And Owen told her that something seemed to have held him back when
the thought came of going to her room. "It was really very strange.
The thought was put into my mind suddenly that it would be better
for me not to go to your room."

"No more than a sudden thought? But the thought was very clear and
distinct?"

"Yes; but between waking and sleeping thoughts are unusually
distinct."

"You don't believe in miracles, Owen?" And she told him of her dream
and her sudden awaking, and the voices heard in her ears at first,
then in the room, and then about the house. "So you see the nuns
kept us apart."

"And you believe in these things?"

"How can I do otherwise?"

Owen sighed, and they walked on a few paces. The last leaves were
dancing; the woods were cold and wet, the heavy branches of the
fir-trees dripping with cold rain, and in the walks a litter of
chestnut-leaves.

"Not a space of blue in the sky, only grey. It will be drearier still
in Glasgow; you had better stay here," he said, as they walked round
the little lake, watching the water-fowl moving in and out of the
reeds, and they talked for some time of Riversdale, of the lake