reason for her remark, "fearing I should tell
her daughters," and that she would be laughed at in consequence.

Reassured on this point, she said to me quite seriously:

"Whilst you were talking to my husband this evening I saw a black kitten
run straight across your dress--just opposite to me."

"_Well, of course, I saw the kitten!_" I answered, to her surprise; "but
there is nothing very remarkable about a black kitten in the house."

"_But we have no black kitten_ in the house, or anywhere on the
premises. Where did it go to? You never saw it again? No; it was not an
ordinary kitten, and I did not suppose till this moment that anyone had
seen it but myself."

It was a fact that no one but Mrs Waverly and I had seen any kitten but
the slate-coloured one already mentioned.

Thinking over this in the light of the sad news of my dear old friend's
death, and noting the correspondence in time between her loss of
consciousness and the appearance of the mysterious black kitten--seen
only by Mrs Waverly and myself--it was impossible not to ask in the
depths of my heart whether, perchance, the spirit of my faithful friend
had been trying to send me some symbol of her approaching death.

It may be objected that black cats are generally connected with good
luck. Well, I think my dear "London mother," as she called herself
sometimes, would have explained this apparent contradiction very simply.
She had lived through much sorrow, and was often oppressed by sore
doubts of the Cosmic Love. I never knew any woman with such strong and
passionate human sympathy, and to such fine spirits, the world, under
present conditions, must always offer terrible problems. Her sympathies
were sometimes too keen for that robust faith which can _always_ say:
"God's in His heaven! All's right with the world!" Yet her last words
were: "_I am so tired, and God will understand; and I am so glad to
go._"

To finish my chapter on a merrier note, I will mention an amusing
episode connected with the evening of the black kitten's appearance.

Amongst the guests invited to that dinner-party was a clergyman-squire,
a man of some means who had taken orders. A "squarson" is the
"portmanteau name" for such a gentleman in Yorkshire, I believe; one who
combines squire and parson.

This particular specimen of the genus was both a vegetarian and a
celibate. The latter fact had been made clear to me by the many regrets
expressed in the neighbourhood that he