"It’s very hard indeed, and you can’t quite understand it all. But when you say to yourself, it’s all it seems somehow to put it more right. And the text says, God is love, so that would come in too, though I don’t quite know how till I think about it more. But what I’m quite certain of is that Harry couldn’t have been _wasted_. I think that’s what poor Lady Brent can’t see. All of him that we loved is alive somewhere. I’m more and more sure of that every moment. I believe it’s what Harry is trying to say to us. Let’s just say we believe it, Viola dear. Perhaps it will even make him more happy if we do. I believe it. I believe Harry is alive and that he knows about us, and some day you will see him again, and you will be happier together than you have ever been. Say it, Viola." "The last letter Harry wrote to me," said Viola, musingly, "he said he should love me always, always, always. Do you think he meant what we’ve been saying, Jane, though he wouldn’t write about being killed?" "I expect he did. I’m sure he must have believed it, and I’m sure he wants you to believe it now. Say it, Viola. Say you believe it." Viola rose and stood before her. A smile was on her lips, and there was a light in her eyes. "I do believe it," she said, "and it will make everything different to me all through my life. Harry will be with me always." She turned and stood, looking up to the clear space of sky above the pool. "Oh, Harry, my darling," she said very softly, and tenderly, "can you hear me—your own Viola, who loves you so? I do love you, darling, now and for ever."