in such a wild and excited way
that I lost patience with him. His addled brains are crammed with the
wildest and most ignorant superstitions.'

'Did you ask him about her burial?'

'I did. I gathered from him that she was buried by the parish in the
usual way. But I assure you the man's account of everything that
occurred was so bewildered and so incoherent that I could really make
nothing out of him. What is his creed? Is it Swedenborgianism? He
seems to think that the model he has lost is a spirit (or spiritual
body, to use his own jargon) sent to him by the artistic-minded
spirits for entirely artistic purposes, but snatched from him now by
the mean jealousy of the same spirit-world.' 'But what did he say
about her burial?' 'Well, he seems not to have ignored so completely
the mundane question of burying this spiritual body as his creed
would have warranted, for he gave the mother money to bury it. The
mother, however, seems to have spent the money in gin and to have
left the duty of burying the spiritual body to the parish, who make
short work of all bodies; and, of course, by the parish she was
buried, you may rest assured of that, though the artist seems to
think that she was simply translated to heaven like Elijah.'

'I must return to England at once,' I said. 'I shall apply to the
Home Secretary to have the body disinterred.'

'Why, sir?'

'In order that she may be buried in a proper place, to be sure.'

'No use. You have no _locus standi_.'

'What do you mean?'

'You are not a relative, and to ask for a disinterment for such an
unimportant reason as that you, a stranger, would prefer to see her
buried elsewhere, would be idle.'

Sleaford now came into the cabin. I thanked him for his kindness, but
told him I must return at once.

'Even if your health permitted,' he said, 'it is impossible for the
yacht to go back. I have an appointment to meet a yachting friend.
But in any case depend upon it, old fellow, the doctor won't hear of
your returning for a long while yet. He told me not five minutes ago
that nothing but sea air, and keeping your mind tranquil, you know,
will restore you.'

The feeling of exhaustion that came upon me as he spoke convinced me
that there was only too much truth in his words. I felt that I must
yield to the inevitable; but as to tranquillity of mind, my entire
being was now filled with a yearning to see the New North
Cemetery--to see her grave. I seemed to long for the ver