I made arrangements yesterday at the Cunard
office. We sail Saturday. Could I see you for a moment before
I go?
"CLIVE."

To which she replied:

"I shall be here every evening."

He came Friday night looking very sallow and thin in his black
clothes. Catharine, who was sewing by the centre table, rose to shake
hands with him in sympathetic silence, then went away to her bedroom,
where, once or twice she caught herself whistling some gay refrain of
the moment, and was obliged to check herself.

He had taken Athalie's slender hands and was standing by the sofa,
looking intently at her.

"That night," he said with an effort, "you sent me home--saying that I
was needed."

"Yes, Clive."

"How did you know?"

"I knew."

"Did you see--anything?"

"Yes, dear," she said under her breath.

"Did you see _him_?"

"Yes."

"Tell me," he said, but his lips scarcely moved to form the words he
uttered.

"I recognised him at once. I had never forgotten him.... It is
difficult to explain how I knew that he was not--what we call living."

"But you knew?"

"Yes," she said gently.

"He--did he speak?" The young fellow turned away with a brusque,
hopeless gesture.

"God," he muttered--"and I couldn't either see or hear him!"

"He did not speak, Clive." The boy looked up at her, his haggard
features working.

She said: "When I first noticed him he was looking at you. Then he
caught my eye. Clive--it was this time as it had been before--when I
was twelve years old--his expression became so sweet and winning--like
yours when I amuse you--and you laugh at me but--like me--"

"Oh, Athalie--I can't seem to endure it! I--I can't be reconciled--"
His head fell forward; she put her arms around him and drew his face
against her breast.

"I know," she whispered. "I also have passed that way."

After a few moments he lifted his head, looked around, almost
fearfully.

"Where was it that he stood, Athalie?"

She hesitated, then took one of his hands in hers and he followed her
until she stopped between the sofa and the fireplace.

"Here?"

"Yes, Clive."

"So _near_!" he said aloud to himself. "Couldn't he have spoken to
me?--just one word--"

"Dearest--dearest!"

"God knows why you should see him and I shouldn't! I don't
understand--when I was his son--"

"I do not understand either, Clive."

He seemed not to hear her, standing there with blank ga