After the footman brought
the whisky and soda to the library that night I took a small quantity, and
pulled an easy-chair in front of the fire. I was tired, having travelled
all the preceding night and part of the day. Hence the warmth and comfort
soon sent me to sleep. I have a hazy recollection of the man coming in to
put some coal on the fire. In a sub-conscious fashion I knew that it was
not my cousin, but a servant. I settled down a trifle more comfortably,
and everything became a blank. Then I thought I awoke. I looked out
through the windows, and, to my astonishment, it was broad daylight. The
trees, too, were covered with leaves, the sun was shining, and there was
every evidence of a fine day in early summer. In some indefinite way I
realised that the library was no longer the room which I knew. The
furniture and carpets were different. The books were old-fashioned. A very
handsome spinning-wheel stood near the open window. There was no litter of
newspapers or magazines.
"Before I could begin to piece together these curious discrepancies in the
normal condition of things, I saw two men riding up the avenue, where the
yew trees, by the way, were loftier and finer in every way than those
really existing. The horsemen were dressed in such strange fashion that,
unfortunately, I paid little heed to their faces.
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