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And Owen told her that something seemed to have held him back when the thought came of going to her room. "It was really very strange. The thought was put into my mind suddenly that it would be better for me not to go to your room."

"No more than a sudden thought? But the thought was very clear and distinct?"

"Yes; but between waking and sleeping thoughts are unusually distinct."

"You don't believe in miracles, Owen?" And she told him of her dream and her sudden awaking, and the voices (p. 024) heard in her ears at first, then in the room, and then about the house. "So you see the nuns kept us apart."

"And you believe in these things?"

"How can I do otherwise?"

Owen sighed, and they walked on a few paces. The last leaves were dancing; the woods were cold and wet, the heavy branches of the fir-trees dripping with cold rain, and in the walks a litter of chestnut-leaves.

"Not a space of blue in the sky, only grey. It will be drearier still in Glasgow; you had better stay here," he said, as they walked round the little lake, watching the water-fowl moving in and out of the reeds, and they talked for some time of Riversdale, of the lake there, and the ducks which rose in great numbers and flew round and round the park dropping one by one into the water. "You will never see Riversdale again, perhaps?"