He shook his head.
"I can think of nothing," he said, "but of what I have to do. You decide, my dear; I leave it in your hands."
She nodded.
"I will talk to her again presently. Just now she can understand very little of what has happened.... What time shall you be home?"
"Probably not to-night. We shall sit all night."
"Yes, dear. And what shall I tell Mr. Phillips?"
"I will telephone in the morning.... Mabel, do you remember what I told you about the priest?"
"His likeness to the other?"
"Yes. What do you make of that?"
She smiled.
"I make nothing at all of it. Why should they not be alike?"
He took a fig from the dish, and swallowed it, and stood up.
"It is only very curious," he said. "Now, good-night, my dear."
III
"Oh, mother," said Mabel, kneeling by the bed; "cannot you understand what has happened?"
She had tried desperately to tell the old lady of the extraordinary change that had taken place in the world—and without success. It seemed to her that some great issue depended on it; that it would be piteous if the old woman went out into the dark unconscious of what had come. It was as if a Christian knelt by the death-bed
