.

That evening, as I sat with Edith in the music room, listening to some
pieces in the programme of that day which had attracted my notice, I
took advantage of an interval in the music to say, "I have a question
to ask you which I fear is rather indiscreet."

"I am quite sure it is not that," she replied, encouragingly.

"I am in the position of an eavesdropper," I continued, "who, having
overheard a little of a matter not intended for him, though seeming to
concern him, has the impudence to come to the speaker for the rest."

"An eavesdropper!" she repeated, looking puzzled.

"Yes," I said, "but an excusable one, as I think you will admit."

"This is very mysterious," she replied.

"Yes," said I, "so mysterious that often I have doubted whether I
really overheard at all what I am going to ask you about, or only
dreamed it. I want you to tell me. The matter is this: When I was
coming out of that sleep of a century, the first impression of which I
was conscious was of voices talking around me, voices that afterwards
I recognized as your father's, your mother's, and your own. First, I
remember your father's voice saying, 'He is going to open his eyes. He
had better see but one person at first.' Then you said, if I did not
dream it all, 'Promise me, then, that you will not tell him.' Your
father seemed to hesitate about promising, but you insisted, and your
mother interposing, he finally promised, and when I opened my eyes I
saw only him."

I had been quite serious when I said that I was not sure that I had
not dreamed the conversation I fancied I had overheard, so
incomprehensible was it that these people should know anything of me,
a contemporary of their great-grandparents, which I did not know
myself. But when I saw the effect of my words upon Edith, I knew that
it was no dream, but another mystery, and a more puzzling one than any
I had before encountered. For from the moment that the drift of my
question became apparent, she showed indications of the most acute
embarrassment. Her eyes, always so frank and direct in expression, had
dropped in a panic before mine, while her face crimsoned from neck to
forehead.

"Pardon me," I said, as soon as I had recovered from bewilderment at
the extraordinary effect of my words. "It seems, then, that I was not
dreaming. There is some secret, something about me, which you are
withholding from me. Really, doesn't it seem a little hard that a
person in my position shoul