ore real."

Then she bent down ostensibly to pat the head of a little black cocker
spaniel called Tommy which had been given to her as a puppy, a highly
intelligent and affectionate animal that we both adored and that loved
her as only a dog can love. Really, I knew, it was to hide her tears,
and fled from the room lest she should see mine.

As I went I heard the dog whimpering in a peculiar way, as though some
sympathetic knowledge had been communicated to its wonderful animal
intelligence.

That night I spoke to Bickley about the matter, repeating exactly what
had passed. As I expected, he smiled in his grave, rather sarcastic way,
and made light of it.

"My dear Humphrey," he said, "don't torment yourself about such fancies.
They are of everyday occurrence among women in your wife's condition.
Sometimes they take one form, sometimes another. When she has got her
baby you will hear no more of them."

I tried to be comforted but in vain.

The days and weeks went by like a long nightmare and in due course the
event happened. Bickley was not attending the case; it was not in
his line, he said, and he preferred that where a friend's wife was
concerned, somebody else should be called in. So it was put in charge of
a very good local man with a large experience in such domestic matters.

How am I to tell of it? Everything went wrong; as for the details, let
them be. Ultimately Bickley did operate, and if surpassing skill could
have saved her, it would have been done. But the other man had misjudged
the conditions; it was too late, nothing could help either mother or
child, a little girl who died shortly after she was born but not before
she had been christened, also by the name of Natalie.

I was called in to say farewell to my wife and found her radiant,
triumphant even in her weakness.

"I know now," she whispered in a faint voice. "I understood as the
chloroform passed away, but I cannot tell you. Everything is quite well,
my darling. Go where you seem called to go, far away. Oh! the wonderful
place in which you will find me, not knowing that you have found me.
Good-bye for a little while; only for a little while, my own, my own!"

Then she died. And for a time I too seemed to die, but could not. I
buried her and the child here at Fulcombe; or rather I buried their
ashes since I could not endure that her beloved body should see
corruption.

Afterwards, when all was over, I spoke of these last words of Natal