or it began a new era in my existence. I awoke on the morning of
that day bright and cheerful, with not a cloud that was worth the
mentioning upon the sky of my life. When I retired to rest all was
changed. I awoke a boy, I went to sleep a man. But for that day these
confessions would never have been written; the events I shall relate
would never have come to pass. Even now, as I look back, my heart
beats more rapidly at the thought of it, and a strange feeling
possesses me, which reminds me of what I felt then.

I remember how anxiously I saw the horses being attached to the old
family carriage, and with what joy I saw my father and mother driven
away to meet the coach by which Wilfred was to come. I longed, as much
as any of them, to see him, although I said but little about it, for,
in spite of his apparent dislike of me, he was still my brother, and I
loved him very much.

We all stood at the old hall door as the carriage drove up, and watched
my father alight. Then another form stepped on the hard gravel, and
carefully assisted my mother.

I should scarcely have recognised him as my brother. He had gone away
but little more than a boy, he had returned a handsome, cultured man.
He was not big and clumsy like myself, but tall and lithe, and yet
exceedingly muscular. There was grace in his every movement, while
refinement was stamped upon his handsome face. I could not help
feeling the contrast between us. I was a great boorish country clown,
he was as handsome as a Greek god. Surely, too, there was a look of
malicious satisfaction on my mother's face as she saw the difference
between us. He seemed to change the very atmosphere of the house.
Everything had a new meaning when associated with him. My sisters
looked at him with admiration, while Ruth was evidently fascinated by
the charm of his presence.

In his boyish days he had often seemed sulky, but that was all gone.
His demeanour towards my father was at once respectful and
affectionate, to his mother he was kind and loving, to the girls he was
gallant and considerate, while to me I thought he extended an air of
patronage.

The old Wilfred had gone, and a new Wilfred had taken his place; a
Wilfred who was brilliant, gallant, scholarly.

I remember that we dined early that day, and after dinner I went out
alone, as I often did, and sat upon the great headland which stood out
against the sea. I remained there some time thinking, and wondered
w