himself dwindling. Here was a vaster thing than he had contemplated. It was surely no single discarnate influence that possessed the child!
'And—for whom?' It was whispered as before. The figure stepped with a single gliding stride towards him, coming so close that he held his ground only by a tremendous effort of the will.
'For you!' The voice came like a clap of wind again, at once soft yet thundering, filling the entire room.
'For me,' he faltered. 'Your message is for me?'
He felt the assault of strange, violent sensations he had never known before and could not name. A boyhood's dream rushed back upon him for an instant. He recalled his misery and awe when he stood before the Judgment Throne for some unforgivable breach of trust which he could not explain because the dream concealed its nature. Only this was ten times greater, and his guilt beyond redemption.
'And I,' he stammered, 'who am I?' Her eyes looked him all over like a stare of the big moon.
'You,' she answered, without pause or hesitation.
'You do not know my name?' he insisted, still clinging to the clue that her he spoke with must be from the dead.
The little frown came back between the eyes. She nodded darkly.
'You,' she repeated, giving the answer absolute again, the only really true one.
The girl stood like a statue, serene and solemn. She stared through and beyond him, motionless but for a scarcely perceptible swaying, and calm as a meadow in the dawn. Enormous meanings passed from her
