ame for many years. But the invitation was civil, and as he was to
remain in the neighbourhood, it might be that he should again have an
opportunity of seeing Mary Lawrie or Mr Whittlestaff. He found that
Little Alresford Park lay between the town and Mr Blake's church,
so that he was at the gate sooner than he expected. He went in, and
having time on his hands, deviated from the road and went up a hill,
which was indeed one of the downs, though between the park paling.
Here he saw deer feeding, and he came after a while to a beech grove.
He had now gone down the hill on the other side, and found himself
close to as pretty a labourer's cottage as he remembered ever to have
seen. It was still June, and it was hot, and he had been on his legs
nearly the whole morning. Then he began to talk, or rather to think
to himself. "What a happy fellow is that man Montagu Blake! He
has every thing,--not that he wants, but that he thinks that he
wants. The work of his life is merely play. He is going to marry a
wife,--not who is, but whom he thinks to be perfection. He looks as
though he were never ill a day in his life. How would he do if he
were grubbing for diamonds amidst the mud and dust of Kimberley?
Instead of that, he can throw himself down on such a spot as this,
and meditate his sermon among the beech-trees." Then he began to
think whether the sermon could be made to have some flavour of the
beech-trees, and how much better in that case it would be, and as he
so thought he fell asleep.

He had not been asleep very long, perhaps not five minutes, when he
became aware in his slumbers that an old man was standing over him.
One does thus become conscious of things before the moment of waking
has arrived, so positively as to give to the sleeper a false sense of
the reality of existence. "I wonder whether you can be Mr Gordon,"
said the old man.

"But I am," said Gordon. "I wonder how you know me."

"Because I expect you." There was something very mysterious
in this,--which, however, lost all mystery as soon as he was
sufficiently awake to think of things. "You are Mr Blake's friend."

"Yes; I am Mr Blake's friend."

"And I am Mr Hall. I didn't expect to find you sleeping here in Gar
Wood. But when I find a strange gentleman asleep in Gar Wood, I put
two and two together, and conclude that you must be Mr Gordon."

"It's the prettiest place in all the world, I think."

"Yes; we are rather proud of Gar Wood,--especially whe