So strongly do I feel the actuality of it all, that if this book should fall into the hands of the people to whom the vision refers, I will ask them to communicate with me.  I have no idea what their past has been, but I know their characters well.  The fact that they have no children is a sorrow to them, but has served to centre their affections strongly on each other.  The husband is a very tranquil and unaffected man.  There is no sort of pose about his life.  He just lives as he likes best.  He is unambitious, and he has no sense of a duty owed to others.  But this is not coupled with any sense of contempt or aloofness—­he is invariably kind and gentle.  He is an intellectual man, highly trained and clear-minded.  The wife has less knowledge of the technique of artistic things, but a very fine, natural, critical taste.  She cares, however, less for the things themselves than because her husband cares for them; but I do not think that she knows this.  They have always enjoyed good health, and I cannot discern that they have had troubles of any kind.  And I have the strongest sense of a perfectly natural high-mindedness about both, a healthy instinct for what is right and fine.  They are absolutely without meanness; and they are entirely free from any sort of morbidity or dreariness.  They have travelled a good deal, but they now seldom leave home; they designed and built their own house.  One curious thing is that I have never heard music in the house, nor have I ever seen them reading, and yet I feel that they are much occupied with music and books.

What is the possible explanation of this curious vision?  I have sometimes wondered if they have been brought into some unconscious rapport with me through one of my books.  It seems to me just possible that when I have seen them standing together there may be some phrase in one of my books which has struck them and which they are accustomed to remember; and I think it may be some phrase about the sunset, because it is at sunset that I generally see them.  But this does not explain my vision of the house, because I have never seen either of them outside of the house, and I have several times seen the music-room with no one in it; how does the vision of the house, which is so strangely distinct, come to me?

They inspire me with a great feeling of respect and friendship; the vision is very beautiful, and is always attended by a great sense of pleasure.  I feel that it does me good in some obscure way to be brought into touch with them.  Yet I can never retain my hold on the scene for more than an instant; it is just there and then it is gone.

It is a very strange thing to be conscious of two quite distinct personalities, and yet without any power of winding myself any further into their thoughts.  There seems to be no vital contact.  I am admitted, as it were, at certain times to a sight of the place, but I am sure that there is no sort of volition on their part about it; I do not feel that their thoughts are ever bent actually upon me, as I exist, but perhaps upon something connected with me.