The two voices ceased, and there fell a deep silence. How long it lasted Frances never knew. She was as one kneeling in a holy place, too near to the spiritual to reck of time. But gradually, as she knelt, there dawned upon her the consciousness of another presence in that chamber of Death. It did not surprise her when Ruth’s voice, quiet and confident, spoke in the stillness. “This is my mother!” she said. “She came to me that night at the Stones and stayed with me so as I shouldn’t be frightened. She said she would come again if God would let her. Isn’t He kind?” An odd little quiver of rapture ran through the words. “He is always kind to His little ones, my darling,” said Mrs. Dermot very tenderly. “‘He shall gather the lambs with His arm and carry them in His bosom.’” “That is what my mother told me,” said the child. “She says—she says—that if we only knew how beautiful it is on beyond, we should never mind going, or cry—ever—for those who went. You won’t cry when I’ve gone, dear Granny, will you?” “Not for you, darling,” Mrs. Dermot whispered back. “Nor for my mother any more,” said little Ruth. “She is quite happy. Do you see her? She is standing close to you and smiling. Don’t you see her, Granny?” “I know that she is here,” said Mrs. Dermot. “She is very, very pretty,” said Ruth in a hushed voice, “much prettier than anyone else I know. Her hair is dark, and her eyes are lovely, like hare-bells. No one else has eyes like that.” Again the thrill of gladness was in her voice. “I can see her, Granny! I can see her!” said little Ruth. Then in a lower voice, slightly mystified: “I wonder why Uncle Arthur and Miss Thorold are so unhappy. I can see them too, but they are not so clear. I wish they were happy. I should see them more easily then.” Frances raised her head, but the blue eyes were fixed upwards; it was the eyes of the soul that saw her, the voice of the soul that spoke. “Miss Thorold,” said the child, “the Stones are waiting for you. Don’t ever be afraid! They are going to give you something that you’re wanting—something that you’ve wanted always. I don’t know what it is, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll know it when you find it, because it’s very big—bigger even than the Rocking Stone. And if you can’t find it by yourself, Uncle Arthur will help you. Only you’ll have to ask him—because it’s the only way.” Her voice began to drag a little. “He’s so lonely and so sad, and he never thinks anybody wants him. Often when you think he is cross, he is just unhappy. He has been unhappy for ever so long, and it’s getting worse. Grandpa doesn’t understand, but then he is so often away now. He has been away ever since that night I went to look for you at the Stones. I don’t know where he goes to, do you?” Frances hesitated, but at once Mrs. Dermot spoke in answer. “Granny knows where he is, darling. He is coming back soon. Don’t trouble your little head about him!”