"I dreamt often of the garden. I may have added to it, I may
have changed it; I do not know . . . . . All this you understand
is an attempt to reconstruct from fragmentary memories a very early
experience. Between that and the other consecutive memories of my
boyhood there is a gulf. A time came when it seemed impossible I
should ever speak of that wonder glimpse again."

I asked an obvious question.

"No," he said. "I don't remember that I ever attempted to
find my way back to the garden in those early years. This seems
odd to me now, but I think that very probably a closer watch was
kept on my movements after this misadventure to prevent my going
astray. No, it wasn't until you knew me that I tried for the
garden again. And I believe there was a period--incredible as it
seems now--when I forgot the garden altogether--when I was about
eight or nine it may have been. Do you remember me as a kid at
Saint Athelstan's?"

"Rather!"

"I didn't show any signs did I in those days of having a secret dream?"


II


He looked up with a sudden smile.