onfessed that our knowledge of the universe
is limited. If Aunt Charlotte, for instance, had seen a table rise
into the air of itself in broad daylight she would have said, "I
certainly saw it happen, and as an honest woman I can't deny it; but I
don't believe it for all that." The succession of abnormal
occurrences, however, of which Austin had been the subject, had begun
to undermine her dogmatism; and this last event, the interposition of
something, she knew not what, to save her from a horrible accident,
appealed to her very strongly. There was a pathos, too, about the part
played in it by Austin which touched her to the quick, and she
reproached herself keenly for the injustice with which she had treated
him in her unreasoning anger.

She felt a great lump come in her throat as he ceased speaking, and
for a moment or two found it impossible to answer. "A voice!" she
uttered at last. "What sort of a voice, Austin?"

"It sounded like a woman's," he replied.

Chapter the Ninth

From this time forward Austin seemed to live a double life. Perhaps it
would be more accurate to say that he inhabited two worlds. Around him
the flowers bloomed in the garden, Lubin worked and whistled, Aunt
Charlotte bustled about her duties, and everything went on as usual.
But beyond and behind all this there was something else. The dreams
and reveries that had hitherto invaded him became felt realities; he
no longer had any doubt that he was encircled by beings whom he could
not see, but who were none the less actual for that. And the curious
feature of the case was that it all seemed perfectly natural to him,
and so far from feeling frightened, or suffering from any sense of
being haunted, he experienced a sort of pleasure in it, a grateful
consciousness of friendly though unseen companionship that heightened
his joy in life. Who these invisible guardians could be, of course he
had no idea; it was enough for him just then to know that they were
there, and that, by their timely intervention on no fewer than three
ocasions, they had given ample proof that they both loved and trusted
him.

Aunt Charlotte, on her side, could not but acknowledge that there must
be "something in it," as she said; it could not all be nothing but
Austin's fancy. She remembered that people who wrote hymns and poems
talked sometimes of guardian angels, and it was possible that a belief
in guardian angels might be orthodox. It was even conceivable that