THE year -- what an eventful year it had been for me!-- was drawing to a close, and the brief wintry day hardly gave light enoughto recognize the old familiar objects, bound up with so many happy memories,as the train glided round the last bend into the station, and the hoarsecry of `Elveston! Elveston!' resounded along the platform.

It was sad to return to the place, and to feel that Ishould never again see the glad smile of welcome, that had awaited me hereso few months ago. `And yet, if I were to find him here,' I muttered, asin solitary state I followed the porter, who was wheeling my luggage ona barrow, `and if he were to "strike a sudden hand in mine, And ask a thousandthings of home", I should not -- no, "I should not feel it to be strange"!'

Having given directions to have my luggage taken to myold lodgings, I strolled off alone, to pay a visit, before settling downin my own quarters, to my dear old friends -- for such I indeed felt themto be, though it was barely half a year since first we met -- the Earland his widowed daughter.

The shortest way, as I well remembered, was to cross throughthe churchyard. I pushed open the little wicket-gate and slowly took myway among the solemn memorials of the quiet dead, thinking of the manywho had, during the past year, disappeared from the place, and had goneto `join the majority'. A very few steps brought me in sight of the objectof my search. Lady Muriel, dressed in the deepest mourning, her face hiddenby a long crape veil, was kneeling before a little marble cross, roundwhich she was fastening a wreath of flowers.

The cross stood on a piece of level turf, unbroken byany mound, and I knew that it was simply a memorial-cross, for one whosedust reposed elsewhere, even before reading the simple inscription:

In loving Memory of
ARTHUR FORESTER, M.D.
whose mortal remains lie buried by the sea:
whose spirit has returned to God who gave it.
`GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS, THAT
A MAN LAY DOWN HIS LIFE FOR HIS FRIENDS.'

She threw back her veil on seeing me approach, and cameforwards to meet me, with a quiet smile, and far more self-possessed thanI could have expected.

`It is quite like old times, seeing you here again!' shesaid, in tones of genuine pleasure. `Have you been to see my father?'

`No,' I said: `I was on my way there, and came throughhere as the shortest way. I hope he is well, and you also?'

`Thanks, we are both quite well. And you? Are you anybetter yet?'

`Not much better, I fear: but no worse, I am thankfulto say.'

`Let us sit here awhile, and have a quiet chat,' she said.The calmness -- almost indifference -- of her manner quite took me by surprise.I little guessed what a fierce restraint she was putting upon herself.

`One can be so quiet here,' she resumed. `I come hereevery -- every day.'

`It is very peaceful,' I said.

`You got my letter?'

`Yes, but I delayed writing. It is so hard to say -- onpaper --'

`I know. It was kind of you. You were with us when wesaw the last of --' She paused a moment, and went on more hurriedly. `Iwent down to the harbour several times, but no one knows which of thosevast graves it is. However, they showed me the house he died in: that wassome comfort. I stood in the very room where -- where --' She struggledin vain to go on. The flood-gates had given way at last, and the outburstof grief was the most terrible I had ever witnessed. Totally regardlessof my presence, she flung herself down on the turf, burying her face inthe grass, and with her hands clasped round the little marble cross. `Oh,my darling, my darling!' she sobbed. `And God meant your life to be sobeautiful!'

I was startled to hear, thus repeated by Lady Muriel,the very words of the darling child whom I had seen weeping so bitterlyover the dead hare. Had some mysterious influence passed, from that sweetfairy-spirit, ere she went back to Fairyland, into the human spirit thatloved her so dearly? The idea seemed too wild for belief. And yet, arethere not `more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy'?

`God meant it to be beautiful,' I whispered, `and surelyit was beautiful? God's purpose never fails!' I dared say no more, butrose and left her. At the entrance-gate to the Earl's house I waited, leaningon the gate and watching the sun set, revolving many memories -- some happy,some sorrowful -- until Lady Muriel joined me.

She was quite calm again now. `Do come in,' she said.`My father will be so pleased to see you!'

The old man rose from his chair, with a smile, to welcomeme; but his self-command was far less than his daughter's, and the tearscoursed down his face as he grasped both my hands in his, and pressed themwarmly.

My heart was too full to speak; and we all sat silentfor a minute or two. Then Lady Muriel rang the bell for tea. `You do takefive o'clock tea, I know!' she said to me, with the sweet playfulness ofmanner I remembered so well, `even though you ca'n't work your wicked willon the Law of Gravity, and make the teacups descend into Infinite Space,a little faster than the tea!'

This remark gave the tone to our conversation. By a tacitmutual consent, we avoided, during this our first meeting after her greatsorrow, the painful topics that filled our thoughts, and talked like light-heartedchildren who had never known a care.

`Did you ever ask yourself the question,' Lady Murielbegan, à propos of nothing, `what is the chief advantage of beinga Man instead of a Dog?'

`No, indeed,' I said: `but I think there are advantageson the Dog's side of the question as well.'

`No doubt,' she replied, with that pretty mock-gravitythat became her so well: `but, on Man's side, the chief advantage seemsto me to consist in having pockets! It was borne in upon me -- upon us,I should say; for my father and I were returning from a walk -- only yesterday.We met a dog carrying home a bone. What it wanted it for, I've no idea:certainly there was no meat on it --'

A strange sensation came over me, that I had heard allthis, or something exactly like it, before: and I almost expected her nextwords to be `perhaps he meant to make a cloak for the winter?' Howeverwhat she really said was `and my father tried to account for it by somewretched joke about pro bono publico. Well, the dog laid down the bone-- not in disgust with the pun, which would have shown it to be a dog oftaste -- but simply to rest its jaws, poor thing! I did pity it so! Won'tyou join my Charitable Association for supplying dogs with pockets? Howwould you like to have to carry your walking-stick in your mouth?'

Ignoring the difficult question as to the raison d'êtreof a walking-stick, supposing one had no hands, I mentioned a curious instance,I had once witnessed, of reasoning by a dog. A gentleman, with a lady,and child, and a large dog, were down at the end of a pier on which I waswalking. To amuse his child, I suppose, the gentleman put down on the groundhis umbrella and the lady's parasol, and then led the way to the otherend of the pier, from which he sent the dog back for the deserted articles.I was watching with some curiosity. The dog came racing back to where Istood, but found an unexpected difficulty in picking up the things it hadcome for. With the umbrella in its mouth, its jaws were so far apart thatit could get no firm grip on the parasol. After two or three failures,it paused and considered the matter.

Then it put down the umbrella and began with the parasol.Of course that didn't open its jaws nearly so wide, and it was able toget a good hold of the umbrella, and galloped off in triumph. One couldn'tdoubt that it had gone through a real train of logical thought.

`I entirely agree with you,' said Lady Muriel: `but don'torthodox writers condemn that view, as putting Man on the level of thelower animals? Don't they draw a sharp boundary-line between Reason andInstinct?'

`That certainly was the orthodox view, a generation ago,'said the Earl. `The truth of Religion seemed ready to stand or fall withthe assertion that Man was the only reasoning animal. But that is at anend now. Man can still claim certain monopolies -- for instance, such ause of language as enables us to utilize the work of many, by "divisionof labour". But the belief, that we have a monopoly of Reason, has longbeen swept away. Yet no catastrophe has followed. As some old poet says,"God is where he was".'

`Most religious believers would now agree with BishopButler,' said I, `and not reject a line of argument, even if it led straightto the conclusion that animals have some kind of soul, which survives theirbodily death.'

`I would like to know that to be true!' Lady Muriel exclaimed.`If only for the sake of the poor horses. Sometimes I've thought that,if anything could make me cease to believe in a God of perfect justice,it would be the sufferings of horses -- without guilt to deserve it, andwithout any compensation!'

`It is only part of the great Riddle,' said the Earl,`why innocent beings ever suffer. It is a great strain on Faith -- butnot a breaking strain, I think.'

`The sufferings of horses,' I said, `are chiefly causedby Man's cruelty. So that is merely one of the many instances of Sin causingsuffering to others than the Sinner himself. But don't you find a greaterdifficulty in sufferings inflicted by animals upon each other? For instance,a cat playing with a mouse. Assuming it to have no moral responsibility,isn't that a greater mystery than a man over-driving a horse?'

`I think it is,' said Lady Muriel, looking a mute appealto her father.

`What right have we to make that assumption?' said theEarl. `Many of our religious difficulties are merely deductions from unwarrantedassumptions. The wisest answer to most of them, is, I think, "behold, weknow not anything".'

`You mentioned "division of labour", just now,' I said.`Surely it is carried to a wonderful perfection in a hive of bees?'

`So wonderful -- so entirely super-human --' said theEarl, `and so entirely inconsistent with the intelligence they show inother ways -- that I feel no doubt at all that it is pure Instinct, andnot, as some hold, a very high order of Reason. Look at the utter stupidityof a bee, trying to find its way out of an open window! It doesn't try,in any reasonable sense of the word: it simply bangs itself about! We shouldcall a puppy imbecile, that behaved so. And yet we are asked to believethat its intellectual level is above Sir Isaac Newton!'

`Then you hold that pure Instinct contains no Reason atall?'

`On the contrary,' said the Earl, `I hold that the workof a bee-hive involves Reason of the highest order. But none of it is doneby the Bee. God has reasoned it all out, and has put into the mind of theBee the conclusions, only, of the reasoning process.'

`But how do their minds come to work together?' I asked.

`What right have we to assume that they have minds?'

`Special pleading, special pleading!' Lady Muriel cried,in a most unfilial tone of triumph. `Why, you yourself said, just now,"the mind of the Bee"!'

`But I did not say "minds", my child,' the Earl gentlyreplied. `It has occurred to me, as the most probable solution of the "Bee"-mystery,that a swarm of Bees have only one mind among them. We often see one mindanimating a most complex collection of limbs and organs, when joined together.How do we know that any material connection is necessary? May not mereneighbourhood be enough? If so, a swarm of bees is simply a single animalwhose many limbs are not quite close together!'

`It is a bewildering thought,' I said, `and needs a night'srest to grasp it properly. Reason and Instinct both tell me I ought togo home. So, good-night!'

`I'll "set" you part of the way, said Lady Muriel. `I'vehad no walk to-day. It will do me good, and I have more to say to you.Shall we go through the wood? It will be pleasanter than over the common,even though it is getting a little dark.'

We turned aside into the shade of interlacing boughs,which formed an architecture of almost perfect symmetry, grouped into lovelygroined arches, or running out, far as the eye could follow, into endlessaisles, and chancels, and naves, like some ghostly cathedral, fashionedout of the dream of a moon-struck poet.

`Always, in this wood,' she began after a pause (silenceseemed natural in this dim solitude), `I begin thinking of Fairies! MayI ask you a question?' she added hesitatingly. `Do you believe in Fairies?'

The momentary impulse was so strong to tell her of myexperiences in this very wood, that I had to make a real effort to keepback the words that rushed to my lips. If you mean, by "believe", "believein their possible existence", I say "Yes". For their actual existence,of course, one would need evidence.'

`You were saying, the other day,' she went on, `that youwould accept anything, on good evidence, that was not a priori impossible.And I think you named Ghosts as an instance of a provable phenomenon. WouldFairies be another instance?'

`Yes, I think so.' And again it was hard to check thewish to say more: but I was not yet sure of a sympathetic listener.

`And have you any theory as to what sort of place theywould occupy in Creation? Do tell me what you think about them! Would they,for instance (supposing such beings to exist), would they have any moralresponsibility? I mean' (and the light bantering tone suddenly changedto one of deep seriousness) `would they be capable of sin?'

`They can reason -- on a lower level, perhaps, than menand women -- never rising, I think, above the faculties of a child; andthey have a moral sense, most surely. Such a being, without free will,would be an absurdity. So I am driven to the conclusion that they are capableof sin.'

`You believe in them?' she cried delightedly, with a suddenmotion as if about to clap her hands. `Now tell me, have you any reasonfor it?'

And still I strove to keep back the revelation I feltsure was coming. `I believe that there is life everywhere -- not materialonly, not merely what is palpable to our senses -- but immaterial and invisibleas well. We believe in our own immaterial essence -- call it "soul", or"spirit", or what you will. Why should not other similar essences existaround us, not linked on to a visible and material body? Did not God makethis swarm of happy insects, to dance in this sunbeam for one hour of bliss,for no other object, that we can imagine, than to swell the sum of conscioushappiness? And where shall we dare to draw the line, and say "He has madeall these and no more"?'

`Yes, yes!' she assented, watching me with sparkling eyes.`But these are only reasons for not denying. You have more reasons thanthis, have you not?'

`Well, yes,' I said, feeling I might safely tell all now.`And I could not find a fitter time or place to say it. I have seen them-- and in this very wood!'

Lady Muriel asked no more questions. Silently she pacedat my side, with head bowed down and hands clasped tightly together. Only,as my tale went on, she drew a little short quick breath now and then,like a child panting with delight. And I told her what I had never yetbreathed to any other listener, of my double life, and, more than that(for mine might have been but a noonday-dream), of the double life of thosetwo dear children.

And when I told her of Bruno's wild gambols, she laughedmerrily; and when I spoke of Sylvie's sweetness and her utter unselfishnessand trustful love, she drew a deep breath, like one who hears at last someprecious tidings for which the heart has ached for a long while; and thehappy tears chased one another down her cheeks.

`I have often longed to meet an angel,' she whispered,so low that I could hardly catch the words. `I'm so glad I've seen Sylvie!My heart went out to the child the first moment that I saw her -- Listen!'she broke off suddenly. `That's Sylvie singing! I'm sure of it! Don't youknow her voice?'

`I have heard Bruno sing, more than once,' I said: `butI never heard Sylvie.'

`I have only heard her once,' said Lady Muriel. `It wasthat day when you brought us those mysterious flowers. The children hadrun out into the garden; and I saw Eric coming in that way, and went tothe window to meet him: and Sylvie was singing, under the trees, a songI had never heard before. The words were something like "I think it isLove, I feel it is Love". Her voice sounded far away, like a dream, butit was beautiful beyond all words -- as sweet as an infant's first smile,or the first gleam of the white cliffs when one is coming home after wearyyears -- a voice that seemed to fill one's whole being with peace and heavenlythoughts -- Listen!' she cried, breaking off again in her excitement. `Thatis her voice, and that's the very song!'

I could distinguish no words, but there was a dreamy senseof music in the air that seemed to grow ever louder and louder, as if comingnearer to us. We stood quite silent, and in another minute the two childrenappeared, coming straight towards us through an arched opening among thetrees. Each had an arm round the other, and the setting sun shed a goldenhalo round their heads, like what one sees in pictures of saints. Theywere looking in our direction, but evidently did not see us, and I soonmade out that Lady Muriel had for once passed into a condition familiarto me, that we were both of us `eerie', and that, though we could see thechildren so plainly, we were quite invisible to them.

The song ceased just as they came into sight: but, tomy delight, Bruno instantly said `Let's sing it all again, Sylvie! It didsound so pretty!' And Sylvie replied `Very well. It's you to begin, youknow.'

So Bruno began, in the sweet childish treble I knew sowell:

`Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping,
   That lures the bird home to her nest?
Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,
   To cuddle and croon it to rest?
What's the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
   Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?'

And now ensued quite the strangest of all the strangeexperiences that marked the wonderful year whose history I am writing --the experience of first hearing Sylvie's voice in song. Her part was avery short one--only a few words--and she sang it timidly, and very lowindeed, scarcely audibly, but the sweetness of her voice was simply indescribable;I have never heard any earthly music like it.

`'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low--
And the name of the secret is Love!'

On me the first effect of her voice was a sudden sharppang that seemed to pierce through one's very heart. (I had felt such apang only once before in my life, and it had been from seeing what, atthe moment, realized one's idea of perfect beauty--it was in a London exhibition,where, in making my way through a crowd, I suddenly met, face to face,a child of quite unearthly beauty.) Then came a rush of burning tears tothe eyes, as though one could weep one's soul away for pure delight. Andlastly there fell on me a sense of awe that was almost terror--some suchfeeling as Moses must have had when he heard the words `Put off thy shoesfrom off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground'.The figures of the children became vague and shadowy, like glimmering meteors:while their voices rang together in exquisite harmony as they sang:

      `For I think it is Love,
      For I feel it is Love,
For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!'

By this time I could see them clearly once more. Brunoagain sang by himself:

`Say, whence is the voice that, when anger is burning,
   Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?
That stirs the vexed soul with an aching--a yearning
   For the brotherly hand-grip of peace?
Whence the music that fills all our being--that thrills
   Around us, beneath, and above?'

Sylvie sang more courageously, this time: the words seemedto carry her away, out of herself:

`'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, how it goes:
But the name of the secret is Love!'

And clear and strong the chorus rang out:

      `For I think it is Love,
      For I feel it is Love,
For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!'

Once more we heard Bruno's delicate little voice alone:

`Say whose is the skill that paints valley and hill,
   Like a picture so fair to the sight?
That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow,
   Till the little lambs leap with delight?'

And again uprose that silvery voice, whose angelic sweetnessI could hardly bear:

`'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,
   Though 'tis sung, by the angels above,
In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear--
   And the name of the secret is Love!'

And then Bruno joined in again with

      `For I think it is Love,
      For I feel it is Love,
For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!'

`That are pretty!' the little fellow exclaimed, as thechildren passed us--so closely that we drew back a little to make roomfor them, and it seemed we had only to reach out a hand to touch them:but this we did not attempt.

`No use to try and stop them!' I said, as they passedaway into the shadows. `Why, they could not even see us!'

`No use at all,' Lady Muriel echoed with a sigh. `Onewould like to meet them again, in living form! But I feel, somehow, thatcan never be. They have passed out of our lives!' She sighed again; andno more was said, till we came out into the main road, at a point nearmy lodgings.

`Well, I will leave you here,' she said. `I want to getback before dark: and I have a cottage-friend to visit, first. Good night,dear friend! Let us see you soon--and often!' she added, with an affectionatewarmth that went to my very heart. `For those are few we hold as dear!'

`Good night!' I answered. `Tennyson said that of a worthierfriend than me.'

`Tennyson didn't know what he was talking about!' shesaucily rejoined, with a touch of her old childish gaiety, and we parted.