ical. Moreover, he had seen; he had
felt; he knew. It is the invincible argument of the mystic. Against
belief born of vivid, reiterate experience, the loquacity of logic, the
formulae of pure intellect break like waves upon a rock--and with as
little result. The intensity and persistence of Roy's experience simply
left no room for insidious whispers of doubt; nor could he have
tolerated such scepticism in others, natural though it might be, if one
had not seen, nor felt, nor known.

So he neither wrote nor spoke of it to any one. He could scarce have
kept it from Tara, the sister-child who had shared all his thoughts and
dreams; but the grown-up Tara had become too remote in every sense for
a confidence so intimate, so sacred. To his father he would fain have
confided everything, remembering her last command; but Sir Nevil's later
letters--though unfailingly sympathetic--were not calculated to evoke
filial outpourings. For the time being, he seemed to have shut himself
in with his grief. Perhaps he, of all others, had been least able to
understand Roy's failure to press for short leave home. He had said very
little on the subject. And Roy--with the instinct of sensitive natures
to take their tone from others--had also said little: too little,
perhaps. Least said may be soonest mended; but there are times when it
may widen a rift to a gulf.

In the end, he had felt impelled at least to mention his dream
experiences, and let it rest with his father whether he said any more.

And by return mail came a brief but poignant answer: "Thank you, my
dearest Boy, for telling me what you did. It is a relief to know you
have some sort of comfort--if only in dreams. You are fortunate to be so
made. After all, for purposes of comfort and guidance, one's capacity to
believe in such communion is the measure of its reality. As for me, I am
still utterly, desolately alone. Perhaps some day she will reach me in
spite of my little faith. People who resort to mediums and the automatic
writing craze are beyond me: though the temptation I understand. You may
remember a sentence of Maeterlinck----' We have to grope timidly and
make sure of every footstep, as we cross the threshold. And even when
the threshold is crossed, where shall certainty be found----? One cannot
speak of these things--the solitude is too great.' That is my own
feeling about it--at present."

The last had given Roy an impression that his solitude, however
desolating, w