CHAPTER I.
THE OCCULT SCHOOL.
THEY always did attract me—second-hand bookshops. This morning I began at the windows, then at the boxes of books outside, then at those hanging at the doors till, at last, I gave way to temptation and went inside.
It was only the books I noticed and I walked along by the tables, scanning the titles till at last I found "The Drama of Love and Death," by Edward Carpenter, and pulled it out.
I opened it at "The Return Journey" and was just finding out that it was all about me, when I felt someone standing at my elbow.
I had noticed somehow without seeing or caring that there was a girl at the far end of the shop looking up at the books. I knew it was Sybil Armstrong, but I did not want to talk so I hardly noticed that she was there.
But, although I was interested in my new-found treasure, I was conscious that she was moving towards me and, when she stood quietly by my side in that mysterious way I knew it was she and purposely did not at once look up.
When at last I did she smiled at me in a meaning way. What she meant I did not know then, except that she was up to some devilment.
She was a fair little thing. She and I had always been drawn to one another through our love of books. There was a sort of fascination about her that made me like to talk to her and to sit next to her, and though I never courted it she would always move from her seat in trams or boats to come and seek me out.
So I looked down now into her blue eyes and wondered what form the devilment was to take and whether she knew that I was quietly watching and enjoying her tactics.
"Well!" she said.
"Well?" said I.
"What wonderful treasure have you found? Can you bear to touch those dirty books? Think of the occult influence they carry! You don't know what wicked old man may have hugged and fingered them."
I looked down at my "Drama of Love and Death," that was telling me such wonderful things at four and ninepence a copy, and looked back into her eyes.
"Don't you know that those books hold thoughts and feelings that may be passed on to you?" she went on.
"I know they hold thoughts and feelings I want to hear about," I said, and hugged my book with a finger in the
