"No. It will only be like what it was when he went away before. My heart was going out to him always, and when he came back all the parting was forgotten, and it was sweeter than if we hadn’t parted. Oh, Jane, fancy seeing Harry just like he used to be, beautiful and laughing and happy! Do you think it’s possible that it can be really like that—that he’s somewhere now—not lying out there in France, but just as he was when we loved each other so much? Tell me you really believe it, and are not saying it only to comfort me." Jane clung to her again. "I’m sure of it," she said. "It’s Harry’s message. You don’t mind it coming through me, do you? It’s a message to you; he wants me to give it you. It’s not in words, as if he were speaking. It’s all through me. Harry wants your love just as much now as ever he did, and he loves you just as much too." Viola sat silent, with a tender look in her eyes, and a smile upon her lips. Presently she said: "Harry once saw something, not belonging to the world which everybody can see, and when he told me I knew at once why he had seen it, because there had never been anything in the way with him. There never has been. You could look deep, deep, deep into him, and never find anything there that wasn’t beautiful and true. I wonder if there’s another place where people like that really belong—no, not a place, but something they belong to all the time they’re in the world, and that goes on just the same for them when they have left the world. I think there must be, Jane, and that’s how it is with Harry. That would make him here, with us, wouldn’t it?" "Yes," said Jane, softly. "That’s what I feel about it. It’s all love. I can’t explain exactly, but when he was here with his body there was something else more important still, and just as real. It’s love that is real—like a person. Can you understand?" "Yes, I think I can, and it’s what I meant, too, that is so comforting. What I loved most in him when he was here is just what he is still, and I can go on loving it, because it didn’t die when he was killed. I wonder if he thought that too. I couldn’t bear to think of him being killed, so he never talked about it." "Wasn’t that because he thought it didn’t _really_ matter?" "Oh, how it matters to me! But perhaps God took him so that he should never be spoilt, not the least little bit. Oh, but I would have tried so hard to be worthy of him, if only he’d been left to me, just for a little little time longer. He said I helped him. I believe I did, when he was unhappy—because the world wasn’t like it had been to him here, and I knew more about the world than he did, poor darling!"