It was a singular and absorbing vigil to which Victor and the three women now set themselves. While Greek and Italian hucksters lamentably howled through the alleys and the milk-wagons and grocers' carts clattered up the streets, they waited upon the invisible and listened for the inaudible--so thin is the line between the prosaic and the mystic! Each minute snap or crackle in the woodwork was to Mrs. Joyce a sign that the translated spirit was struggling to manifest itself; but the seamstress, stolid with years of toil and trouble, sat beside the bed with calm gaze fixed upon the small, clear-cut face half hid in the pillows, as if it mattered very little to her whether she watched with the dead or sewed robes of velvet for the living. "It's all in the day's work," she was accustomed to say. Leo, with intent to comfort Victor, told of several notable cases of "suspension of animation" with which the literature of the Orient is filled, and Victor took this to be, as she intended it to be, an attempt to comfort and sustain. At times it seemed that he must be dreaming, so unreal was the scene and so extraordinary was the composure of these women. They had the air of those who await in infinite calm leisure the certain return of a friend. Now and again Mrs. Joyce rose and looked down upon the motionless form, and then perceiving no change resumed her seat. From time to time intruders mounted the stairs, knocked, and, getting no reply, tramped noisily down again. Victor was all for throwing things in their faces, but Mrs. Joyce interposed. When he looked from the windows he saw grinning faces turned upward, and waiting cameras could be seen on the walk opposite, ready to snap every living thing that entered--or came from--the house. In truth, Victor and his friends were enduring a state of siege. At last Mrs. Joyce said: "Nothing is gained by your staying here, Victor. Why don't you go for a ride in the park? Leo, take him down to the South Side Club." Victor protested. "I cannot go for a pleasure trip at such a time as this. It is impossible!" She met him squarely. "Victor, death to me is merely a passing from one plane to another. Besides, I don't think your mother has altogether left us. But if she has, you can do no good by remaining here. Mrs. Post and I are quite sufficient. It is a glorious spring day. I beg you to go out and take the air. It will do you infinite good." "If there is nothing I can do here then I ought to resume my search for work," he replied, sturdily. "Now that I cannot take my mother away with me, there is nothing for me to do but to find employment here and face our enemies as best I can." She opposed him there also. "Don't do that--not now. Wait. I have a plan. I'll not go into it now, but when you come back, if there is no change, we will all go home and I will explain." The young people had risen and were starting toward the door when an imperative, long drawn-out rapping startled them.