my father that separates him
from everybody else. His life never comes out into the sunlight of the
passing day, it always gropes along in the shadow of some gloomy past.
What the mystery is that envelops him I neither know nor care to
inquire; but I am sure that there is one."

"How do you explain the shadows?"

"I believe your explanation is right; they are, under certain
conditions of light, thrown by a tree that grows some distance off. I
have seen something that looks like figures on that wall myself in
full daylight. That he should interpret such a simple thing as he does
shows a curious state of mind."

"You do not think, then," said Arthur, in order to draw her out, "that
it is possible, after all, he was right, and that they were something
from another place? The reality of his terror was almost enough to
make one believe in them, I can tell you."

"No, I do not," answered Angela, after a minute's thought. "I have no
doubt that the veil between ourselves and the unseen world is thinner
than we think. I believe, too, that communication, and even warnings
sometimes, under favourable conditions, or when the veil is worn thin
by trouble or prayer, can pass from the other world to ourselves. But
the very fact of my father's terror proves to me that his shadows are
nothing of the sort, for it is hardly possible that spirits can be
permitted to come to terrify us poor mortals; if they come at all, it
is in love and gentleness, to comfort or to warn, and not to work upon
our superstitions."

"You speak as though you knew all about it; you should join the new
Ghost Society," he answered, irreverently, sitting himself down on a
fallen tree, an example that she followed.

"I have thought about it sometimes, that is all, and, so far as I have
read, I think that my belief is a common one, and what the Bible
teaches us; but, if you will not think me foolish, I will tell you
something that confirms me in it. You know that my mother died when I
was born; well, it may seem strange to you, but I am convinced that
she is sometimes very near me."

"Do you mean that you see or hear her?"

"No, I only feel her presence; more rarely now, I am sorry to say, as
I grow older."

"How do you mean?"

"I can hardly explain what I mean, but sometimes--it may be at night,
or when I am sitting alone in the daytime--a great calm comes upon me,
and I am a changed woman. All my thoughts rise into a higher, purer
air, and are, as it