As days followed his occupancy of the great home he had builded, he became aware of the perfect solace which now permeated his inner being. Although assured that he had control of his every faculty he did not gloat over his sudden surcease from sorrow. There was a reason for everything and consequently no need of haste in forming "half-baked" conclusions. He had been helped along by a process yet to be fathomed--most probably _the will to do_. His great homestead, a marvel of exquisite taste, also performed its part in the transformation. But there was something deeper still, an underlying cause, that mystified him. Then, all at once, a great thought crept forward--was _she_ near? Did _she_ know _all_--everything about his great longing for _her_? His heart seemed to stand still! He gazed out of the window; evening shadows had fallen. He had been seated in a huge cushioned chair seemingly for a long time. The room was noiseless but for the deep moaning of the waters of Great South Bay lapping at the beach. Then--vaguely--he thought he heard a voice; "Drury!" it seemed to call. Villard roused himself and stood upon his feet. He wondered at the calm within him, and with glad voice shouted back: "Winifred! you have called to me! Speak again, dear one! I----" "_There is no death!--There is no death!_" came the answer clear and joyous--and then a stillness fell upon the room, so intense that through a heavy metal door could be heard the ticking of a clock in an adjoining room. Shaken by the experience Drury Villard fell back into the soft upholstery from which position he had heard the voice. He must have time to think! What did it all mean? How much was fact--how much was fancy? Had he been asleep? Would it not be best to walk out along his private beach and breathe the salt air of the evening tide, thus to tranquilize his mind? There was nothing to brood about--that was his thought. He had witnessed a certain phenomenon, the secret of which time must disclose to him. He would wait, "patiently and without stress of mind," was his sober conclusion. In fact, as he walked out along the sandy path leading to the water's edge he found himself supremely happy over his wonderful adventure. His Winifred had kept the tryst!--such was his impression. From within the great obscuring veil she had spoken, had called his name,--had fulfilled the promise she had given while in the life! "'Tis naught for Sun to shine," he quoted. "God works in a mysterious way His wonders to perform. There is no death, says my Winifred. Then must I strive with all my soul to meet her in the great beyond! But I must not brood over this matter. I feel the need of fellowship. I'll send for Parkins and put my story before him. I must have some one in whom to confide," and forthwith he put his plan into action. Never was a man more seemingly delighted than William Parkins when a "long distance" call from the Master of Dreamy Hollow invited him over for the week-end.