even the lowest forms of life, might, under some form, in some world,
live again; but no priest had ever promised, nor any poet ever dreamed,
that the title of a man's past selves to a life immortal is as
indefeasible as that of his present self.

It did not occur to her to doubt, to quibble, or to question, concerning
the grounds of this great hope. From the first moment that she
comprehended the purport of Paul's argument, she had accepted its
conclusion as an indubitable revelation, and only wondered that she had
never thought of it herself, so natural, so inevitable, so
incontrovertible did it seem.

And as a sunburst in an instant transforms the sad fields of November
into a bright and cheerful landscape, so did this revelation suddenly
illumine her sombre life.

All day she went about the house and the village like one in a dream,
smiling and weeping, and reading Paul's letter over and over, through
eyes swimming with a joy unutterable.

In the afternoon, with tender, tremulous fingers, she removed the crape
from the frame of Ida's picture, which it had draped for so many years.
As she was performing this symbolic act, it seemed to the old lady that
the fair young face smiled upon her. "Forgive me!" she murmured. "How
could I have ever thought you dead!"

It was not till evening that her servants reminded her that she had not
eaten that day, and induced her to take food.

The next afternoon Paul arrived. He had not been without very serious