than once she said to me that she never expected to see you again in
the flesh, though I thought she meant it was you who would go, as might
have been expected. Stop, I have something for you."

Going to a desk she produced from it a ring, that with the turquoise
hearts; also a canvas-covered book.

"That's her diary," she said, "she used to write in it every day."

That night Godfrey read many beautiful and sacred things in this diary.
From it he learned that the shock of his supposed death had caused
Isobel to miscarry and made her ill for some time, though underneath
the entries about her illness and the false news of his death she had
written:

"He is not dead. I _know_ that he is not dead."

Afterwards there were some curious sentences in which she spoke
joyfully of having seen him in her sleep, ill, but living and going to
recover, "at any rate for a while," she had added.

On the very day of her death she had made this curious note:

"I feel as though Godfrey and I were about to be separated for a
while, and yet that this separation will really bring us closer
together. I am strangely happy. Great vistas seem to open to my
soul and down them I walk with Godfrey for ever and a day, and
over them broods the Love of God in which are embodied and
expressed all other loves. Oh! how wrong and foolish was I, who
for so many years rejected that Love, which yet will not be turned
away and in mercy gave me sight and wisdom and with these Godfrey,
from whose soul my soul can never more be parted. For as I told
you, my darling, ours is the Love Eternal. Remember it always,
Godfrey, if ever your eyes should see these words upon the earth.
Afterwards there will be no need for memory."

So the diary ended.

They invalided Godfrey out of the service and because of his lung
trouble, he went to the house that Miss Ogilvy had left him in Lucerne,
taking Mrs. Parsons with him. There too he found the Pasteur, grown an
old man but otherwise much the same as ever, and him also he brought to
live in the Villa Ogilvy.

The winter went on and Godfrey grew, not better, but worse, till at
last he knew that he was dying, and rejoiced to die. One evening a
letter was brought to him. It was from Madame Riennes, written in a
shaky hand, and ran thus:

"I am going to pass to the World of Speerits, and so are you, my
Godfrey, for I know all about you and everything that has
happened. The plum is e