because you had wronged me of the first thoughts of your waking--when it
was all me, all through!'"

"I begin to understand," said the little Pilgrim; "but why should they
not see us, and why should not we tell them? It would seem so natural.
If they saw us it would make them so happy, and so sure."

Upon this the lady shook her head.

"The worst of it is not that they are not sure--it is the parting. If
this makes us sorry here, how can they escape the sorrow of it even if
they saw us?--for we must be parted. We cannot go back to live with
them, or why should we have died? And then we must all live our
lives--they in their way, we in ours. We must not weigh them down, but
only help them when it is seen that there is need for it. All this we
shall know better by and by."

"You make it so clear, and your face is so bright," said our little
Pilgrim gratefully. "You must have known a great deal, and understood
even when you were in the world."

"I was as foolish as I could be," said the other, with her laugh that
was as sweet as music; "yet thought I knew, and they thought I knew; but
all that does not matter now."

"I think it matters, for look how much you have shown me; but tell me
one thing more--how was it said to you that you must go and tell him?
Was it some one who spoke--was it--"

Her face grew so bright that all the past brightness was as a dull sky