swers, rising slowly.

'Anything,' he replies.

She runs her fingers over the keys and then sings 'The Garden of Sleep.'

Paul closes his book as she begins, looking at her earnestly.

Why does she sing that song, so close as they are to the real spot; and
why does it say 'the graves of dear women,' the only one he knows buried
there is a little child. He rises abruptly as the song is finished, and
passes through the French window into the garden. Philippa has begun
something else. He pauses and listens.

'Why live when life is sad?
Death only sweet.'

Ah! thinks he, that is exactly it. What good is life to me!

The evening sun floods with a golden haze the road before him; he walks
on, the distant sound of the waves coming up from the sands, and almost
unconsciously he sings in a low voice,

'Did they love as I love
When they lived by the sea?
Did they wait as I wait
For the days that may be?'

And then, with a start he finds himself in 'The Garden of Sleep,' and
just on the edge of the cliff, reaching over to pick some poppies is a
child, a little girl with golden hair.

In an instant he is at her side, and without saying a word for fear of
starting her, he catches her in his arms.

'Mummy, mummy, don't,' she cries, and then seeing that it is a stranger
her anger is roused still more. 'Put me down, how dare lou touch me, me
wants the flowers.'

'Now look here,' replies Paul. 'Do you know, you might have fallen over.
It is very dangerous to go so near the edge. If I get you the flowers,
promise me you will go away,'--no answer--so he puts her down, he picks
the flowers, and gravely hands them to her.

'Sank lou,' she says, taking them in her little fat hand, 'sank lou, but
I could have gottened them meself.'

Paul smiles, wondering who she reminds him of.

'What's lour name?' she asks suddenly.

'Paul,' he replies, promptly, 'what is yours, and who are you with?'

'I doesn't know what's my name is,' she answers, gravely, 'Mummy always
calls me Baby, I'm wif Mummy. Does lou know Mummy?'

'I do not think I have that pleasure,' says he, 'but I should like to
speak to her,' thinking to reprove her for her carelessness in letting
the child wander about so far away.

'Vis way,' says the little girl catching hold of his hand, and turning
down a path among the tombstones, 'Mummy always comes to a little tiny
grave.'

Paul goes with her, wondering why he does so. When, why is i