given up her happiness for his. All this the lady read in her
eyes or her heart, and loved her for it; and they took hands and were
silent together, thinking of those they had left, as we upon earth think
of those who have gone from us, but only with far more understanding,
and far greater love. "And have you never been able to do anything for
him?" our Pilgrim said.

Then the beautiful lady's face flushed all over with the most heavenly
warmth and light. Her smile ran over like the bursting out of the sun.
"Oh, I will tell you," she said. "There was a moment when he was very
sad and perplexed, not knowing what to think. There was something he
could not understand; nor could I understand, nor did I know what it was
until it was said to me, 'You may go and tell him.' And I went in the
early morning, before he was awake, and kissed him, and said it in his
ear. He woke up in a moment and understood, and everything was clear to
him. Afterwards I heard him say, 'It is true that the night brings
counsel. I had been troubled and distressed all day long, but in the
morning it was quite clear to me.' And the other answered, 'Your brain
was refreshed, and that made your judgment clear.' But they never knew
it was I! That was a great delight. The dear souls! they are so
foolish," she cried with the sweetest laughter that ran into tears. "One
cries because one is so happy; it is a silly old habit," she said.

"And you were not grieved, it did not hurt you--that he did not know--"

"Oh, not then; not then! I did not go to him for that. When you have
been here a little longer you will see the difference. When you go for
yourself, out of impatience, because it still seems to you that you must
know best, and they don't know you--then it strikes to your heart; but
when you go to help them--ah," she cried, "when he comes how much I
shall have to tell him! 'You thought it was sleep when it was I--when
you woke so fresh and clear it was I that kissed you; you thought it
your duty to me to be sad afterwards and were angry with yourself
because you had wronged me of the first thoughts of your waking--when it
was all me, all through!'"

"I begin to understand," said the little Pilgrim; "but why should they
not see us, and why should not we tell them? It would seem so natural.
If they saw us it would make them so happy, and so sure."

Upon this the lady shook her head.

"The worst of it is not that they are not sure--it is the parting. I