bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? But what else
could we do? We could not give her those glib assurances that naive
souls make so easily to others concerning their after state.

Secretly, I think, we knew that her philosophy of calm reality, that
queer and unbidden growing tranquillity which precedes death, was nearer
to our own belief, than would be any gilt-edged orthodoxy; but
nevertheless (such is the strength of what is expected), we felt it
dreadful that we could not console her with the ordinary presumptions.

"You mustn't give up hope," we kept on saying: "The new doctor will do a
lot for you; he's a specialist--a very clever man."

And she kept on answering: "Yes, sir." "Yes, ma'am." But still her eyes
went on asking, as if there were something else she wanted. And then to
one of us came an inspiration:

"You mustn't let your husband worry about expense. That will be all
right."

She smiled then, as if the chief cloud on her soul had been the thought
of the arrears her illness and death would leave weighing on him with
whom she had shared this bed ten years and more. And with that smile
warming the memory of those spirit-haunted eyes, we crept down-stairs
again, and out into the fields.

It was more beautiful than ever, just touched already with evening
mystery--it was better than ever to be alive. And the immortal wonder
that has haunted man since first he became man, and haunts, I think, even
the animals--the unanswerable question,--why joy and beauty must ever be