For a second we gazed into each other eyes; she with a fearful, yet curious, wondering look, I with a look of madness, at once of joy, of fear, of dread! Then she spoke, slowly, tremblingly, but still clearly, and I remembered the voice. "What is this? Where am I? Is this Heaven?" "All is well!" I whispered. "It must be," she said, in a dazed kind of way. "I am so rested, so free from pain, and then your voice is so familiar. Where am I, and who are you?" "Think," I said; "but do not be afraid; remember where you were last, and then know that all is well." "All is well," she repeated slowly, as if trying to impress the thought on her half-awakened mind, "I am so glad." "You are safe here," I went on, "no one shall harm you in any way. Do not be afraid whatever you may see." She looked around the vault, then a look of horror came into her eyes as she saw where she sat. "I am in a coffin!" she gasped. "Am I dead?" "No," I said, "it is all a mistake; but all is well. Think, try and remember the past." I saw that she made a mental effort, and then slowly light came into her eyes. "I was very ill," she said, "and so weak and weary. I wanted to die because--because--what was it? Oh, I remember now--because I was to wed--Wilfred, and I did not love him, and my wedding robe was made, and the wedding day was fixed, and I gave up hope that he was ever coming home." My heart began to beat with joy. Life and light came back to my heart. That "he" meant me--Roger. "And then?" I said, almost unconsciously. "And then I thought I was going to die, and I was glad, for I felt I could not endure being wedded to another." She spoke as if dreaming, or as if she unknowingly expressed the thoughts that dimly passed through her mind. "Well," I said, "you wanted to die; you grew weaker and weaker, until your friends thought you were dead, and you were brought here." "Here! Here!" and she looked eagerly around. "Where am I? The light is so dim that I cannot see." The candle was now very low in the socket of the lantern, and I scarcely knew what to do, but I tried to assure her that all was well. "You need not be afraid," I said, "It was all a mistake. You were thought to be dead, and you were brought to the grave of your family." "The grave, the family vault," she said, "in the church, under the Communion! But how came you here, and who are you?" The time had come for me to tell her, and I trembled lest I should say a mistaken word, or arouse a harmful feeling. I felt that the slightest thing might unhinge her delicately-balanced mind, and I scarcely knew what to say. "Can't you think who I am?" I said at length. "You called me home when I was away on the distant seas. I heard you say 'Roger, come home,' and I came, for I knew that you needed me." "Roger! Roger!" she said; "what! my Roger?" The words came out apparently unthinkingly. She did not know what she was saying.