2
e is no one like Donald'
XXVI. I hear about Captain Hamilton
XXVII. Max opens his Heart
XXVIII. Crossing the River
XXIX. Miss Darrell has a Headache
XXX. With Timbrels and Dances
XXXI. Wedding-Chimes
XXXII. A Fiery Ordeal
XXXIII. Jack Poynter
XXXIV. I communicate with Joe Muggins
XXXV. Nightingales and Roses
XXXVI. Breakers Ahead
XXXVII. 'I claim that Promise, Ursula'
XXXVIII. In the Turret-Room
XXXIX. Whitefoot is saddled
XL. The Talk in the Gloaming
XLI. 'At five o'clock in the Morning'
XLII. Down the Pemberley Road
XLIII. 'Conspiracy Corner'
XLIV. Leah's Confession
XLV. 'This Home is yours no longer'
XLVI. Nap barks in the Stable-yard
XLVII. At last, Ursula, at last!'
XLVIII. 'What o' the Way to the End?'
CHAPTER I
OUT OF THE MIST
It appears to me, looking back over a past experience, that certain days in one's life stand out prominently as landmarks, when we arrive at some finger-post pointing out the road that we should follow.
We come out of some deep, rutty lane, where the hedgerows obscure the prospect, and where the footsteps of some unknown passenger have left tracks in the moist red clay. The confused tracery of green leaves overhead seems to weave fanciful patterns against the dim blue of the sky; the very air is low-pitched and oppressive. All at once we find ourselves in an open space; the free winds of heaven are blowing over us; there are four roads meeting; the finger-post points silently, 'This way to such a place'; we can take our choice, counting the mile-stones rather wearily as we pass them. The road may be a little tedious, the stones may hurt our feet; but if it be the right road it will bring us to our destination.
In looking back it always seems to me as though I came to a fresh landmark in my experience that November afternoon when I sa