look round to see who the speaker might be.
She thought it over, amused, but with some new confusion of the mind.
Then she said, "Perhaps I have died too," with a laugh to herself at the
absurdity of the thought.

"Yes," said the other voice, echoing that gentle laugh of hers, "you have
died too."

She turned round, and saw another standing by her, a woman, younger and
fairer, and more stately than herself, but of so sweet a countenance that
our little Pilgrim felt no shyness, but recognized a friend at once. She
was more occupied looking at this new face, and feeling herself at once
so much happier (though she had been so happy before) in finding a
companion who would tell her what everything was, than in considering
what these words might mean. But just then once more the recollection of
the four walls, with their little pictures hanging, and the window with
its curtains drawn, seemed to come round her for a moment, so that her
whole soul was in a confusion. And as this vision slowly faded away
(though she could not tell which was the vision, the darkened room or
this lovely light), her attention came back to the words at which she
had laughed, and at which the other had laughed as she repeated them.
Died?--was it possible that this could be the meaning of it all? "Died?"
she said, looking with wonder in her companion's face, which smiled back
to her.

"But do you mean--You cannot mean--I have never been so well: I am so
strong: I have no trouble--anywhere: I am full of life."

The other nodded her beautiful head with a more beautiful smile, and the
little Pilgrim burst out in a great cry of joy, and said,--"Is this all?
Is it over?--Is it all over? Is it possible that this can be all?"

"Were you afraid of it?" the other said. There was a little agitation for
the moment in her heart. She was so glad, so relieved and thankful, that
it took away her breath. She could not get over the wonder of it.

"To think one should look forward to it so long, and wonder, and be even
unhappy trying to divine what it will be--and this all!"

"Ah, but the angel was very gentle with you," said the young woman; "you
were so tender and worn, that he only smiled and took you sleeping. There
are other ways. But it is always wonderful to think it is over, as you
say."

The little Pilgrim could do nothing but talk of it, as one does after a
very great event. "Are you sure, quite sure, it is so?" she said. "It
would be dreadful to f