“I determined there and then to have it out with my father, but my purpose was thwarted, as he kept to his own room and sent word that he was indisposed. I then remembered that my friend, Captain Ranworth, was arriving for a visit by the late morning train, as we had earlier arranged, and I hastened to the railway station to meet him. When I described to him the difficult situation at home, he was all for cancelling the visit altogether, but I insisted he stay for one night at least. As I drove the trap back through Topley Cross, it seemed to me that the eyes of the villagers bored into my back as we passed. Ranworth, too, could sense that something was wrong, but could suggest no explanation. After lunch, which we ate alone, Ranworth took himself off for a walk over the neighbouring countryside. It was clear he felt uncomfortable at the odd situation in which he found himself, and did not wish by his presence to add to my difficulties. For a while I sat alone, but eventually I could bear the silence no longer, and made up my mind that I would walk over to Topley Grange, the home of our friends, the Blythe-Headleys.

“It was a beautiful autumn afternoon as I stepped out across the fields, and I was glad to be out of doors and away from the house. The sun was shining brightly in a sky of blue, bathing the countryside in its warm golden light, and all along the hedgerows of the bare ploughed fields the hips and haws glowed a vivid red. But this beauty, which would on another day have thrilled my very soul, now served only to make my predicament seem yet stranger and more disturbing. What place had I in all this beauty, a man whom others would prefer were dead?

“About a mile north of Oakbrook Hall, at the boundary with the Topley Grange estate, there is a narrow, steep-sided little valley in which lies a small spinney known as Jenkin’s Clump. A public footpath runs up the valley, from the Topley Cross road, over the hill to Belham Green, and in my younger days Jenkin’s Clump had always been a popular spot with the local boys. I myself passed many a long summer’s day there as a boy, in climbing trees, pretending to track wild animals like a Red Indian and suchlike games. Down through this wooded valley meanders a stream, and in the very centre of the spinney lies a long, narrow rushy pool, overhung for about half its circumference by graceful weeping willows, and known, in consequence, as the Willow Pool.

“My childhood memories of the place are of the woods ringing with boyish laughter; but now, as I began to make my way down the steeply sloping path through the trees towards the pool, I was conscious only of a great silence and stillness about me, so that my own footsteps upon the woodland floor and through the fallen leaves seemed an almost impertinent intrusion. No doubt my mood suggested strange fancies to my mind, but it seemed to me then that the stillness was like the stillness of death, the silence the silence of the grave. All at once, however, my solitary brooding thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling sound ahead of me, and a young man stepped out from behind a clump of bushes, down near the bottom of the path. He was not looking in my direction, but I recognized him at once as Noah Blogg, a slow-witted youth who lives with his family in Topley Cross. I know the family well, for his father, old Jack Blogg, has been the best bat in the village cricket team for nearly thirty years. It is Noah’s habit to wander here and there without apparent purpose, and to appear without forewarning wherever he is least expected. He endures some gentle teasing from the local men, but this is unfair of them, for though a simpleton, he is a good-hearted lad and quite harmless. I called to him and he turned. I was perfectly prepared for his not recognizing me after my three years’ absence, but what I could not have expected was the awful look of fear, which came like a spasm upon his face as he saw me. His eyes opened wide and his mouth fell open, as if I were a demon from the underworld, then with a shriek he turned and ran, his footsteps crashing away through the undergrowth.

“I quickened my pace and hurried down the hill. When I reached the bottom of the dell, where the public footpath runs alongside the stream, I peered to left and right, but there was no sign of Noah anywhere. My spirits had scarcely been improved by this strange encounter, as you will imagine, but I tried to put it from my mind as I continued my walk across the stream, up the hill on the other side, and so on to the Topley Grange estate. As I emerged from the woods, I descried a figure in the distance, on the brow of a hill, and thought at first that it was Noah Blogg, but saw in a moment that it was in fact my friend, Captain Ranworth, striding out vigorously. I called to him, but he was too far away and did not hear.

“The way from Jenkin’s Clump towards Topley Grange passes over steeply undulating terrain, and as I surmounted a ridge a little further on, I could see the house in the distance, somewhat below me. To the side of the house, surrounded by a high brick wall, is the Topley Grange rosary, which is famous for its collection of old roses. There, in an alley between the rose bushes, I espied a young lady in a white dress, with a wide-brimmed straw bonnet upon her head. My heart leapt at the sight, for I knew that it must be Mary Blythe-Headley, and I pressed on with increased speed. Even as I saw her she seemed to turn and look in my direction, but I was still a long way off, and I could not say whether she had seen me or not. The path I was following descended steeply after that, and for a time Topley Grange passed from my view. When next I had a clear sight of it, neither the young lady in the white dress, nor anyone else, was anywhere to be seen.

“When I reached the house, I was shown into the drawing room, where I waited for some time. Presently the servant who had admitted me returned with the information that Miss Blythe-Headley was not at home. I was struck speechless by this, for I felt certain it was quite untrue. My mind reeled. What was the meaning of it? Why should she avoid me in this way? I had waited so many years to see her again, and invested so much hope in our reunion, that this conclusion rendered me almost senseless. For several minutes I stood in the drawing room in silence, quite unable to think what to say or do, then the servant asked if he might show me out, and I followed him meekly, in silence, to the door. It was then, for the first time, that I began to doubt my own sanity. Had I really seen Mary in the garden, or had the whole scene been merely a product of my own fevered imagination? Were any of these strange events really happening as I believed, or were they all but episodes in a chaotic and evil dream? I no longer felt confident in my ability to distinguish between reality and fantasy.

“Scarcely aware of what I was doing, I walked slowly round to the side of the house and into the rosary. There, on a low wooden stool between two rows of bushes, was a shallow basket containing gardening scissors, a pair of stout gloves and half a dozen cut blooms. Someone had certainly been there recently, cutting flowers. But I was unsure, quite frankly, whether that made my situation better or worse. Then a gardener appeared round the end of the row of bushes and, seeing me, hurried away with a look of concern upon his face. Whether he intended to inform his master that a stranger was loitering in his garden, or was merely frightened at the very sight of me, I did not know, but I did not linger to discover the answer. I made my way out of the garden through a gateway in the wall, and round to a little summer house that stands outside the garden wall, at the top of a long gentle slope, from which there is a wonderful view across the countryside to the Downs. Inside this pretty little structure, about which roses climb and ramble, there is a wooden bench upon which I had often sat with Mary and our other friends in sunny summers past. Now I sat there all alone, at my wits’ end and feeling more forlorn than I had ever felt in my life before. What was happening to me seemed utter madness. I could hardly suppose, however, that all others in the parish had lost their wits at the very same moment, and could only conclude, therefore, that it was I who had slipped into insanity. But if this were so, why did no one tell me?