while May's light figure flitted on before us.
+
+At the gate, I gave up my ticket, and then turned into the old road
+that led straight to the village. It was a quiet road, shaded by tall
+trees, and sweet with the scent of cottage gardens; and May and I had
+often traversed it together. This was the very hour for explanations
+and reconciliations; we might stroll slowly homewards in the gloaming,
+and I would ask her, humbly and frankly, to forgive me for the past. I
+had never ceased to love her. Looking back on the last twelve months, I
+could see that her memory had been present with me in every action of
+my life. I had never shaken off the spell of her sweet influence, never
+offered to another woman the heart that was hers alone.
+
+"Where are you, May?" I called, standing still in the silent road. But
+there was no reply. The light form had vanished.
+
+It was just one of her old, childish tricks, I thought. I remembered
+how she used to hide in the shrubbery of the garden, and spring out,
+light as a fay, when I least expected to find her. And yet it was
+strange that she should have walked from her cottage to the railway
+station with that woollen shawl wrapped round her head! Light-heated as
+she was, May had always had a respect for conventionalities; she had
+never been known to appear in the village street without a dainty hat
+or bonnet.
+
+Then, too, how had she heard that I was likely to be in the train at
+that hour? It must have been a mere chance that had brought her to the
+railway station, and in beckoning to me, she might have acted on a
+sudden impulse of which she had immediately felt ashamed. Overwhelmed
+by a sense of bashfulness, she had probably fled across the fields to
+seek shelter at home. As the last thought occurred to me, I smiled,
+and began to walk rapidly onward. It was not likely that I should
+overtake her before she gained the village; she was light of foot and
+well acquainted with all the short cuts and by-ways of the place. But I
+resolved to go straight to the door of Mrs. Newton's house, and ask for
+an interview with my old love before I slept that night.
+
+The evening was intensely sweet and still; showers of jessamine
+blossoms had drifted down from cottage porches, and the air was heavy
+with fragrance. Still walking at a quick pace, I came to a pause at
+length before the door of Fern Cottage, and felt instinctively among
+the ivy leaves for the handle of the bell. A startling peal resounded
+through the little house, and I waited, half confused yet happy on the
+threshold of May's old home. There was no sound of footsteps within; no
+one came to answer my summons. I stepped back into the road and looked
+up at the shuttered windows with a sudden sense of dismay. What did
+this darkness and silence mean? I pulled the bell again.
+
+"That is an empty house," said a voice at my elbow.
+
+I turned and beheld two ladies regarding me with evident astonishment.
+In the next instant, the younger of the two had recognised me. She was
+a Miss Reed, a girl who had been on intimate terms with May.
+
+"It is Mr. Medway, mamma," she cried.
+
+"It is indeed," said Mrs. Reed, holding out her hand. "I did not know
+you at first; it is a long time since we have seen you."
+
+"Did you think that the Newtons still lived at Fern Cottage?" asked Amy
+Reed.
+
+Her bright eyes were looking keenly at me in the dusk; there was
+nothing for it but to give her a straightforward answer.
+
+"Yes, I did," I replied.
+
+"How strange! You did not know that they left Longbeach in the spring?"
+
+"Left Longbeach!" I repeated, incredulously. "But I have seen May this
+very evening. She was at the railway station when my train came in."
+
+"You must have been mistaken," Amy Reed said, gravely. "The Newtons
+have gone to live in Richmond, and May, poor child, has been very ill."
+
+"Ill or well, she was at the railway station to-night," I declared
+stubbornly.
+
+And then followed an uneasy silence. A vague sense of fear seemed to
+possess us all three, as we stood mutely gazing at each other in the
+twilight.
+
+Mrs. Reed, a good, motherly woman, was the first to recover her usual
+manner.
+
+"You have been deceived by an accidental likeness," she said,
+cheerfully. "Such things often happen, you know. But what are you going
+to do to-night? Come home and be our guest, and we will give you the
+latest news of the Newtons."
+
+"Yes, do come," added Amy. "I had a letter from Charlotte Newton
+yesterday."
+
+Like one in a dream, I walked with them through the village street, my
+mind full of the vision I had seen, my heart sick with forebodings.
+
+The Reeds talked on, kindly anxious to dispel the gloom that was fast
+overwhelming me, and I soon learnt all that they had to tell.
+
+Some property in Richmond had been left to Mrs. Newton, and she had
+decided to go and live there, hoping that the change would be good for
+May. But, in spite of fresh air and new scenes, May had languished all
+through the summer, and at last became dangerously ill. For weeks,
+she lay on the very borders of death; few hopes were entertained, and
+when at length the crisis of the fever was past, it seemed impossible
+to rouse her from the state of apathy into which she had fallen. As
+Charlotte said, she did not care about getting well—she was willing,
+far more willing, to die than to live.
+
+I scarcely know how I got through that long night in Longbeach. Hour
+after hour was spent in pacing the room and longing for daybreak. If
+I closed my eyes, it was only to be haunted by that strange vision of
+May's pale face looking out of the folds of the fleecy, white shawl.
+Her smile had been verily a beautiful smile, almost too bright for any
+mortal features to have worn. And then that beckoning gesture! It had
+summoned me, perhaps, to follow her beyond the old earthly home to
+another home of everlasting rest.
+
+
+Early in the morning, I took leave of my kind hostess, and Amy insisted
+on accompanying me to the railway station. She talked hopefully and
+cheerfully as we walked, doing her utmost to banish my fear; and yet
+I could detect an undercurrent of sadness in her tone. My forebodings
+seemed to have communicated themselves to her; silence fell on us both
+as we approached the station, and she looked pale and anxious as we
+passed through the little gate that opened on the platform. Drake was
+there, as usual, and he, too, appeared grave and out of sorts.
+
+"You had a narrow escape last night, Mr. Medway," he said. "You took a
+ticket to Monksbury, didn't you? Yes, and you got out here. Well, if
+you had gone on, you would have been in for a great smash, sir, that's
+all."
+
+"A smash! Was there an accident last night?" asked Amy.
+
+I was incapable of uttering a word.
+
+"A dreadful smash, miss, about three miles down the line. Five killed,
+and ten or eleven injured. The traffic was stopped for hours."
+
+"Drake," said Amy, suddenly, "did you see anyone on the platform last
+evening when Mr. Medway got out of the train? He thought—he fancied he
+had caught sight of a friend."
+
+"You looked as if you had seen somebody, sir," remarked Drake, staring
+at me. "You jumped out of the carriage, smiling as if somebody was here
+to meet you; and there wasn't a soul on the platform but myself. I
+remember thinking it rather odd, sir, if you'll excuse my saying so."
+
+Amy and I exchanged glances.
+
+I had abandoned the intention of going to Monksbury; my sole object now
+was to get back to town, and then proceed to Richmond with as little
+delay as possible. There was no time for more conversation; the uptrain
+came thundering along, and I grasped Miss Reed's hand in silence.
+
+"Good-bye," she whispered; "we shall meet again, I hope, in happier
+days."
+
+
+It was still early in the afternoon when I reached Richmond, and hired
+a fly at the railway station. Then came a drive of a mile and a half,
+which sorely tried my patience, although I had many a fair glimpse of
+dark woodland and silver river. I saw all without seeing; my mind was
+full of the one absorbing question—was she living or dead? If she were
+dead, this bright world around would be a world of darkness to me; if
+she lived, I had the hope of beginning a new life.
+
+At last, the driver pulled up before the gate of a pretty little villa,
+set in the midst of trees and flowering shrubs. With a wild throb of
+anxiety I looked up at the windows—they were all thrown wide open, and
+unveiled, to admit the summer air and sunshine! My knock at the door
+was speedily answered, and Charlotte's face appeared in the entry.
+
+"You are come, Horace!" she said. "I have been expecting you all the
+morning."
+
+"Did Miss Reed send a telegram?" I asked.
+
+"No; but I had an impression that you would be here. I will explain—"
+
+"How is May?" I interrupted, breathlessly.
+
+"Better, much better. Oh, Horace, I have a strange thing to tell! But
+how tired and pale you are looking! Have you been ill, too?"
+
+"Not ill, but unhappy and restless," I said, letting her lead me into a
+little drawing-room. And then sinking down on a sofa, I looked at her
+in silence.
+
+Just for a moment, I could not ask another question. Since that strange
+vision had appeared to me at Longbeach, I had been without sleep, and
+almost without food. I had scarcely touched the meals that the Reeds
+had set before me, and after leaving them, there had been neither time
+nor thought for refreshment.
+
+"You are worn out," said Charlotte, gently. "I will bring you some wine
+before I say another word."
+
+She hurried away, and I was left alone in the pretty room with traces
+of May's handiwork around me.
+
+There were some of the old drawings that recalled a thousand memories.
+That sketch of the ruined castle—how well I remembered every line of
+it! May was a better artist than I, but I loved to assert myself on
+all occasions, and the clump of alder bushes had been put in by my
+hand. Then, too, there was the big sunflower which she had embroidered
+on a satin sofa-pillow, meekly accepting all my numerous suggestions
+about stitches and shades. And there were the peacock screens with
+which I had fanned her many a time on hot summer days; in fact, there
+was scarcely anything in the room that did not mutely remind me of
+the past. They are often intensely sad, these dumb appeals made to us
+by inanimate things—sadder even, I think, than the human voices which
+sometimes reproach us for our unkindness to the lost.
+
+The warm air came in languidly through the open windows, and bees
+were humming in the sunshine, hovering about the passion-flowers, and
+jessamine. The house was very quiet, and Charlotte's returning footstep
+sounded distinctly in the stillness.
+
+She persuaded me to eat and drink, assuring me all the while that May
+should be told of my arrival. I yielded to her gentle management with
+a docility that was quite new in me. Moreover, there is a delicious
+langour attending a sense of relief, and I was in no mood to strive
+with anyone.
+
+"You are looking more like your old self now," she said, after a pause;
+"it would have startled May to see you some minutes ago. There was a
+strained and anxious look in your face that made you seem a dozen years
+older, Horace. You must have had a shock."
+
+"I am not a nervous man," I answered; "but I will confess, Charlotte,
+that my nerves have been severely tried. Tell me more about May. I will
+talk of myself and my own concerns by-and-by."
+
+"She has been very ill," said Charlotte, gravely. "If you have seen
+the Reeds, you have heard of her illness. Her recovery has been a slow
+business. Indeed, I began to fear that she would not take pains to get
+well. One day was just like another; she stopped short at a certain
+point, and never seemed to get beyond it. She was always patient and
+gentle, you know. We should have hailed a little peevishness as a good
+sign; but it never came."
+
+There were tears in the good sister's eyes. She drew a long breath, and
+then suddenly sat down on the sofa by my side.
+
+"Horace, how could you have done so? How could you have parted with
+her so easily? She is so sweet, and good, and true. There are not many
+girls like her in the world."
+
+"I know it," I said, in a low voice; "and no one has ever filled her
+place."
+
+Charlotte's face brightened.
+
+"You cannot think how she pined and faded," she went on. "I am sure
+she tried to bear her sorrow bravely; but if the spirit was strong,
+the flesh was weak. Of course she would lay the blame of ill-health on
+any cause bet the true one. If she had a headache, she owed it to the
+east wind; if she looked white and weary, her walk had been too long;
+if she could not eat, it was always because she had over-tired herself
+with working, or drawing, or writing letters. Those innocent little
+falsehoods never deceived us for a moment; but there is something
+infinitely pathetic in a girl's attempts to hide a wounded heart. I
+used to go about looking for other girls who had suffered or were
+suffering in the same way—I had such a longing to speak tender words to
+them and comfort them, for May's sake."
+
+I held out my hand, and pressed hers in silence. How they put us to
+shame, these women, with their strong, natural affections and wide
+sympathies! I had never rightly understood the character of Charlotte
+Newton before.
+
+"Then we came here," she continued, "and instead of getting better, May
+grew worse. We thought it would be best for her to leave Longbeach,
+but she was not strong enough to bear the uprooting. We are not rich,
+Horace, but we have more money now than we have ever had in our lives;
+and yet it seemed that this happy change in our fortunes did no good
+to May. Poor darling! She pretended to be pleased with our new home!
+She tried to help us in arranging the books and furniture, and fell ill
+before half of the work was done."
+
+"But she is better, Charlotte? You said she was better," I cried. "Is
+not the danger past?"
+
+"Thank God, yes; I believe it is. And now, Horace, I am going to tell
+you something very strange."
+
+Charlotte paused, and drew a long breath; and the bees hummed loudly in
+the stillness. It had cost her a painful effort to speak calmly, and
+she had to wipe away her tears before she spoke again.
+
+"At five o'clock, yesterday afternoon, I brought a cup of cocoa to
+May, and said that her eyes were heavy with sleep. She was sitting in
+an armchair by the open window; the day was very sultry and still, and
+she seemed to pine greatly for a breath of cool air. After drinking the
+cocoa, she leaned back upon the pillows of her chair, and looked out
+dreamily on the flower-bed.
+
+"'I think I shall go to sleep, Charlotte,' she said. 'I can sleep
+better here than in my bed.'
+
+"'But the evening is coming, dear; it will be chill presently by the
+open window,' I replied.
+
+"'Don't shut it,' she pleaded, taking up her white woollen shawl, and
+wrapping it loosely round her head and shoulders. 'I shan't be cold
+now; and I like to doze in this chair.'
+
+"I would not thwart her, and in a few moments I saw her eyes close.
+Then I sat reading while she slumbered, glancing up from my book now
+and again to look at her dear face. The light faded; the air grew chill
+as the sun went down, and I could see that a mist was rising; but May's
+sleep was so profound that I did not like to run the risk of rousing
+her, and the window was left open. I could not shut it without noise,
+and I knew that sleep was the best of all tonics for our invalid.
+
+"At length she stirred uneasily, and some broken murmurs fell from
+her lips. I drew nearer, Horace, and heard your name. Poor child, I
+knew how often her spirit was with you in dreams, and I rose and stood
+bending over the chair, half disposed to wake her gently. But in an
+instant, her face changed; the look of pain was gone; she smiled (still
+with eyes fast closed), and drew a long peaceful breath. A few seconds
+more and she woke, still smiling, and clasped my hands in hers.
+
+"'Where am I, Charlotte?' she said. 'Still in this room? How strange! I
+must have travelled a long way in my sleep.'
+
+"'You have been dreaming, dear,' I answered."
+
+[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS.]
+
+"'It was a most vivid dream. Let me tell you about it,' she went on.
+'You must listen, Charlotte, and remember all that I say. I thought
+that in some inexplicable way I had received warning of a danger that
+threatened Horace. I knew not what the danger was; I only knew that
+I was made aware of it that I might save him. And then the air grew
+cool and damp; I was out in the gloaming, with only this shawl wrapped
+round my head, and found myself standing on the platform of the railway
+station at Longbeach. The down train was coming in. I heard the roar
+and saw the red signal lights, and as it crawled into the station, I
+caught sight of Horace looking out of a carriage window. In a second,
+I was at the door of that carriage, beckoning and praying him, by
+gesture, to get out. His face lit up, he obeyed me, and sprang upon the
+platform. I had saved him; the danger was escaped—and I woke.'
+
+"It was impossible for me to treat May's dream as lightly as, perhaps,
+I ought to have done. I saw that it had upon her a most happy
+influence. She passed a good night afterwards, and awoke this morning
+refreshed and strengthened.
+
+"'I think I shall soon see him,' she said; and I could not help sharing
+her hope.
+
+"Oh, Horace, how thankful I am that this hope was not mere delusion! I
+believe that your coming will save her life."
+
+"She has saved mine," I said, gravely. "As I live, it was the sight of
+her face on the platform that made me get out of that doomed train. I
+saw her, pale and eager, beckoning to me; she wore the white woollen
+shawl folded round her head, and vanished as I left the station."
+
+"What can we say about these things?" said Charlotte, in a thoughtful
+tone. "We laugh at them and try to explain them away, and sometimes
+refuse to hear of them at all. Yet, once or twice, perhaps, in a
+lifetime, some case of this kind is forced upon our notice. Spirit
+flies to spirit, unhindered by time or space, untrammelled by the
+bodily frame. Only He who gave the soul knows what that soul can do."
+
+My story is nearly ended now. After a little more talk with Charlotte,
+I was permitted to see May once more. You do not wish me to describe
+that meeting; you have yourselves loved and parted, and met again, and
+you can realise the blessedness of our reunion without any words of
+mine.
+
+The firm of Marford and Knox are prospering greatly, I believe, but I
+have nothing to do with their business nowadays. Very soon after my
+reconciliation with May, my uncle died, and I became, as you are aware,
+a richer man than I ever expected to be. You will come and stay with us
+in our home at Richmond? My wife has got back all her old brightness,
+and wants to welcome my friends. But when you get on confidential terms
+with her, don't say anything about her dream.
+
+
+
+                             THE END.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78060 ***
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+      A Young Man's Story │ Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78060 ***</div>
+
+<p>Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p>
+
+<p>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
+public domain.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001">
+</figure>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<h1>A<br>
+<br>
+YOUNG MAN'S<br>
+<br>
+STORY.</h1>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+BY<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t1">
+SARAH DOUDNEY<br>
+<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+The Girl's Own Annual Illustrated<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+VOL. VII. 1886.<br>
+<br>
+"FEATHERY FLAKES" EXTRA CHRISTMAS PART<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE LEISURE HOUR OFFICE<br>
+</p>
+
+<p class="t4">
+56, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3b">
+CONTENTS.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p><a href="#A_Yng_Mn_s">A YOUNG MAN'S STORY</a></p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t2">
+<a id="A_Yng_Mn_s"><b>A YOUNG MAN'S STORY.</b></a><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br></p>
+
+<p>YES, I confess I have known something which may fairly be termed a
+supernatural experience; but I did not care to talk about it in the
+smoking-room last night. Now that I am sitting here quietly with you
+and Susy, you may hear my story if you like. Perhaps it is hardly
+worth telling; perhaps you will both laugh at me when it is finished.
+However, it is the kind of story that ought to be told between the
+lights; so do not ring for the lamp till I have done.</p>
+
+<p>You have never heard much about my engagement to May Newton. There was
+nothing remarkable in the affair; it was only the oft-told tale of two
+persons being thrown together in a narrow sphere, and gliding naturally
+into close intimacy. I suppose you are aware that I met her first in
+an out-of-the-way village on the sea-coast where I went to stay with
+my uncle. It was the sort of place in which any man would have rapidly
+drifted into love-making—firstly, because there was no other way of
+killing time; and, secondly, because there was an air of romance about
+the spot. Although there were no great beauties in Longbeach, it had a
+certain charm of dreamy peace. The sea lulled it to sleep with drowsy
+murmurs; its ruined castle, grey and ivy-grown, was full of nooks where
+you might read or muse without fear of intrusion. There were one or two
+girls in the village who were prettier than May, and yet, after giving
+them all a fair trial, I settled down into a calm enjoyment of her
+companionship, and cared for no one else.</p>
+
+<p>In the beginning, I certainly had no serious intentions. I was not a
+marrying man, and the pleasure of "Shaking down loose blossoms from
+off a laden bough" had always been quite enough for such a trifler
+as myself. But does anyone ever know the precise moment when liking
+changes to love? I have looked back sometimes, and tried to see just
+the very spot where my path took that mysterious turn; but I never
+could discover it. All I know is that the jest became earnest, the
+shadow shaped itself into substance, and then the old idle days fled
+away for ever.</p>
+
+<p>We were not rich enough to think of a speedy marriage. She was living
+with a widowed mother and elder sister, and I knew from the first that
+their income was small. As for myself, you are pretty well acquainted
+with my means, and you know that I have only lately been smiled upon
+by fortune. We used to sketch out our future as we sat together on
+the shore. A golden future it was to be—bright as the sunlit sea that
+lay calm and glittering before our eyes. There were no storms to mar
+those tranquil days of late summer; hour after hour glided by in mellow
+sunshine, and the still atmosphere was full of that sense of ripeness
+which always deepens the feeling of repose.</p>
+
+<p>It was difficult to believe that a cold world was waiting outside our
+balmy paradise. Poor May, living her secluded country life, was utterly
+unable to realise the bitter struggle for existence which exhausts the
+heart and brain. While I was with her, the charm of her presence made
+me forget all about that struggle, and yet I knew that it had to be
+faced. We could not build our nest, like the birds, in some cranny of
+the old castle walls, and sing our lives away in an ivy bower. What a
+delightfully simple ending of a courtship that would be! I remember
+how we watched the happy feathered things flitting in and out of
+their haunts in the ruins, and wished that we could as easily provide
+ourselves with a home.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>The autumn had set in before I left Longbeach, and went up to town to
+seek my fortune. Through my uncle's influence, I had obtained the post
+of confidential clerk in a mercantile house; but the salary was small,
+and the business and its associations had few attractions for me. In
+fact, I hated the very name of business.</p>
+
+<p>Brought up to be an idler, I had never had any of the training that
+prepares a man for intercourse with the great City world. After a week
+or two of City life, I began to pine for the dreamy calm of Longbeach;
+I missed the lullaby of the sea, the soothing tones of May's sweet
+voice, the touch of her little hand. And then, as I grew more and
+more dissatisfied with my lot, I had moods of bitter discontent and
+impatience. I got angry with my uncle for not finding me a better
+place than the office of Marford and Knox, angry with myself for being
+unfitted to cope with the sharp City men around me—and angry (for no
+cause at all) with poor, innocent May.</p>
+
+<p>I never was a hero, you see; I set about doing my share of disagreeable
+work as badly as a man possibly could, and nothing sours the temper
+more than the secret consciousness of work ill done. So it came to pass
+that I went down to Longbeach, in an unamiable humour, to spend my
+holidays. It was December when I saw it again; our favourite paths were
+strewn with yellow leaves, the sea was cold and grey, and there was no
+singing of birds about the ruins. A chill breath seemed to have passed
+over both our hearts.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>MAY WAS SILENT AND MELANCHOLY.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>May was silent and melancholy on our skating expedition, distrustful of
+herself and me. Her eyes looked the question that she did not speak.
+Had we made a mistake when we plighted our troth among roses? Had our
+love only a flower's life—"sweet, not lasting?"</p>
+
+<p>About May herself there was always something fragile and flower-like.
+She was slender, and she was pretty, but it was a beauty of colouring
+and expression, not of feature. Her cheeks had a delicate bloom that
+came and went quickly; her eyes, which were large and clear, would
+shine with a brilliant light in moments of excitement. There was a
+charming natural grace in all her movements that reminded you of a
+blossom swaying in the wind. Everybody liked her, and even strangers
+were won by that sweet, picturesque face and soft voice, but hers was
+too sensitive a nature to thrive without sunshine. She seemed to pale
+and wither in my gloomy presence, like an anemone that is blighted by a
+bitter blast.</p>
+
+<p>It vexed me to find that I had a blighting influence; I missed the
+blushes and brightness that had welcomed me in the bygone summer days,
+and I was not careful to conceal my annoyance. She saw that I was
+displeased, and shrank away in a helpless fashion that was painful to
+see.</p>
+
+<p>"You are greatly changed, May," I said, one day, in an irritable tone.</p>
+
+<p>We were walking up the garden path together, with the dead leaves
+drifting about our feet. I saw the sudden whitening of her cheeks and
+lips, and a sharp pang smote me, even as I spoke. But I did not let her
+see that I felt anything.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," she answered, "I am changed, and I do not think my old self will
+ever come back. It was to that old gay self that you were pledged,
+Horace; I will not keep you bound to the dull girl of to-day. You used
+to say I was always bright, you know; well, I have lost my brightness,
+and we had better say good-bye."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you mean it?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I do," she said, firmly and coldly.</p>
+
+<p>All the pride that was latent in her gentle nature was up in arms. She
+felt herself undervalued, unappreciated.</p>
+
+<p>And so we parted—parted, although I knew I could never love another
+woman in the world as I had loved her! An hour or two later I had left
+the place, and the train was whirling me back to town.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>A few weeks afterwards my uncle followed me to London. He had grown
+tired of village life, he said, and wanted to end his days in the old
+West-end street where he was born. Not one word did he say about the
+Newtons; in fact, he had made no intimate friends in Longbeach, and had
+concerned himself very little with his neighbours and their doings. He
+was, as you know, a man of excessively retiring habits, and never cared
+for any kind of society. Thus it fell out that all communication with
+Longbeach was cut off, and there was not a single link left to connect
+me with the past.</p>
+
+<p>About this time, I began to take a greater interest in the affairs
+of our firm, and applied myself more closely to business than I had
+ever done before. I did not forget May, but I resolutely put her image
+into the background of memory. There were new friends to be made, new
+pleasures to be enjoyed, new ambitions to give a zest to life. Yet
+her sweet face was always lurking in my thoughts, ready to come to
+the front whenever I was weary and alone. Sometimes I caught sight of
+faces that had a look of hers—in trains, in omnibuses, in the streets.
+I suppose you do not know what sharp pain may come with a chance
+resemblance. Well, you are happy if you have never known it. I have
+seen my lost love looking at me through a stranger's eyes, many a time;
+and in the tone of a strange voice, I have heard an echo of the voice
+that was still.</p>
+
+<p>So life went on with me through the winter and spring, and far into the
+summer, and then it was proposed to take another partner into the firm
+of Marford and Knox.</p>
+
+<p>It occurred to use that I knew the very man who was wanted by my
+employers. He was an idle man with a good deal of money and leisure
+hanging uselessly upon his hands, and I resolved at once to seek him
+out and press him into our service. My idea was favourably received
+by Mr. Knox. There was no time, he said, to be lost; the grass must
+not grow under my feet; it would be wise to look up this friend of
+mine without delay. The last time I had heard of him he was living at
+Monksbury, and I decided to go there and call upon him.</p>
+
+<p>I was not unacquainted with Monksbury. It was a gay little
+watering-place, where I had idled away pleasant hours in days gone by.
+It lies on the South Coast, and when I stepped into the train I knew
+that I was booked for a tedious journey of three hours at least. It
+was growing late in the summer; the air was sultry and still, not a
+cloud flecked the blue of the afternoon sky, scarcely a breath of wind
+wandered in at the open windows, and I leaned back in my corner, too
+languid even to unfold the papers I had bought to while the time away.</p>
+
+<p>I could not read and I could not sleep. My eyes were always seeking for
+familiar objects in the scenery, and I thought of the bygone summer
+when I had travelled along this line, gay of heart, to Longbeach.</p>
+
+<p>By-and-by, we must stop at the well-known little station. I should
+catch a glimpse of the ruined tower and the quiet fields where May and
+I had dreamed our brief love dream together. While I mused, the day was
+waning, swiftly and yet softly, as such cloudless days always do fade.
+Longer and longer grew the shadows. A faint mist came creeping over the
+downs, the blue above melted into gold. The gloaming was stealing on
+apace, bringing the freshness of dew into the air, softening all the
+harsher features of the landscape, and adding an indescribable sense of
+rest to the scene.</p>
+
+<p>My companions were two middle-aged men, who had dozed peacefully
+through the greater part of the journey. As the light faded and the
+atmosphere cooled, they woke up and made a few remarks on the crops and
+the weather. I gathered from their talk that they, too, were going as
+far as Monksbury to join their wives and children in seaside lodgings.
+Their conversation did not interest me then, but later on I remembered
+it, and even recalled the faces and voices of the speakers. One of them
+(the elder of the two) spoke tenderly of a delicate little daughter who
+was gaining strength from the sea-breezes, and wondered if she would be
+looking brighter when he saw her again.</p>
+
+<p>Gazing out of the window, I watched the afterglow dying off the
+sea, and felt the briny breath of a rising tide. We were drawing
+near Longbeach; the train slackened speed, and crawled into the
+little station; and my heart beat fast as the platform came in
+sight. Were there any familiar figures to be seen? Yes; there was
+the station-master, and beside him a slight little woman with a
+fleecy-white woollen shawl wrapped carelessly about her head. The light
+was growing dim, yet not too dim for me to distinguish her face, which
+was turned towards me. Good heaven! It was May herself!</p>
+
+<p>She was very pale and thin; but at the sight of me, her features were
+lit up by the brightest smile I had ever seen. It was more than a
+smile—it was a glory. In an instant, she had advanced close to the
+carriage window, and was beckoning impatiently with a little ungloved
+hand. There was a pretty imperiousness in the gesture that reminded me
+of the May of old days. I never thought of resisting it for a moment—I
+should not have been a man if I had. Seizing my travelling-bag, I
+opened the door and jumped out upon the platform, alighting close to
+the toes of Drake, the station-master, who looked at me, I fancied,
+with some surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening, Mr. Medway," he said, in rather a constrained tone.</p>
+
+<p>"Good evening," I responded, absently, walking with him along the
+platform while May's light figure flitted on before us.</p>
+
+<p>At the gate, I gave up my ticket, and then turned into the old road
+that led straight to the village. It was a quiet road, shaded by tall
+trees, and sweet with the scent of cottage gardens; and May and I had
+often traversed it together. This was the very hour for explanations
+and reconciliations; we might stroll slowly homewards in the gloaming,
+and I would ask her, humbly and frankly, to forgive me for the past. I
+had never ceased to love her. Looking back on the last twelve months, I
+could see that her memory had been present with me in every action of
+my life. I had never shaken off the spell of her sweet influence, never
+offered to another woman the heart that was hers alone.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you, May?" I called, standing still in the silent road. But
+there was no reply. The light form had vanished.</p>
+
+<p>It was just one of her old, childish tricks, I thought. I remembered
+how she used to hide in the shrubbery of the garden, and spring out,
+light as a fay, when I least expected to find her. And yet it was
+strange that she should have walked from her cottage to the railway
+station with that woollen shawl wrapped round her head! Light-heated as
+she was, May had always had a respect for conventionalities; she had
+never been known to appear in the village street without a dainty hat
+or bonnet.</p>
+
+<p>Then, too, how had she heard that I was likely to be in the train at
+that hour? It must have been a mere chance that had brought her to the
+railway station, and in beckoning to me, she might have acted on a
+sudden impulse of which she had immediately felt ashamed. Overwhelmed
+by a sense of bashfulness, she had probably fled across the fields to
+seek shelter at home. As the last thought occurred to me, I smiled,
+and began to walk rapidly onward. It was not likely that I should
+overtake her before she gained the village; she was light of foot and
+well acquainted with all the short cuts and by-ways of the place. But I
+resolved to go straight to the door of Mrs. Newton's house, and ask for
+an interview with my old love before I slept that night.</p>
+
+<p>The evening was intensely sweet and still; showers of jessamine
+blossoms had drifted down from cottage porches, and the air was heavy
+with fragrance. Still walking at a quick pace, I came to a pause at
+length before the door of Fern Cottage, and felt instinctively among
+the ivy leaves for the handle of the bell. A startling peal resounded
+through the little house, and I waited, half confused yet happy on the
+threshold of May's old home. There was no sound of footsteps within; no
+one came to answer my summons. I stepped back into the road and looked
+up at the shuttered windows with a sudden sense of dismay. What did
+this darkness and silence mean? I pulled the bell again.</p>
+
+<p>"That is an empty house," said a voice at my elbow.</p>
+
+<p>I turned and beheld two ladies regarding me with evident astonishment.
+In the next instant, the younger of the two had recognised me. She was
+a Miss Reed, a girl who had been on intimate terms with May.</p>
+
+<p>"It is Mr. Medway, mamma," she cried.</p>
+
+<p>"It is indeed," said Mrs. Reed, holding out her hand. "I did not know
+you at first; it is a long time since we have seen you."</p>
+
+<p>"Did you think that the Newtons still lived at Fern Cottage?" asked Amy
+Reed.</p>
+
+<p>Her bright eyes were looking keenly at me in the dusk; there was
+nothing for it but to give her a straightforward answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I did," I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"How strange! You did not know that they left Longbeach in the spring?"</p>
+
+<p>"Left Longbeach!" I repeated, incredulously. "But I have seen May this
+very evening. She was at the railway station when my train came in."</p>
+
+<p>"You must have been mistaken," Amy Reed said, gravely. "The Newtons
+have gone to live in Richmond, and May, poor child, has been very ill."</p>
+
+<p>"Ill or well, she was at the railway station to-night," I declared
+stubbornly.</p>
+
+<p>And then followed an uneasy silence. A vague sense of fear seemed to
+possess us all three, as we stood mutely gazing at each other in the
+twilight.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Reed, a good, motherly woman, was the first to recover her usual
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>"You have been deceived by an accidental likeness," she said,
+cheerfully. "Such things often happen, you know. But what are you going
+to do to-night? Come home and be our guest, and we will give you the
+latest news of the Newtons."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do come," added Amy. "I had a letter from Charlotte Newton
+yesterday."</p>
+
+<p>Like one in a dream, I walked with them through the village street, my
+mind full of the vision I had seen, my heart sick with forebodings.</p>
+
+<p>The Reeds talked on, kindly anxious to dispel the gloom that was fast
+overwhelming me, and I soon learnt all that they had to tell.</p>
+
+<p>Some property in Richmond had been left to Mrs. Newton, and she had
+decided to go and live there, hoping that the change would be good for
+May. But, in spite of fresh air and new scenes, May had languished all
+through the summer, and at last became dangerously ill. For weeks,
+she lay on the very borders of death; few hopes were entertained, and
+when at length the crisis of the fever was past, it seemed impossible
+to rouse her from the state of apathy into which she had fallen. As
+Charlotte said, she did not care about getting well—she was willing,
+far more willing, to die than to live.</p>
+
+<p>I scarcely know how I got through that long night in Longbeach. Hour
+after hour was spent in pacing the room and longing for daybreak. If
+I closed my eyes, it was only to be haunted by that strange vision of
+May's pale face looking out of the folds of the fleecy, white shawl.
+Her smile had been verily a beautiful smile, almost too bright for any
+mortal features to have worn. And then that beckoning gesture! It had
+summoned me, perhaps, to follow her beyond the old earthly home to
+another home of everlasting rest.</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>Early in the morning, I took leave of my kind hostess, and Amy insisted
+on accompanying me to the railway station. She talked hopefully and
+cheerfully as we walked, doing her utmost to banish my fear; and yet
+I could detect an undercurrent of sadness in her tone. My forebodings
+seemed to have communicated themselves to her; silence fell on us both
+as we approached the station, and she looked pale and anxious as we
+passed through the little gate that opened on the platform. Drake was
+there, as usual, and he, too, appeared grave and out of sorts.</p>
+
+<p>"You had a narrow escape last night, Mr. Medway," he said. "You took a
+ticket to Monksbury, didn't you? Yes, and you got out here. Well, if
+you had gone on, you would have been in for a great smash, sir, that's
+all."</p>
+
+<p>"A smash! Was there an accident last night?" asked Amy.</p>
+
+<p>I was incapable of uttering a word.</p>
+
+<p>"A dreadful smash, miss, about three miles down the line. Five killed,
+and ten or eleven injured. The traffic was stopped for hours."</p>
+
+<p>"Drake," said Amy, suddenly, "did you see anyone on the platform last
+evening when Mr. Medway got out of the train? He thought—he fancied he
+had caught sight of a friend."</p>
+
+<p>"You looked as if you had seen somebody, sir," remarked Drake, staring
+at me. "You jumped out of the carriage, smiling as if somebody was here
+to meet you; and there wasn't a soul on the platform but myself. I
+remember thinking it rather odd, sir, if you'll excuse my saying so."</p>
+
+<p>Amy and I exchanged glances.</p>
+
+<p>I had abandoned the intention of going to Monksbury; my sole object now
+was to get back to town, and then proceed to Richmond with as little
+delay as possible. There was no time for more conversation; the uptrain
+came thundering along, and I grasped Miss Reed's hand in silence.</p>
+
+<p>"Good-bye," she whispered; "we shall meet again, I hope, in happier
+days."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>It was still early in the afternoon when I reached Richmond, and hired
+a fly at the railway station. Then came a drive of a mile and a half,
+which sorely tried my patience, although I had many a fair glimpse of
+dark woodland and silver river. I saw all without seeing; my mind was
+full of the one absorbing question—was she living or dead? If she were
+dead, this bright world around would be a world of darkness to me; if
+she lived, I had the hope of beginning a new life.</p>
+
+<p>At last, the driver pulled up before the gate of a pretty little villa,
+set in the midst of trees and flowering shrubs. With a wild throb of
+anxiety I looked up at the windows—they were all thrown wide open, and
+unveiled, to admit the summer air and sunshine! My knock at the door
+was speedily answered, and Charlotte's face appeared in the entry.</p>
+
+<p>"You are come, Horace!" she said. "I have been expecting you all the
+morning."</p>
+
+<p>"Did Miss Reed send a telegram?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"No; but I had an impression that you would be here. I will explain—"</p>
+
+<p>"How is May?" I interrupted, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Better, much better. Oh, Horace, I have a strange thing to tell! But
+how tired and pale you are looking! Have you been ill, too?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not ill, but unhappy and restless," I said, letting her lead me into a
+little drawing-room. And then sinking down on a sofa, I looked at her
+in silence.</p>
+
+<p>Just for a moment, I could not ask another question. Since that strange
+vision had appeared to me at Longbeach, I had been without sleep, and
+almost without food. I had scarcely touched the meals that the Reeds
+had set before me, and after leaving them, there had been neither time
+nor thought for refreshment.</p>
+
+<p>"You are worn out," said Charlotte, gently. "I will bring you some wine
+before I say another word."</p>
+
+<p>She hurried away, and I was left alone in the pretty room with traces
+of May's handiwork around me.</p>
+
+<p>There were some of the old drawings that recalled a thousand memories.
+That sketch of the ruined castle—how well I remembered every line of
+it! May was a better artist than I, but I loved to assert myself on
+all occasions, and the clump of alder bushes had been put in by my
+hand. Then, too, there was the big sunflower which she had embroidered
+on a satin sofa-pillow, meekly accepting all my numerous suggestions
+about stitches and shades. And there were the peacock screens with
+which I had fanned her many a time on hot summer days; in fact, there
+was scarcely anything in the room that did not mutely remind me of
+the past. They are often intensely sad, these dumb appeals made to us
+by inanimate things—sadder even, I think, than the human voices which
+sometimes reproach us for our unkindness to the lost.</p>
+
+<p>The warm air came in languidly through the open windows, and bees
+were humming in the sunshine, hovering about the passion-flowers, and
+jessamine. The house was very quiet, and Charlotte's returning footstep
+sounded distinctly in the stillness.</p>
+
+<p>She persuaded me to eat and drink, assuring me all the while that May
+should be told of my arrival. I yielded to her gentle management with
+a docility that was quite new in me. Moreover, there is a delicious
+langour attending a sense of relief, and I was in no mood to strive
+with anyone.</p>
+
+<p>"You are looking more like your old self now," she said, after a pause;
+"it would have startled May to see you some minutes ago. There was a
+strained and anxious look in your face that made you seem a dozen years
+older, Horace. You must have had a shock."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not a nervous man," I answered; "but I will confess, Charlotte,
+that my nerves have been severely tried. Tell me more about May. I will
+talk of myself and my own concerns by-and-by."</p>
+
+<p>"She has been very ill," said Charlotte, gravely. "If you have seen
+the Reeds, you have heard of her illness. Her recovery has been a slow
+business. Indeed, I began to fear that she would not take pains to get
+well. One day was just like another; she stopped short at a certain
+point, and never seemed to get beyond it. She was always patient and
+gentle, you know. We should have hailed a little peevishness as a good
+sign; but it never came."</p>
+
+<p>There were tears in the good sister's eyes. She drew a long breath, and
+then suddenly sat down on the sofa by my side.</p>
+
+<p>"Horace, how could you have done so? How could you have parted with
+her so easily? She is so sweet, and good, and true. There are not many
+girls like her in the world."</p>
+
+<p>"I know it," I said, in a low voice; "and no one has ever filled her
+place."</p>
+
+<p>Charlotte's face brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"You cannot think how she pined and faded," she went on. "I am sure
+she tried to bear her sorrow bravely; but if the spirit was strong,
+the flesh was weak. Of course she would lay the blame of ill-health on
+any cause bet the true one. If she had a headache, she owed it to the
+east wind; if she looked white and weary, her walk had been too long;
+if she could not eat, it was always because she had over-tired herself
+with working, or drawing, or writing letters. Those innocent little
+falsehoods never deceived us for a moment; but there is something
+infinitely pathetic in a girl's attempts to hide a wounded heart. I
+used to go about looking for other girls who had suffered or were
+suffering in the same way—I had such a longing to speak tender words to
+them and comfort them, for May's sake."</p>
+
+<p>I held out my hand, and pressed hers in silence. How they put us to
+shame, these women, with their strong, natural affections and wide
+sympathies! I had never rightly understood the character of Charlotte
+Newton before.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we came here," she continued, "and instead of getting better, May
+grew worse. We thought it would be best for her to leave Longbeach,
+but she was not strong enough to bear the uprooting. We are not rich,
+Horace, but we have more money now than we have ever had in our lives;
+and yet it seemed that this happy change in our fortunes did no good
+to May. Poor darling! She pretended to be pleased with our new home!
+She tried to help us in arranging the books and furniture, and fell ill
+before half of the work was done."</p>
+
+<p>"But she is better, Charlotte? You said she was better," I cried. "Is
+not the danger past?"</p>
+
+<p>"Thank God, yes; I believe it is. And now, Horace, I am going to tell
+you something very strange."</p>
+
+<p>Charlotte paused, and drew a long breath; and the bees hummed loudly in
+the stillness. It had cost her a painful effort to speak calmly, and
+she had to wipe away her tears before she spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"At five o'clock, yesterday afternoon, I brought a cup of cocoa to
+May, and said that her eyes were heavy with sleep. She was sitting in
+an armchair by the open window; the day was very sultry and still, and
+she seemed to pine greatly for a breath of cool air. After drinking the
+cocoa, she leaned back upon the pillows of her chair, and looked out
+dreamily on the flower-bed.</p>
+
+<p>"'I think I shall go to sleep, Charlotte,' she said. 'I can sleep
+better here than in my bed.'</p>
+
+<p>"'But the evening is coming, dear; it will be chill presently by the
+open window,' I replied.</p>
+
+<p>"'Don't shut it,' she pleaded, taking up her white woollen shawl, and
+wrapping it loosely round her head and shoulders. 'I shan't be cold
+now; and I like to doze in this chair.'</p>
+
+<p>"I would not thwart her, and in a few moments I saw her eyes close.
+Then I sat reading while she slumbered, glancing up from my book now
+and again to look at her dear face. The light faded; the air grew chill
+as the sun went down, and I could see that a mist was rising; but May's
+sleep was so profound that I did not like to run the risk of rousing
+her, and the window was left open. I could not shut it without noise,
+and I knew that sleep was the best of all tonics for our invalid.</p>
+
+<p>"At length she stirred uneasily, and some broken murmurs fell from
+her lips. I drew nearer, Horace, and heard your name. Poor child, I
+knew how often her spirit was with you in dreams, and I rose and stood
+bending over the chair, half disposed to wake her gently. But in an
+instant, her face changed; the look of pain was gone; she smiled (still
+with eyes fast closed), and drew a long peaceful breath. A few seconds
+more and she woke, still smiling, and clasped my hands in hers.</p>
+
+<p>"'Where am I, Charlotte?' she said. 'Still in this room? How strange! I
+must have travelled a long way in my sleep.'</p>
+
+<p>"'You have been dreaming, dear,' I answered."</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.3125em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003">
+</figure>
+<p class="t4">
+<b>AN OLD-FASHIONED CHRISTMAS.</b><br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br></p>
+
+<p>"'It was a most vivid dream. Let me tell you about it,' she went on.
+'You must listen, Charlotte, and remember all that I say. I thought
+that in some inexplicable way I had received warning of a danger that
+threatened Horace. I knew not what the danger was; I only knew that
+I was made aware of it that I might save him. And then the air grew
+cool and damp; I was out in the gloaming, with only this shawl wrapped
+round my head, and found myself standing on the platform of the railway
+station at Longbeach. The down train was coming in. I heard the roar
+and saw the red signal lights, and as it crawled into the station, I
+caught sight of Horace looking out of a carriage window. In a second,
+I was at the door of that carriage, beckoning and praying him, by
+gesture, to get out. His face lit up, he obeyed me, and sprang upon the
+platform. I had saved him; the danger was escaped—and I woke.'</p>
+
+<p>"It was impossible for me to treat May's dream as lightly as, perhaps,
+I ought to have done. I saw that it had upon her a most happy
+influence. She passed a good night afterwards, and awoke this morning
+refreshed and strengthened.</p>
+
+<p>"'I think I shall soon see him,' she said; and I could not help sharing
+her hope.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Horace, how thankful I am that this hope was not mere delusion! I
+believe that your coming will save her life."</p>
+
+<p>"She has saved mine," I said, gravely. "As I live, it was the sight of
+her face on the platform that made me get out of that doomed train. I
+saw her, pale and eager, beckoning to me; she wore the white woollen
+shawl folded round her head, and vanished as I left the station."</p>
+
+<p>"What can we say about these things?" said Charlotte, in a thoughtful
+tone. "We laugh at them and try to explain them away, and sometimes
+refuse to hear of them at all. Yet, once or twice, perhaps, in a
+lifetime, some case of this kind is forced upon our notice. Spirit
+flies to spirit, unhindered by time or space, untrammelled by the
+bodily frame. Only He who gave the soul knows what that soul can do."</p>
+
+<p>My story is nearly ended now. After a little more talk with Charlotte,
+I was permitted to see May once more. You do not wish me to describe
+that meeting; you have yourselves loved and parted, and met again, and
+you can realise the blessedness of our reunion without any words of
+mine.</p>
+
+<p>The firm of Marford and Knox are prospering greatly, I believe, but I
+have nothing to do with their business nowadays. Very soon after my
+reconciliation with May, my uncle died, and I became, as you are aware,
+a richer man than I ever expected to be. You will come and stay with us
+in our home at Richmond? My wife has got back all her old brightness,
+and wants to welcome my friends. But when you get on confidential terms
+with her, don't say anything about her dream.</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<p class="t3">
+THE END.<br>
+</p>
+
+<p><br><br><br></p>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78060 ***</div>
+</body>
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+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78060)