had gone away Mr. Craven sat a few moments holding them in his hand and
looking at the lake. His strange calm was still upon him and something
more a lightness as if the cruel thing which had been done had not
happened as he thought as if something had changed. He was remembering
the dream the real real dream.
In the garden! he said, wondering at himself. In the garden! But the
door is locked and the key is buried deep.
When he glanced at the letters a few minutes later he saw that the one
lying at the top of the rest was an English letter and came from
Yorkshire. It was directed in a plain woman s hand but it was not a
hand he knew. He opened it, scarcely thinking of the writer, but the
first words attracted his attention at once.
_Dear Sir:_
I am Susan Sowerby that made bold to speak to you once on the moor. It
was about Miss Mary I spoke. I will make bold to speak again. Please,
sir, I would come home if I was you. I think you would be glad to come
and if you will excuse me, sir I think your lady would ask you to come
if she was here.
Your obedient servant,
Susan Sowerby.
Mr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope.
He kept thinking about the dream.
I will go back to Misselthwaite, he said. Yes, I ll go at once.
And he went through the garden to the villa and ordered Pitcher to
prepare for his return to England.
In a few days he was in Yorkshire again, and on his long railroad
journey he found himself thinking of his boy as he had never thought in
all the ten years past. During those years he had only wished to forget
him. Now, though he did not intend to think about him, memories of him
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