ther on, I suppose we prepare for our
return here. For that matter, it will be very careless of us, if we
don't. We relive and redie and redie and relive, endlessly, ad
infinitum. The Church does not put it in just that manner, but the
allegory of the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting
amounts, perhaps, to the same thing. 'Never the spirit was born, the
spirit shall cease to be never.' That is the way Edwin Arnold expressed
it, after the 'Gita' had expressed it for him. But probably you have not
frequented the 'Gita,' Mr. Cara. It is an exceedingly----"

"Cassy's lace dress is all torn. It was so pretty."

He is in the astral now, thought Jones, who said: "She will have a much
prettier one."

But now again from the hall came that quick click and Cassy appeared, a
little fat man behind her.

Jones stood up. "How do you do. You know Mr. Cara. Mr. Cara wants his
signature attested."

The little man exhibited his gold teeth. "With a will that is not the
way. I told this young lady so but she would have it that I come along."

The young lady, who was taking her hat off, left the room.

Jones fished in a pocket. "It is very good of you. Here, if you please,
is your fee. The document is not a will, it is a release."

As the novelist spoke, he put the pen in the musician's hand and,
finding it necessary, or thinking that it was, for, as he afterward
realised, it was not, he guided it.

"You acknowledge this----" the notary began. But at the moment Cassy
returned and, it may be, distracted by her, he mumbled the rest, took
the reply for granted, applied the stamp, exhibited his teeth. Then, at
once, the hall had him.

Cassy turned to Jones. Her face disclosed as many emotions as an opal
has colours. Relief, longing, uncertainty, and distress were there,
ringed in beauty.

"Miss Austen ought to know how she has misjudged him. Do you suppose she
would let me see her?"

Bully for you! thought Jones, who said: "I cannot imagine any one
refusing you anything."

In speaking, he heard something. Cassy turned. She too had heard it. But
what?

With a cry she ran to the sofa. "Daddy!"

His face was grey, the grey that dawn has, the grey than which there is
nothing greyer and yet in which there is light. That light was there.
His upper-lip was just a little raised. It was as though he had seen
something that pleased him and of which he was about to tell.

"Daddy!"

Jones followed her. He drew down the