Although the movement in this reversed writing is rapid and definite, as if great energy were exerted to accomplish it, it is extremely difficult to follow, perhaps because the muscles of the hand are accustomed to move from left to right in writing, or because the mind instinctively resists a movement it cannot readily understand. V The next day (Monday, March 11th) we all returned to New York together, Mrs. Gaylord rejoining us in the evening, after dining with other friends. Before her arrival, we talked a little to Mary Kendal, who was still uneasy about the failure to reach her husband, from whom no word had come. We asked if she knew David Bruce, and she replied: “No, but he is here, and most of us know what he does. He is a sweet force.” When Mrs. Gaylord came, we told her of this characterization, after some personal talk with Frederick, and at once he took up the suggestion. “Mother dearest, you are a sweet force, too. Help me build a structure of strength, which is Dad, sweetness, which is you, and illumination, which is my part.” We remembered then his asking her to “clear away the débris of things outlived and begin the new structure with me,” but not until greater revelations followed did we understand fully what he meant. A little later he said of his father: “He will discover that I am more a force than ever, and then he will be as proud as men who have sons ‘over there.’ ... Should you prefer a son in the trenches or in the place of accomplished peace?... I am nearer you now than I have ever been before, but the price of that is apparent separation. Your life knows no such companionship as ours can be now, but that is possible only at the cost of apparent and visible contact. This is gain, not loss. You are questioning that, but trust me. I know. You can’t even guess what this means to all of us, Sis and Babe and Dad and you and “FREDERICK.” His name was dropped a line, like a signature. It was coming slowly, with hesitations and false starts, and I asked: “Are you tired, Frederick? Or am I?” “Both,” he said. “This is not the simplest thing I ever did.... I am not tired, as you understand weariness, but it is easier sometimes to get things through than others.” The next evening—the last we had with Frederick at that time—his first messages were personal, expressing his desire to “talk straight” to other members of the family. “But there’s no hurry,” he went on. “We’ve all eternity together now.... Only one thing can separate us. If you doubt my existence, I shall still exist, but your doubt will destroy the thread that links us like a telegraph-wire, only more closely and warmly. So you must not backslide, for my sake as well as your own.”