wyer, as
was natural, said something, being unable to endure the silence; but
neither she nor any of the others knew what it was she said. When it was
evident that the vicar must speak, all were silent, waiting for him; and
though it now became imperative that something in the shape of a judgment
must be delivered, yet he was as far as ever from knowing what to say.

"Mary," he said, with a little tremulousness of voice, "it is quite
natural that you should ask me; but, my dear, I am not at all prepared to
answer. I think you know that the doctor, who ought to know best about
such matters--"

"Nay, not I. I only know about the physical; the other,--if there is
another,--that's your concern."

"Who ought to know best," repeated Mr. Bowyer; "for every body will tell
you, my dear, that the mind is so dependent upon the body. I suppose he
must be right. I suppose it is just the imagination of a nervous child
working upon the data which have been given,--the picture; and then, as
you justly remind me, all we have been saying--"

"How could the child know what we have been saying, Francis?"

"Connie has heard nothing that any one has been saying; and there is no
picture."

"My dear lady, you hear what the doctor says. If there is no picture, and
she has heard nothing, I suppose, then, your premises are gone, and the
conclusion falls to the ground."

"What does it matter about premises?" cried the vicar's wife; "here is
something dreadful that has happened. Oh, what nonsense that is about
imagination; children have no imagination. A dreadful thing has happened.
In heaven's name, Francis, tell this poor child what she is to do."

"My dear," said the vicar again, "you are asking me to believe in
purgatory,--nothing less. You are asking me to contradict the church's
teaching. Mary, you must compose yourself. You must wait till this
excitement has passed away."

"I can see by her eyes that she did not sleep last night," the doctor
said, relieved. "We shall have her seeing visions too, if we don't take
care."

"And, my dear Mary," said the vicar, "if you will think of it, it is
derogatory to the dignity of--of our dear friends who have passed away.
How can we suppose that one of the blessed would come down from heaven,
and walk about her own house, which she had just left, and show herself
to a--to a--little child who had never seen her before."

"Impossible," said the doctor. "I told you so; a stranger--that had no
c