retorted. And she went off among the flowers, turning
once to laugh back at him over her shoulder.

Antony stood looking after her, till she disappeared in the distance.
Then he went slowly towards the gate. As he came near it, he saw a figure
standing outside. But he could not see it distinctly, because, curiously
enough, though the garden was full of sunshine, it was dark outside the
gate, as if it were night.

"Who are you?" asked Antony.

The figure made no reply.

"What do you want?" he asked.

Still the figure made no reply.

Antony felt his heart beating quickly, madly. And then, suddenly from a
distance behind him, he heard a gay mocking voice.

"Why don't you open the gate, silly? Can't you hear her knocking?"

Still Antony stood irresolute, though he heard little taps falling on the
iron.

"Open it, open it," came the sweet mocking voice, this time with a
suspicion of pleading in it.

Antony went towards the gate. A great key was sticking in the iron lock.
He took hold of it and found it needed the strength of both his hands to
turn. Then he flung the gate wide open. The figure moved slowly through
the gate, and into the full sunshine.

"Antony," she said smiling.

"You! You at last!" he cried.

And he woke, to find he had cried the words aloud. He sat up in bed. A
white pigeon was on the sill outside his window, tapping with its beak on
the glass.

Of course it was an entirely trifling incident, and probably he was
superstitious to attach any real importance to it. Nevertheless it had a
very marked influence on his spirits.

Doubtless it was as well it had, since about this time a certain
happening occurred, which, though it did not precisely depress him, most
assuredly caused him considerable anger and indignation.

In spite of the somewhat hermit-like life he led, he nevertheless had
something of an acquaintance with his fellow-creatures. Among these
fellow-creatures there was one, Job Grantley, a labourer on the home
farm, possessed of a pretty, rather fragile wife, and a baby of about
three months old. Antony had a kindly feeling for the fellow, and often
they exchanged the time of day when meeting on the road, or when Job
chanced to pass Antony's garden in the evening.

One evening Antony, busy weeding his small flagged path, saw Job in the
road.

"Good evening," said Antony; and then he perceived by the other's face,
that matters were not as they might be.

"Sure, what's amiss