Again, there are these loves in one's life, some fleeting, some lasting, that are too sacred to write of, and of which one never speaks. The joys and sorrows they brought, the prose or poesy of our intercourse are graven deep on the heart. Whether it be they still walk by our side, or have gone west to rest after labor, we must learn to say with the pre-Buddhists of old time: "Do not grieve for the living or the dead. Never did I not exist for you... nor will any one of us ever hereafter cease to be." Such sacramental hours sanctify the variety of our lot, combine the pathos of love and death, and stretch through the corridors of memory into the hush and shadow of the haunted past; where all the mystery of such hours seem gathered for inspiration. There linger the symbols of our sojourn here. How potent, yet how fragmentary they are! The scent of a flower, the long embrace, the hand held out in vain, the flash of recognition, the chime of the clock which altered the course of the pilgrimage. The meek hands folded on the still breast. Such symbols abide with us like the image of a Divine form, some echo of immortal music, some lingering word of angels. Their cadences come ever back to us from infinite distances, ghostly chords and evanescent. Harmonies which come and go too fitfully for apprehension. CHAPTER VIII SOME STRANGE EVENTS After my marriage my husband and I passed some time in the United States and Canada; we then returned to England and took a place in Cambridgeshire. We were both very fond of racing, and attended all the meetings at Newmarket. One day I drove by appointment to the house of a neighbor who had asked me to meet Miss Catherine Bates, author of that interesting book, "Seen and Unseen." Just before I started my husband, half in fun, and knowing Miss Bates to be a psychic, said, "Ask her what horse is going to win the Cambridgeshire." I promised to put the question and drove off. I had a most interesting visit, but I totally forgot to ask Miss Bates for the winner of the coming race. It was not until I was seated in the victoria, exchanging a few parting words with the two ladies standing in the doorway to bid me good-by, that I suddenly recollected my husband's request. As the horses were starting I called out to Miss Bates-- "Tell me what's going to win 'The Cambridgeshire?'" The answer was prompt and clear: "Marco to win, ---- for a place." (I regret I cannot remember the name of the second horse.) As I drove away I waved my thanks, and directly I got home I told my husband--"Marco to win, ---- for a place." He was much interested in this "tip" from so well-known a psychic, and of course we backed "Marco to win and ---- for a place" for all we were worth. I wish I could remember the odds. I only know that they were "long." The event duly came off, and I wrote to Miss Bates thanking her for the good turn she had done us. Her reply astounded me.