"You set up your altar, and when I wanted one most I found it
magnificently ready. I used it with the gratitude I've always
shown you, for I knew it from of old to be dedicated to Death. I
told you long ago that my Dead weren't many. Yours were, but all
you had done for them was none too much for MY worship! You had
placed a great light for Each--I gathered them together for One!"

"We had simply different intentions," he returned. "That, as you
say, I perfectly knew, and I don't see why your intention shouldn't
still sustain you."

"That's because you're generous--you can imagine and think. But
the spell is broken."

It seemed to poor Stransom, in spite of his resistance, that it
really was, and the prospect stretched grey and void before him.
All he could say, however, was: "I hope you'll try before you give
up."

"If I had known you had ever known him I should have taken for
granted he had his candle," she presently answered. "What's
changed, as you say, is that on making the discovery I find he
never has had it. That makes MY attitude"--she paused as thinking
how to express it, then said simply--"all wrong."

"Come once again," he pleaded.

"Will you give him his candle?" she asked.

He waited, but only because it would sound ungracious; not because