st above the _f_ hole. The anguish on the 'cellist's
face, was terrible to see. Then--oh, Dick, I don't know how to tell
you!"

"Go on, Helen," he said, gently.

"Then he turned from the 'cello, and looked at _me_; and, Dick, it was
the soul of Ronnie--_my_ Ronnie--in deepest trouble over his Infant of
Prague, which looked at me through those deep sad eyes. I cannot explain
to you how I knew it! He was totally unlike my big fair Ronnie, but--it
was the soul of Ronnie, in great distress, looking at _me_! The moment I
realised this, I seemed set free from the past. The 'cellist, the woman,
the Avenger, all vanished instantly. I saw myself reflected, I saw you,
I saw the studio; I saw Ronnie on the floor. I turned to him at once,
lifted the 'cello from his breast, and drew his head into my lap."

"Was there a jagged hole--"

"No, not a scratch. The stab belonged to a century ago. But, listen
Dick! Several days later, when I had a moment in which to remember
Ronnie's poor Infant of Prague, I examined it in a good light, and found
the place where the hole made by that dagger had been skilfully mended."

"Lor!" said Dr. Dick. "We're getting on! Don't you think you and I and
the Infant might put our heads together, and write a psychic book! But
now--seriously. Do you really believe Ronnie was once a slim, pale
person, with a shock of black hair? And if he and his Infant lived
together in past ages, where were you and I? Are we altogether out of
it? Or are you the lady with the dagger, and I the noble party in the
flaming cloak?"

She smiled, and a look of quiet peace was in her eyes.

"Dick," she said, "I am not troubled at all about the past. My whole
concern is with the present; my earnest looking forward is to the
future. And remember, that which set me completely free to think only of
the present, was when my Ronnie's soul looked out at me from that
strange vision of the past. I cannot say exactly what I believe. But I
know my entire responsibility is to the present; my hope and confidence
are towards the future. I realise, as I have never realised before, the
deep meaning of the words: 'Lord, Thou hast been our Dwelling-place, in
all generations.' I am content to leave it at that."

Dick sat silent; sobered, impressed, by a calm confidence of faith,
which was new to him.

Then he said: "Good for you, Helen, that you can take it so. Personally,
I believe in nothing which I cannot fully explain and understand.
'F