It was a quarter to five when he took leave of his entertainer,
responding warmly to an injunction to look in again whenever he felt
disposed. He walked very thoughtfully homewards, revolving many
questions in his busy brain. How much he had seen and learnt since he
left home that morning! Worlds of beauty, of art, of intellect had
dawned upon his consciousness; a world of mystery too. Even now,
tramping along the road, he felt a different being. Even now he
imagined the presence of unseen entities--walking by his side, it
might be, but anyhow close to him. Was it so? Could it be that he
really was surrounded by intelligences that eluded his physical senses
and yet in some mysterious fashion made their existence _known_?

At last he arrived at the stile leading into the meadow, and prepared
to clamber over. Then he hesitated. Why? He could not tell. A queer,
invincible repugnance to cross that stile suddenly came over him. The
meadow looked fresh and green, and the road--hot, dusty, and
white--was certainly not alluring; besides, he longed to saunter along
the grass by the river and think over his experiences. But something
prevented him. With a sense of irritation he took a few steps along
the road; then the thought of the cool field reasserted itself, and
with a determined effort he retraced his steps and threw one leg over
the top bar of the stile. It was no use. Gently, but unmistakably,
something pushed him back. He _could_ not cross. He wanted to, and he
was in full possession of both his physical and mental faculties, but
he simply could not do it.

In great perplexity, not unmixed with some natural sense of umbrage,
Austin set off again along the ugly road. The sun had come out once
more, and it was very hot. What could be the matter with him? Why had
he been so silly as to take the highway, with its horrid dust and