"Surely it is late! I must go at once. I promised to have tea with the children." * * * * * Neither of us spoke; neither of us stirred; when the sound of her light footfall was heard no more, there was complete silence. Below, the mists had gathered so thickly that now they spread across the valley one dead white sea of vapour in which village and woods and stream were all buried--all except the little church spire, that, still unsubmerged, pointed triumphantly to the sky; and what a sky! For that which yesterday had steeped us in cold and darkness, now, piled even to the zenith in mountainous cloud-masses, was dyed, every crest and summit of it, in crimson fire, pouring from a great fount of colour, where, to the west, the heavens opened to show that wonder-world whence saints and singers have drawn their loveliest images of the Rest to come. But perhaps I saw all things irradiated by the light which had risen upon my darkness--the light that never was on land or sea, but shines reflected in the human face. * * * * * "George, I am waiting for your interpretation." "It is very simple, Lindy," he said. But there was a tone in his voice I had heard once--and only once--before, when, through the first terrible hours that followed my accident, he sat patiently beside me in the darkened room, holding my hot hand in his broad cool palm. "It is very simple. It is the most easily explained of all the accounts. It was a dream from beginning to end. She fell asleep praying, thinking, as she says; what was more natural or inevitable than that she should dream of the ghost? And it all confirms what I say: that visions are composed by the person who sees them. Nothing could be more characteristic of Cissy than the story she has just told us." "And let it be a dream," I said. "It is of no consequence, for the dreamer remains, breathing and walking on this solid earth. I have touched her hand, I have looked into her face. Thank God! she is no vision, the woman who could dream this dream! George, how do you explain the miracle of her existence?" But Atherley was silent. THE END Transcriber's Note: Several spelling errors were corrected: childen/children, greal/great and spendid/splendid. RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. MACMILLAN'S SEVENPENNY SERIES _Cloth Gilt. With Frontispieces. 7d. net per volume_ * * * * * 1 The Forest Lovers. By MAURICE HEWLETT. 2 A Roman Singer. By F. MARION CRAWFORD. 3 The First Violin. By JESSIE FOTHERGILL. 4 Misunderstood. By FLORENCE MONTGOMERY. 5 Elizabeth and Her German Garden. 6 The House of Mirth. By EDITH WHARTON. 7 Diana Tempest. By MARY CHOLMONDELEY. 8 The Choir Invisible. By JAMES LANE ALLEN. 9 A Waif's Progress. By RHODA BROUGHTON. 10 John Glynn. By ARTHUR PATERSON. * * * * * MACMILLAN'S SEVENPENNY SERIES