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"It was too awful, and it might have been the end of
you." Her voice broke a little.
"No, not an end," answered Barry, in a quiet voice. "Not the end by a
long way, not by a very long way."
"What do you mean? Oh, you are thinking of immortality, and all that,"
said Paula. "It's a chilly, ghostly subject. It makes me shiver. I get
little comfort out of it."
"Ghostly it is, if you mean a thing of spirits," said Barry, "but
chilly! Why chilly?" Then he added to himself in an undertone: "I
wonder! I wonder! I wish sometimes I knew more."
"Sometimes?" cried Paula. "Always!" she added passionately. "It's a
dreadful business to me. To be suddenly snatched out of the light and
the warmth, away from the touch of warm fingers and the sight of dear
faces! Ah, I dread it! I loathe the thought of it. I hate it!"
"And yet," mused Barry, "somehow I cannot forget that out there
somewhere there is One, kindly, genial, true,--like my dad. How good
he has been to me--my dad, I mean, and that Other, too, has been good.


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