“About that I think much, hope a little sometimes, but know nothing,” she said. “No; we know nothing,” he echoed, with a sigh; “but it is something to hope. I have a fancy that the road is not long ahead of me here, and I may soon have a chance to know what there is or know nothing. If we have an existence beyond this objective one, I may be able to help you from there. It would be helping you could I but come and tell you that I lived, would it not?” “What greater service could you do me?” “If I could do that I might do more. Who knows? Of course it is absurd to speak of helping you without explaining what I mean. Apparently you need nobody’s help. You are strong of character, self-poised, capable, successful and fearless. I see all that, yet I cannot rid myself of the fear that you are destined to suffer much and will need the service and sympathy of all who love you. From life I have learned a little. When great strength is given I know it will be needed. And you are stronger in character than you know. I should like to save you from suffering, but were I ever so rich and powerful, I know I could not do it. You must meet your destiny, whatever it may be. As the Scotch say, ‘must dree your weird.’ Nobody else can live your life for you, for, alas! life admits of no proxy. I have woven many fanciful theories about you and your past, present and future.” “Tell me one,” she said. “I will give you my favorite. You are not what you seem to be--not less but more than you pretend to be. You have been tenderly reared and much loved. You are not here earning your bread because of necessity, but for some purpose not thought of by those with whom you come in contact. Having demonstrated your ability to stand alone, you will go back home some day and be done with it. You are supported in whatever otherwise would be hard, by the knowledge that you are free to turn your back upon it whenever you wish. Am I not a good clairvoyant?” “Permit me to ask why you think as you do about me?” “Because you give me the impression of not belonging where I find you. You seem to be playing a part and doing it with exceeding skill; but your real self is not in it. As you say, you will be gone some day to your own people. And now that I have confessed myself a failure and a fool, I too, shall go away.” “Why?” she asked, regretfully. “Why must the men and women who find each other companionable be lovers or nothing to each other? I am fond of you, very, not in the sentimental fashion, but as good comrade and friend. Why can’t we go on just as we have been doing? That talk about loving me need make no difference.”