'Far away beyond the pine-woods,' he answered, in a low dreamy
voice, 'there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and
deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there
the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and
the cold, crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its
giant arms over the sleepers.'

Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her
hands.

'You mean the Garden of Death,' she whispered.

'Yes, Death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown
earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to
silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time,
to forgive life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for
me the portals of Death's house, for Love is always with you, and
Love is stronger than Death is.'

Virginia trembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few
moments there was silence. She felt as if she was in a terrible
dream.

Then the Ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighing
of the wind.

'Have you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?'

'Oh, often,' cried the little girl, looking up; 'I know it quite
well. It is painted in curious black letters, and it is difficult