nd then following in
mechanical fashion, prayer-book in hand, the service, stage by stage,
until to my unspeakable terror, with the words, dully spoken, "It is all
over", she fell back fainting. And here comes a curious psychological
problem which has often puzzled me. Some weeks later she resolved to go
and see her husband's grave. A relative who had been present at the
funeral volunteered to guide her to the spot, but lost his way in that
wilderness of graves. Another of the small party went off to find one of
the officials and to enquire, and my mother said: "If you will take me to
the chapel where the first part of the service was read, I will find the
grave". To humor her whim, he led her thither, and, looking round for a
moment or two, she started from the chapel, followed the path along which
the corpse had been borne, and was standing by the newly-made grave when
the official arrived to point it out. Her own explanation was that she
had seen all the service; what is certain is, that she had never been to
Kensal Green before, and that she walked steadily to the grave from the
chapel. Whether the spot had been carefully described to her, whether she
had heard others talking of its position or not, we could never
ascertain; she had no remembrance of any such description, and the matter
always remained to us a problem. But after the lapse of years a hundred
little things may have been forgotten which unconsciously served as
guides at the time. She must have been, of course, at that time, in a
state of abnormal nervous excitation, a state of which another proof was
shortly afterwards given. The youngest of our little family was a boy
about three years younger than myself, a very beautiful child, blue-eyed
and golden haired--I have still a lock of his hair, of exquisite pale
golden hue--and the little lad was passionately devoted to his father. He
was always a delicate boy, and had I suppose, therefore, been specially
petted, and he fretted continually for "papa". It is probable that the
consumptive taint had touched him, for he pined steadily away, with no
marked disease, during the winter months. One morning my mother calmly
stated: "Alf is going to die". It was in vain that it was urged on her
that with the spring strength would return to the child. "No", she
persisted. "He was lying asleep in my arms last night, and William came
to me and said that he wanted Alf with him, but that I might keep the
other two." She ha