“No. I have judged it from these windows.” “Then we may prepare for home.” * * * * * _Several pages are here omitted._ * * * * * When we returned it was just to be in time for dinner. I remember Vestasian was there, and a friend of Vestné, a very simple, lovely woman, who, I heard, had come a long distance to pay a visit. That the evening passed off brilliantly I was well aware. For the most part they talked on subjects of which I was entirely ignorant, yet this was due to myself rather than any lack of kindness on their part. Afterwards the new guest sang for us, and accompanied herself upon the harp. She sang with exquisite taste, both in choice and expression. Later in the evening she sent for some sketches she said she had once taken when on a visit to earth. One or two of them I knew. They were exquisitely done, and we all admired them. The evening passed quickly, and I remember Plucritus gave us a sketch of a love scene he had just witnessed on the earth before leaving it. It was very amusing, or he had a way of making it appear so—I cannot quite tell which. Vestasian stayed late, and he and Plucritus walked back through the grounds together. I went to bed, and as I looked through the open window I saw them standing on the bridge by the little gate deep in conversation. It seemed now and again as if a laugh travelled thence to the palace; but, tired and, I may confess it, ill, I soon retired to rest. The experiences of the day had not been happy. However they might have amused my companion, I had not shared his feeling. It had made me think with unavailing sorrow on the littleness of life, and I longed, even as a prisoner cooped in some foul dungeon longs for light and air, for some ennobling aspect from which humanity might at least be treated as a subject somewhat higher than a jest. For myself, I had begun to think and feel less. The sense of unreality and insecurity which had, up till now, enveloped me was passing. I saw the shadow of Death creeping ever nearer, and tried to fathom what my sin had been that I should thus die in hell. Then I smiled. I was no more a judge of my own actions than anyone else can be, and I recognised simply that my duty was to bear without complaint until the end. Any form of prayer was quite beyond me. Only those who have been in this iron kingdom have any conception how prayer is crushed in the head of him who prays. No form of comfort could approach me, nor now did I feel that I needed any; for life—what one terms life—had been slowly sapped from me as the long unheeded days had passed.