“My dear lady,” said North gently, “it is quite easily explained. You love the place very much, that is easily seen, and you realized at once that the previous owner had loved it too. There was evidences of that on every hand. And it was quite natural when you were making improvements to wonder what he would have done. It only wants a little imagination to carry that to feeling that he was pleased when your improvements were a success.” Ruth smiled. “Yes, I know. It sounds very natural as you put it. But, Mr. North, it is more than that. How shall I explain it? My mind is in touch somehow with another mind. It is like a conscious and quiet effortless telepathy. Thoughts, feelings, they pass between us without any words being necessary. It is another mind than mine which thinks, ‘It will be better to put that field down in lucerne this year,’ when I had been thinking of oats. But I catch the thought, and might not he catch mine? In the same way I feel when he is pleased; that is the most certain of all.” Roger North shook his head. “Such telepathy might be possible if he were alive,” he said. “We have much to learn on those lines. But there was no doubt as to his fate. He was killed instantaneously at Albert.” “You do not think any communication possible after death?” There was a pause before North answered. “Science has no evidence of it.” “I could not help wondering,” said Ruth diffidently, and feeling as it were for her words, “whether this method by which what he thinks or wishes about Thorpe seems to come to me might not possibly be the method used for communication on some other plane in the place of speech. Words are by no means a very good medium for expressing our thoughts, do you think?” “Very inadequate indeed,” agreed North. He got up as he spoke, and passed behind her, ostensibly to knock the ashes out of his pipe against the window-sill. When he came back to his chair he did not continue the line of conversation.