Excerpt from The Strange Story of My Life: A Novel But alas for the mutability of human hopes and desires! We never did go home together, for, long before my father had even begun to think of a couple of years' leave, my pretty mother had gone to another home from which there is no return, on a journey for which we may make no arrangements for companion ship by the way; when I was nearly fifteen, she fell a victim to cholera and died.

My mother's death made a changed man of my father. Theirs had been a most passionate love match - a love which began on the day that he, staying at the squire's in the little north-country village of which her father was rector, had fallen in love with her when his eyes first fell upon her under the spreading chestnut trees which shaded one side of the Rectory garden. I have never seen that old garden, but my mother described it to me Often and often.

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