if, as i remarked at the beginning of a preceding chapter, john thought it a funny world, it is very certain that david would have fully endorsed his opinion; and, further, he would have considered himself the queerest person in it.

now, this was purely owing to the fact that he had suddenly found himself a stranger to himself. it was, in a manner, as if he had lived in blindness with a man for years, having, perhaps, without fully recognizing the fact, some mental conception of him. then, on being miraculously restored to sight, he had discovered that the reality was totally at variance with that same mental conception.

the recovery of sight had come gradually. it had not been an instantaneous miracle. at the first he thought, doubtless, if he considered the fact at all, and he was probably only partially [pg 227]aware of it, that the variance between the reality and what his partially restored sight beheld, was due to his own faulty vision. now, with clear sight restored, he beheld a complete stranger, and it left him bewildered. he didn’t know the man at all. he didn’t even recognize his speech. it is small wonder that he was bewildered; it is small wonder that he spent solitary hours in a futile attempt to reconstruct his preconceived notions of the man.

i believe that the moment when david got a first blurred glimpse of this stranger, was in father maloney’s odd little parlour. he had had another glimpse of him at the castle; and since then, little by little, the glimpses had resolved themselves into full vision. and through it all, with it all, was a queer sense of vibratory forces at work.

it was in the parlour, also, that the first vibration had struck upon him—a quite definite vibration, though inexplicable. it had rung clearly for a brief space, gradually growing fainter, till he wondered if it had indeed rung, or was merely imagination on his part. it had been repeated at the castle, and had left no doubt in his mind. [pg 228]since then it had been renewed at intervals, ringing each time longer and louder. i can best describe it as some kind of mental telephone call, though he was, at present, at a complete loss as to the message waiting to be delivered.

“the fact is, david p. delancey,” he remarked more than once, “that somehow your moorings have been cut, and the lord only knows where you are drifting.”

very early in the morning, the sun not far above the horizon, and the trees casting long shadows on the grass, david set out for a walk.

it was by no means the first time that he had risen thus betimes. the clean, fresh spirit of the morning appealed to him, also its detachment. it seemed, at that hour, so extraordinarily aloof from the affairs of men, wrapped, in a sense, in its own quiet meditations. later the sun, the little breezes, the sweet earth scents seemed to give forth warmth, freshness, and fragrant odours for the benefit of mankind. at this hour it was wrapped in meditation, a meditation approaching ecstasy.

he went softly, fearing almost to disturb the [pg 229]stillness, yet he did not altogether feel himself an intruder. there was, in a strange sense, something of communion between his spirit and the spirit of the silent morning, in spite of its detachment.

the route he had chosen led first across the moorland,—wide stretches of purple heather. he walked without indulging in any special train of thought. his eyes were open to the details of nature around him, his brain alert to absorb them in pure pleasure.

gorse bushes, scattered among the heather, showed golden blossoms backgrounded by a blue sky. their sweet scent came faintly to him. later in the stronger warmth of the sun, the scent would gain in power and fulness. in the distance, scattered copses lay misty blue patches on sun-gold hillsides. both far and near was an all-absorbing peace.

he hadn’t a notion how far he walked, nor for how long. unconsciously he circled, coming at length to a gate, leading into a larch wood.

david turned through it. here the sun filtered through the branches, flung spots of gold on the red-brown earth of the pathway, on the emerald of the moss lying in great patches among bracken, [pg 230]fern, and bramble. twigs and branches, at one time wind-torn from the trees, lay in the path, silver-grey, lichen-covered. it was all intensely silent, intensely still. david, stepping by chance on a dried twig, heard it snap with the report of a small pistol in the silence. the loneliness appealed to him; the enchantment of the quiet wood led him on.

gradually, imperceptibly, his thoughts left externals, turned inwards. still aware of all that lay around him, they were no longer merely idly diffused upon it; they drew together, focussed. accustomed to think, though vaguely, in terms of simile rather than in words, he saw in the quiet of the wood something of the quiet which at present held his own life and being. in a sense he suddenly felt himself sleeping, his eyes closed on all that lay behind him. yet while sleeping, he knew, too, that presently must come awakening. it was in his power, he now felt, to awake at the moment to the old life, as he knew it, to reconstruct his mental conception of that stranger, as it was in his power to retrace his steps. yet it was almost as if something external to himself waited with him, to withdraw gently should he turn back, to remain [pg 231]with him should he go forward. so for a space of time—a space not measured by the ticking of a clock—david waited. then suddenly he moved onward down the glade.

and now he knew that his heart was beating fast, pulsing with some curious excitement, though he had not realized it before. his breath, too, was coming rather quickly, like that of a man who has been running. gradually breathing and heart-beating became normal; yet still the dream sense lingered with him, and he did not want to dispel it.

the path led him into a cuplike hollow among the trees, a moss-grown place, full of deep shadows and a pleasant coolness. on the other side of the hollow the path ascended, through a beech-wood here, silver-green trunks in strong contrast to the deep red of the pathway. though quiet, this wood was vivid, full of stronger colour than was that on the other side of the hollow.

coming out at last from among the trees, david found himself on an expanse of grass, on one side skirted by the wood, on the other bordered by a hedge of yew, close and thick and dark. turning to the left, he walked over the grass, till presently [pg 232]the hedge gave place to a low wicket gate. here he paused, looking over.

beyond the hedge was a grey stone building, and beyond the building were grey towers. he knew now where he was. it was the chapel of delancey castle facing him. he stood for a moment or so, his hand resting on the gate.

suddenly the chapel bell broke the silence.