" 'T ain't true," she said. "Not
this. 'T ain't TRUE. There IS NO
DEATH," slow and soft, but passionately
distinct. "THERE--IS--NO--DEATH."
The muscles of the woman's face
twisted it into a rueful smile. The
three words she dragged out were so
faint that perhaps none but Dart's
strained ears heard them.
"Wot--price--ME?"
The soul of her was loosening fast
and straining away, but Jinny Montaubyn
followed it.
"THERE--IS--NO--DEATH," and
her low voice had the tone of a slender
silver trumpet. "In a minit yer 'll
know--in a minit. Lord," lifting
her expectant face, "show her the
wye."
Mysteriously the clouds were clearing
from the sodden face--mysteri-
ously. Miss Montaubyn watched
them as they were swept away! A
minute--two minutes--and they
were gone. Then she rose noiselessly
and stood looking down, speaking
quite simply as if to herself.
"Ah," she breathed, "she DOES
know now--fer sure an' certain."
Then Antony Dart, turning slightly,
realized that a man who had entered
the house and been standing near him,
breathing with light quickness, since
the moment Miss Montaubyn had
knelt, was plainly the person Glad
had called the "curick," and that
he had bowed his head and covered
his eyes with a hand which trembled.
IV
He was a young man with an
eager soul, and his work in
Apple Blossom Court and places like
it had torn him many ways. Religious
conventions established through
centuries of custom had not prepared
him for life among the submerged.
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