He strolled into the garden—­the good garden, with straight walks, and clipped hedges, and fair formal shape—­and threw himself down upon a long chair.  He had already begun to forget the incidents of the afternoon.  Here was rest, and peace, and beauty.  How tired he was!  Why did he feel so tired?  He could not tell.  A deep sense of satisfaction and repose stole over him.  Lubin was there, tidying up, but he did not feel any inclination to talk to Lubin or anybody else.  He liked watching Lubin, however, for Lubin was part of the garden, and all his associations with him were pleasant.  The scent of the flowers and the grass possessed him.  The sun was far from setting, and a young crescent moon was hovering high in the heavens, looking like a silver sickle against the blue.  From the distant church came the sound of bells ringing for even-song, faint as horns of elf-land, through the still air.  He felt that he would like to lie there always—­just resting, and drinking in the beauty of the world.

Suddenly he half-rose.  “Lubin!” he called out quickly, in an undertone.

“Sir,” responded Lubin, turning round.

“Who was that lady looking over the garden-gate just now?”

“Lady?” repeated Lubin.  “I never saw no lady.  Whereabouts was she?”

“On the path of course, outside.  A second ago.  She stood looking at me over the gate, and then went on.  Run to the gate and see how far she’s got—­quick!”

Lubin did as he was bidden without delay, looking up and down the road.  Then he returned, and soberly picked up his broom.

“There ain’t no lady there,” he said.  “No one in sight either way.  Must ’a been your fancy, Master Austin, I expect.”

“Fancy, indeed!” retorted Austin, excitedly.  “You’ll tell me next it’s my fancy that I’m looking at you now.  A lady in a large hat and a sort of light-coloured dress.  She must be there.  There’s nowhere else for her to be, unless the earth has swallowed her up.  I’ll go and look myself.”

He struggled up and staggered as fast as he could go to the gate.  Then he pushed it open and went out as far as the middle of the road from which he could see at least a hundred yards each way.  But not a living creature was in sight.

“It’s enough to make one’s hair stand on end!” he exclaimed, as he came slowly back.  “Where can she have got to?  She was here—­here, by the gate—­not twenty seconds ago, only a few yards from where I was sitting.  Don’t talk to me about fancy; that’s sheer nonsense.  I saw her as distinctly as I see you now, and I should know her again directly if I saw her a year hence.  Of all inexplicable things!”

There was no more lying down.  He was too much puzzled and excited to keep still.  Up and down he paced, cudgelling his brains in search of an explanation, wondering what it could all mean, and longing for another glimpse of the mysterious visitor.  For one brief moment he had had a full, clear view of her face, and in that moment he had been struck by her unmistakable resemblance to himself.