w, I believe that all mighty circumstances are born tiny, like
children, at some given moment. As a rule, they usually seem so
insignificant, so puny at the birth, that we take no heed of the fact
that they have come into being, and that, in process of time, they will
grow to might, perhaps to horrible majesty. Only, when we trace events
backwards do we know the exact moment when their first faint wail broke
upon our mental hearing. Generally this is so. But I affirm that I felt,
at the very time of its first coming, the presence of the shadow, the
tiny shadow of the events which I am about to describe. I even said to
myself, "This is a birthday."

Among many improvements on my estate I had built a new Manse, in which,
of course, our new minister lived. The old habitation of Doctor
Wedderburn stood empty and deserted among its sycamores. One winter's
day Hugh Fraser, Kate, and I, in our walk, passed along the lane by the
now ragged privet hedge through which I had so often observed the
doctor's agonies. It was a black and white day of frost, which crawled
along the dark trees and outlined twig and branch. The air was misty,
and distant objects assumed a mysterious importance. Slight sounds, too,
suggested infinite activities to the mind. As we neared the Manse, Hugh
Fraser said to me:--

"Who lives in that old house?"

"Nobody," I replied.

Hugh glanced at me very doubtfully.

"Nobody," I reiterated.

"Really," he rejoined. "But the garden?"

"Is deserted."

"Hardly," he exclaimed, pointing with his hand. "Look!"

"Yes," said Kate, as if in agreement.

And she grew duskily pale.

I looked over the privet hedge, seeing only the rank and frost-bitten
grass, the wild bushes and narrow mossy paths. Then I stared at my two
companions in silence. Their eyes appeared to follow the onward movement
of some object invisible to me.

"The old man makes himself at home," Hugh said. "He has gone into the
summer-house now."

"Yes," Kate said again.

There was fear in her eyes.

I felt suddenly that the air was very chill.

"That house is unoccupied," I repeated shortly.

We all walked on in silence. But, through our silence, it certainly
seemed to me that there came a sound of some one lamenting in the
garden.

A day or two later Fraser said to me:--

"Why is that old house shut up?"

"Who would occupy it?" I said. "Of course, if I could get a tenant--"

"I'll take it," he rejoined quickly. "You can let me