t your mind float free." Presently she began to speak in a low voice
to him; he hardly heeded what she said, for a strange drowsiness
settled down upon him like the in-flowing of some oblivious tide, and
he knew no more.

A couple of hours later he awoke from a deep sleep, with a sense of
sweet visions and experiences--he looked round. Mrs. Graves sate beside
him smiling, but the horror suddenly darted back into his mind with a
spasm of fear, as if he had been bitten by a poisonous serpent.

"What has been happening?" he said.

"Ah," said Mrs. Graves quietly, "you have been asleep. I have some
power in these things, which I don't use except in times of need--some
day I will tell you more; I found it out by accident, but I have used
it both for myself and others. It's just a natural force, of which many
people are suspicious, because it doesn't seem normal; but don't be
afraid, dear boy--all goes well; she is sleeping quietly, and she knows
what has happened."

"Thank you," said Howard; "yes, I am better; but I could almost wish I
had not slept--I feel the pain of it more. I don't feel just now as if
anything in the world could make up for this--as if anything could make
it seem just to endure such misery. What has one done to deserve it?"

"What indeed?" said Mrs. Graves, "because the time will come when you
will ask that in a different sense. Don't you see, dear boy, that even
this is life's fulness? One mustn't be afraid of suffering--what one
must be afraid of is NOT suffering; it's the measure of love--you would
not part with your love if that would free you from suffering?"

"No," said Howard slowly, "I would not--you are right. I can see that.
One brings the other; but I cannot see the need of it."

"That is only because one does not realise how much lies ahead," said
Mrs. Graves. "Be content that you know at least how much you
love--there's no knowledge like that!"

XXXIV

THE DREAM-CHILD

For some days Howard was in an intolerable agony of mind about Maud;
she lay in a sort of stupor of weakness and weariness, recognising no
one, hardly speaking, just alive, indifferent to everything. They could
not let him be with her, they would allow no one to speak to her. The
shock had been too great, and the frail life seemed flickering to its
close: once or twice he was just allowed to see her; she lay like a
tired child, her head on her hand, lost in incommunicable dreams.
Howard dared not leave the h