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
connection with her, knew nothing about her--"

"Instead of," said the vicar, with a slight tremor, "making herself
known, if that was permitted, to--to me, for example, or our friend
here."

"That sounds reasonable, Mary," said Mrs. Bowyer; "don't you think so, my
dear? If she had come to one of us, or to yourself, my darling, I should
never have wondered, after all that has happened. But to this little
child--"

"Whereas there is nothing more likely--more consonant with all the
teachings of science--than that the little thing should have this
hallucination, of which you ought never to have heard a word. You are the
very last person--"

"That is true," said the vicar, "and all the associations of the place