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It was one of those perfect Septeift froain of summer has been h lanes and across uplands, his view barred always to the north by the great downs above Royston, grey-blue against the radiant sky, there was scarcely a hint in earth or heaven of any e peace Yet the very serenity tortured him the more by its mockery The birds babbled in the deep woods, the cheerful noise of children reached hiht so for never an instant of the long el there in the stifling dark, in the long-grassed churchyard on the hill above his hoain as to the fate of the spirit that had inforination refused to work After all, he asked hiabbled to break the appalling silence? HeavenPurgatoryHell What was known of these things? The very soul itself--as that? What was the inconceivable environ?

He did not need these things, he said--certainly not now--nor those labels and signposts to a doubtful, uniinable land He needed Alimpse to show him that she indeed was as she had always been; whether in earth or heaven, he did not care; that there was so that was herself, so of a continuous consciousness with that which he had known, characterized still by those graces which he thought he had recognized and certainly loved

Ah! he did not ask much It would be so easy to God! Here out in this lonely lane where he rode beneath the branches, his reins loose on his horse's neck, his eyes, unseeing, roving over copse and meadow across to the eternal hills--a face, seen for an instant, sain; a whisper in his ear, with that dear staers that he had watched in the ate above the moonlit stream He would tell no one if God wished it to be a secret; he would keep it wholly to himself He did not ask now to possess her; only to be certain that she lived, and that death was not what it seemed to be