d down the spirit of her sister. Was it not written in the
pages which she thought that no eye but hers would see?

Well, if such spirits were, hers--Stella's--must be also. And if they
could be made apparent, why should not hers share their qualities?

Morris paused in his swift walk and trembled: "I will be near you
always." For aught he knew she was near him now--present, perhaps, in
this very room. While she was still in life, what were her aspirations?
This was one of them, he remembered, as it fell from her lips: "Still to
be with those whom I have loved on earth, although they cannot see
me; to soothe their sorrows, to support their weakness, to lull their
fears." And if this were so; if any power were given her to fulfil her
will, whom would she sooner visit than himself?

Stay! That was her wish on earth, while she was a woman. But would she
still wish it afterwards? The spirit was not the flesh, the spirit could
see and be sure, while the flesh must be content with deductions and
hazardings. If she could see, she would know him as he was; every
failing, every secret infirmity, every infidelity of heart, might be
an open writing to her eyes. And then would she not close that book in
horror?

A great writer has said in effect that no man would dare to affront the
ears of his fellows--men much worse than himself perhaps--with the true
details of his hidden history. Knowing all the truth, they would shrink
from him. How much more then at such sights and sounds would a pure
spirit, washed clean of every taint of earth, fly from his soiled
presence, wailing and aghast? Nay, men are hypocrites, who, in greater
or less degree, themselves practice the very sins that shock them, but
spirits, knowing all, would forgive all. They are above hypocrisy. If
the Lord of spirits can weigh the "dust whereof we are made" and still
be merciful, shall his bright messengers trample it in scorn and
hate? Will they not also consider the longings of the heart and its
uprightness, and be pitiful towards the failings of the flesh? Would
Stella hate him because he remained as he was made--as herself she might
once have been? Because having no wings with which to rule the air he
must still tramp onwards through the foetid, clinging mud of earth?

Oh! how he longed to see her, that he might win her faith; win it beyond
all doubt by the evidence of his earthly eyes and senses. "If I die,
search and you shall see," she had once said to hi