n will be awfully keen for you to come and stay with us.
He is not half bad when you know him, and there will be his sister, Mrs.
Doone, and her daughter left there after the wedding. It will be simply
disgusting if you and Mr. Stormer don't come. I wish I could write all I
feel about my lovely time in the Tyrol, but you must please imagine it."

And just as he had not known how to address her, so he could not tell
how to subscribe himself, and only put "Mark Lennan."

He posted the letter at Exeter, where he had some time to wait; and his
mind moved still more from past to future. Now that he was nearing home
he began to think of his sister. In two days she would be gone to
Italy; he would not see her again for a long time, and a whole crowd of
memories began to stretch out hands to him. How she and he used to
walk together in the walled garden, and on the sunk croquet ground; she
telling him stories, her arm round his neck, because she was two years
older, and taller than he in those days. Their first talk each holidays,
when he came back to her; the first tea--with unlimited jam--in the old
mullion-windowed, flower-chintzed schoolroom, just himself and her and
old Tingle (Miss Tring, the ancient governess, whose chaperonage would
now be gone), and sometimes that kid Sylvia, when she chanced to be
staying there with her mother. Cicely had always understood him when
he explained to her how inferior school was, because nobody took any
interest in beasts or birds except to kill them; or in drawing, or
making things, or anything decent. They would go off together, rambling
along the river, or up the park, where everything looked so jolly and
wild--the ragged oak-trees, and huge boulders, of whose presence old
Godden, the coachman, had said: "I can't think but what these ha'
been washed here by the Flood, Mast' Mark!" These and a thousand other
memories beset his conscience now. And as the train drew closer to their
station, he eagerly made ready to jump out and greet her. There was
the honeysuckle full out along the paling of the platform over the
waiting-room; wonderful, this year--and there was she, standing alone on
the platform. No, it was not Cicely! He got out with a blank sensation,
as if those memories had played him false. It was a girl, indeed, but
she only looked about sixteen, and wore a sunbonnet that hid her hair
and half her face. She had on a blue frock, and some honeysuckle in her
waist-belt. She seemed