Chapter 11 - Page 2

the inquest. I've often
wondered at that. Why didn't you bring me yourself? Why didn't you
hurry to nurse me as soon as you heard they'd shot my father?"

Aunt Emma gazed at me again with a face like a sheet.

"Darling," she said, quivering, "I was ill. I was in bed. I was
obliged to stay away. I'd hurt myself badly a little before.... Oh,
Una, leave off! If you go on like this, you'll drive me mad. Say no
more, I implore of you."

I couldn't think what this meant; but as auntie wished it, I held my
peace, all inwardly trembling with suppressed excitement.

That night, when I went up to bed, I lay awake long, thinking to
myself of the Australian scene. In the silence of the night it came
back to me vividly. Rain pattered on the roof, and helped me to
remember it. I could see the blue-gum trees waving their long
ribbon-like leaves in the wind: I could see the cottage, the
verandah, my mother, our dog: nay, even, I remembered now, with a
burst of recollection, his name was Carlo. The effort was more truly
a recollection than before: it was part of myself: I felt aware it
was really I myself, not another, who had seen all this, and lived
and moved in it.

Slowly I fell asleep, and passed from thinking to dreaming. My dream
was but a prolongation of the thoughts I had been turning over in my
waking mind. I was still in Australia; still on the verandah of our
wooden house; and my mamma was there, and papa beside her. I knew it
was papa; for I held his hand and played with him. But he was so
much altered, so grave and severe; though he smiled at me
good-humouredly. Mamma was sitting behind, with baby on her lap. It
seemed to me quite natural she should be there with baby. The scene
was so distinct--very vivid and clear. It persisted for many
minutes, perhaps even hours. It burnt itself into my brain. At last,
it woke me up by its very intensity.

As I woke, a great many thoughts crowded in upon me all at once.
This time I knew instantly it was no mere dream, but a true
recollection. Yet what a strange recollection! how unexpeted! how
incomprehensible! How much in it to settle! how much to investigate
and hunt up and inquire about!

In the first place, though I was still in my dream a little girl,
much time must have elapsed since the earlier vision; for my papa
looked far older, and graver, and sterner. He had more hair about
his face, too, a long brown beard and heavy moustache; and when I
gazed hard at him mentally, I could recognise the likeness with the
white-bearded man who lay dead on the floor: while in my former
recollection, I could scarcely make out any resemblance of the
features. This showed that the second scene came long after the