and she peeped in. At first,
after the brilliant sunlight without, she saw nothing except the great
emptiness of the place with its splendid oak roof on the repair of
which the late incumbent had spent so much, since as is common in
monkish buildings, the windows were high and narrow. Presently,
however, she perceived a little figure seated in the shadow at the end
of the long oaken refectory table, that at which the monks had eaten,
which still remained where it had stood for hundreds of years, one of
the fixtures of the house, and knew it for that of Godfrey, Mr.
Knight's son. Gliding towards him quietly she saw that he was asleep
and stopped to study him.

He was a beautiful boy, pale just now for he had recovered but recently
from some childish illness. His hair was dark and curling, dark, too,
were his eyes, though these she could not see, and the lashes over
them, while his hands were long and fine. He looked most lonely and
pathetic, there in the big oak chair that had so often accommodated the
portly forms of departed abbots, and her warm heart went out towards
him. Of course Isobel knew him, but not very well, for he was a shy lad
and her father had never encouraged intimacy between the Abbey House
and the Hall.

Somehow she had the idea that he was unhappy, for indeed he looked so
even in his sleep, though perhaps this was to be accounted for by a
paper of unfinished sums before him. Sympathy welled up in Isobel, who
remembered the oppressions of the last governess--her of the inkpot.
Sympathy, yes, and more than sympathy, for of a sudden she felt as she
had never felt before. She loved the little lad as though he were her
brother. A strange affinity for him came home to her, although she did
not define it thus; it was as if she knew that her spirit was intimate
with his, yes, and always had been and always would be intimate.

This subtle knowledge went through Isobel like fire and shook her. She
turned pale, her nostrils expanded, her large eyes opened and she
sighed. She did more indeed. Drawn by some over-mastering impulse she
drew near to Godfrey and kissed him gently on the forehead, then glided
back again frightened and ashamed at her own act.

Now he woke up; she felt his dark eyes looking at her. Then he spoke in
a slow, puzzled voice, saying:

"I have had such a funny dream. I dreamed that a spirit came and kissed
me. I did not see it, but I think it must have been my mother's."

"Why?" asked