note from Dalrymple, an old friend and
water-colour painter like myself, to say that
he had taken a little cottage opposite
Hambledon Lock, and that he was down for a
month's sketching. He would be at home
to-morrow night, he said, and would I give
him a call before I left. Well, I had not
seen Dalrymple for some time and, although
I felt a secret presentiment that it would
be well for me to refuse the invitation, I
wrote to say I would dine with him next
day. The day after that, I intended
dropping down the river to Cookham, where I
had plenty of work before me.

I slept but ill that night, harassed by I
know not what fears and vague sense of
trouble. When I awoke in the early morning
there were heavy clouds about the sky,
threatening thunder. I started in the
afternoon; I had intended to take all my traps
and paddle on, after I had left Dalrymple,
to Marlow, but was obliged to abandon that
intention and to arrange to return to Henley
that night.

The thunder-clouds hung heavily about
the hills when I started, and the river had
that dull, lead-coloured hue, so ominous of
bad weather. As I rowed past the Poplars,
a few heavy drops fell spattering about me,
and I almost decided on turning back. But
it was my only chance for some time of
seeing Dalrymple, whom I wanted much
to see (you know he married my sister
afterwards), and I went on. As I rowed
on, the air cleared, and by the time I reached
the island it was a fine bright day, though
oppressively hot. I hung about all the
afternoon sketching, and feeling it impossible
to get away from the strange fascinations
of the place, until it was absolutely
necessary to lay down the sketch-book, and
to row on to my destination.

How well I remember Greenlands that
afternoon! The house was empty, and the
old-fashioned green jalousies were closed.
But for the beauty of the gardens it might
have seemed deserted. The colours of the
flowers were too bright to be dimmed, even
by the formal arrangement of the beds in
which they were set; the standard roses
along the river terrace were just bursting
into their wealth of blossom, the river's
bank was fringed with clusters of blue
forget-me-nots. On the other side of the
river the meadows spread far away, the
mowers were at work, the scent of new-
mown hay came to me from them as it
comes to me from those meadows there now.

As I passed down the river towards the
weir, leaving, as you know, the lock on my
left, I felt a strange shudder creeping over
me that I could not account for. It is true
that a black, lurid cloud was just then
sweeping over the sun, but the air was
warm enough, and it was no external chill
I felt. I hadn't far to go. Dalrymple's
cottage was just above the weir; I found
him waiting for me, and in his welcome
forgot the momentary sense of something
wrong that had troubled me.

We had much to talk of, and, after dinner,
paced up and down the little garden in front
of his lodging until late. The moon was up,
but a heavy bank of clouds was rising
slowly beneath her, and it promised a bad
night. More than once I tried to make a
start, but something always prevented me,
and it was fully eleven o'clock before I got
into my boat. By that time the bank of
clouds had broken, and was driving, under
the force of an upper current of wind, across
the sky. There was no wind below, but
an ominous murmur among the rushes,
and strange, sudden ripples on the water
warned me that I must make the best of
my way if I would escape a wetting.

I pushed off from the little stairs, and,
as I started, a heavy thunder-cloud veiled
the moon, and I was in darkness. I knew
my way too well to be troubled by that,
and sculled out into the stream, intending
to make for the island on which the lock-
house stands, and so across to the towpath
side of the river.

As I got into the deeper shadow of the
trees on the island I felt the shuddering
feeling I had experienced in the morning.
I almost persuaded myself to turn back,
and to ask Dalrymple for shelter for the
night; but, although the muttering thunder
was by this time filling the air, and heavy
drops of rain were beginning to fall,
something I can't tell what, kept me on my
course.

As I passed the head of the island, the
darkness was intense, but there was light
enough for me to see that I had reached
the proper course, and I lay down to my
work vigorously. At that moment, from
under the very shadow, as it were, of the
lock-gates, a punt silently emerged. Again
I felt that nameless, objectless shudder. It
was, as far as I could see, a common fisherman's
punt, and there was one man in it.
I wondered for a moment how he came to
be there, the lock-gates being, as I could
see, even in that dim light, shut. But I
paid but little attention to him, and went
on my own way. Presently I found the
punt close to me, going, as it seemed to