I wasn't sure what I thought and, although I was aware that the encounter was being considerably embellished, it had made a deep impression on me.

Term ended at the end of the first week in December. As most of us had to travel long distances Madame de Guérin always liked us to get on our way before the snows came too heavily and made the roads impassable.

There were seven English girls who would be travelling on the same route. Frâulein Mainz saw us all onto the train and when we reached Calais it had been arranged for one of the travel agents to see us onto the boat. At Dover our families would be waiting for us.

I had made the journey several times before, but this was to be the last time, and that made it different.

We had a compartment to ourselves and, as we had done the journey before, it was only the younger ones who exclaimed at the grandeur of the mountain scenery and remained at the windows while we travelled through the majestic Swiss countryside. The older ones had grown blasé-myself and Lydia among them.

The journey seemed endless; we talked; we read; we played games and we dozed.

Most of them were half asleep and I was gazing idly out at the scenery when I saw a man. He was passing along the corridor. He looked in at our compartment as he went. I gasped. He appeared to glance at me but I was not sure that he recognized me. He was gone in a matter of seconds.

I turned to Lydia who was seated next to me, asleep. I jumped up and made my way along the corridor. There was no sign of him.

I went back to my seat and nudged Lydia. "I ... I saw him," I said.

"Saw what?"

"The man ... the man in the forest ..."

"You're dreaming," said Lydia.

"No. I was sure. He was gone in a flash."

"Why didn't you speak to him?"

"He was gone too quickly. I went after him but he had disappeared."

"You were dreaming," said Lydia and closed her eyes.

I was very shaken. Could it have been an apparition? It was over so quickly. He had been there... and then he was gone. He must have moved along that corridor very quickly. Had it really been the man himself or had I dreamed it?

Perhaps Lydia was right.

I looked out for him during the rest of the journey to Calais but he was not there.

The train had been delayed because of the snowdrifts and we were eight hours late reaching Calais. It meant that we had to take the night ferry and it must have been about two o'clock in the morning when we embarked.

Lydia was not feeling well; she was cold, she said, and felt a little sick. She had found a spot below where she could wrap herself up and lie down.

I felt the need for fresh air and said I would go on deck. I was given a rug and found a chair. True it was cold but I felt snug beneath my rug and I was sure Lydia would have been wiser to have come up with me rather than stay in the airless part of the ship.

There was a faint crescent moon, and myriads of stars were visible in the clear night sky. I could hear the voices of the crew not far off and I enjoyed the rocking of the ship, gentle as yet, but there was no wind and I did not anticipate a rough crossing.

I was thinking of the future. It would always be fun with Aunt Patty. I could imagine long cosy evenings by her sitting-room fire while she drank hot chocolate and nibbled macaroons for which she had a special fancy. We would laugh over the day's events. There would always be something to laugh about. Oh, I was looking forward to it.

I closed my eyes. I was rather sleepy. The journey had been tiring and there had been a great deal of fuss getting into the ship. I must not sleep deeply for I should have to find my way back to Lydia before the ship docked.

I was aware of a faint movement at my side. I opened my eyes. A chair had been moved silently and now, with its occupant, it was beside me.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

My heart started to beat furiously. The same voice. The same air of being not quite of this world. It was the man of the forest.

I was too startled to speak for a moment.

He said: "I will be quiet if you wish to sleep." "Oh no ... no ... It is ... isn't it?"

"We met before," he said.

"You ... you were on the train?"

"Yes, I was on the train."

"I saw you pass the window."

"Yes."

"Are you going to England?"

It was a foolish question. Where else could he be going since he was on the Channel steamer? "Yes," he said. "I trust I shall see you while I am there."

"Oh yes. That would be pleasant. You must call on us. It's Grantley Manor, Canterton, Sussex. Not far from Lewes. It's quite easy to find."

"I'll remember that," he said. "You will see me." "Are you going home?"

"Yes," he answered.

I waited but he did not tell me where. There was about him an aloofness, something which warned me not to ask questions.

"You will be looking forward to your meeting with your aunt."

"Very much."

"She seems a very indulgent lady."

"Indulgent? Yes, I suppose so. She is warmhearted and loving and I don't think she ever felt any malice towards anyone. She has wit and says amusing things but she is never hurtful ... unless anyone hurts her or hers, then she would respond with gusto. She is a wonderful human being."

"Your devotion to her is apparent."

"She was a mother to me when I needed one." "A rare person clearly."

There was a short silence and then he said: "Tell me about yourself."

"You don't want to talk very much about yourself," I commented.

"That will come. Now it is your turn."

It was like a command and I found myself talking of my early life, remembering things which I thought until this moment I had forgotten. I remembered incidents from Africa, the hours in the mission hall which had seemed endless, the singing of hymns, prayers, always prayers, little black babies playing in the dust, the multi-coloured beads which jangled at their necks and waists, strange insects which looked like sticks and seemed as sinister as the snakes which slithered through the grass and of which one had to be very careful.

But mostly I talked about Aunt Patty and the Manor and the school itself and how much I was looking forward to being a part of it.

"You are fully qualified," he said.

"Oh yes, Aunt Patty saw to that. I have studied a number of subjects and then of course I went to Schaffenbrucken to be finished off, as Aunt Patty puts it."

"A very expensive school. Aunt Patty must be a rich woman to be able to send her niece there."

"I think she looked upon it as a good investment." "Tell me about the Manor," he said.

So I talked, describing it room by room and the grounds which surrounded it. There were twenty acres. "We have a paddock and stables and playing fields, you see."

"It sounds commodious."

"It has a high reputation. Aunt Patty is always trying to increase it."

"I like your Aunt Patty."

"No one could help doing that."

"Loyal Miss Cordelia."

He lay back and closed his eyes. I thought it was an intimation that he did not want to talk for a while. So I did the same.

The rocking of the boat was soothing, and as I was really very tired and it was the middle of the night, I went into a light doze. I awoke suddenly to the sounds of activity about me. I could just catch a glimpse of the coastline ahead.

I turned to look at my companion. There was no one there. His chair and his rug were gone.

I stood up and looked about me. There were not many people on deck, and certainly no sign of him.

I went down to find Lydia.


Aunt Patty was at the docks waiting to greet me, looking rounder than I remembered and her hat was splendid-ruchings of blue ribbon and a bow as wide as herself.

I was clasped to her fondly and was able to introduce Lydia who couldn't resist saying: "She is just as you said she was."

"Been telling tales about me in school, eh?" said Aunt Patty.

"All she told us was lovely," said Lydia. "She made us all want to come to your school."

I was hastily introduced to the woman who had come for Lydia. I gathered she was a sort of housekeeper, and I again rejoiced in Aunt Patty who had come herself to meet me.


Aunt Patty and I settled into the train, talking all the time.

I did look round for the stranger but he was nowhere to be seen. There were so many people about and it would have been something of a miracle if I had been able to see him. I wondered where he was going.

At the Canterton station, which was little more than a halt, we were met by the fly and whisked home in a very short time. I was moved as always by the first sight of Grantley Manor after an absence. Red-bricked, lattice-windowed, it looked gracious rather than grand, but most of all it looked like home.

"Dear old place," I said.

"So you feel like that about it, do you?"

"But of course, I remember the first time I saw it ... but by then I knew everything was going to be all right because I had met you."

"Bless you, child. But believe me, bricks and mortar don't make a home. You'll find a home where you find the people who make home for you."

"As you did, dear Aunt Patty. The girls love hearing about you ... the macaroons and the hats and everything. They always call you Aunt Patty as though you are theirs too. I feel I want to say, `Here, stop it. She's mine."

It was lovely to step into the hall, to smell the beeswax and turpentine which always clung about the furniture mingling with the smell of cooking which came from the other side of the screens.