“By the way, Grace,” I began with a jerk, “I don’t believe I ever told you: I went down to that little place of ... of your sister’s the day before I had that bad relapse.” At once her face lit up emotionally. “No, you never told me. How sweet of you to go!” The ready tears overbrimmed her eyes. “I’m _so_ glad you did.” She lowered her voice and added softly: “And did you see her?” The question sent one of my old shudders over me. I looked with amazement at Mrs. Bridgeworth’s plump face, smiling at me through a veil of painless tears. “I do reproach myself more and more about darling Mary,” she added tremulously. “But tell me—tell me everything.” There was a knot in my throat; I felt almost as uncomfortable as I had in Mary Pask’s own presence. Yet I had never before noticed anything uncanny about Grace Bridgeworth. I forced my voice up to my lips. “Everything? Oh, I can’t—.” I tried to smile. “But you did see her?” I managed to nod, still smiling. Her face grew suddenly haggard—yes, haggard! “And the change was so dreadful that you can’t speak of it? Tell me—was that it?” I shook my head. After all, what had shocked me was that the change was so slight—that between being dead and alive there seemed after all to be so little difference, except that of a mysterious increase in reality. But Grace’s eyes were still searching me insistently. “You must tell me,” she reiterated. “I know I ought to have gone there long ago—” “Yes; perhaps you ought.” I hesitated. “To see about the grave, at least....” She sat silent, her eyes still on my face. Her tears had stopped, but her look of solicitude slowly grew into a stare of something like terror. Hesitatingly, almost reluctantly, she stretched out her hand and laid it on mine for an instant. “Dear old friend—” she began. “Unfortunately,” I interrupted, “I couldn’t get back myself to see the grave ... because I was taken ill the next day....” “Yes, yes; of course. I know.” She paused. “Are you _sure_ you went there at all?” she asked abruptly. “Sure? Good Lord—” It was my turn to stare. “Do you suspect me of not being quite right yet?” I suggested with an uneasy laugh. “No—no ... of course not ... but I don’t understand.” “Understand what? I went into the house.... I saw everything, in fact, _but_ her grave....” “Her grave?” Grace jumped up, clasping her hands on her breast and darting away from me. At the other end of the room she stood and gazed, and then moved slowly back. “Then, after all—I wonder?” She held her eyes on me, half fearful and half reassured. “Could it be simply that you never heard?” “Never heard?” “But it was in all the papers! Don’t you ever read them? I meant to write.... I thought I _had_ written ... but I said: ‘At any rate he’ll see it in the papers’.... You know I’m always lazy about letters....” “See what in the papers?”