been two in body, they had seemed one in soul. I rambled on and told him stories of their childhood, and of the years afterward, when again and again, as I had seen, they knew each other’s thoughts without words. I told him, too, of that long, strange look between them at the last. He did not interrupt me, but nodded from time to time, with his same odd smile.
“Norma dances even better than she used to do,” he observed, irrelevantly, when I had finished.
“Twice as well!”
“Listen, my friend.” He leaned forward, and his eyes held me. “All my life it has been given me to know and to see certain things which many people do not—you understand?—the things of the spirit. That night, you, too, saw something.”
“Two dancers—both my girls—at the last,” I answered him, finding the words slowly. It was hard for me to speak of that, even then.
“But only at the last?” he persisted. I nodded.
“I knew it would be so. From the beginning of the dance that night, the two were there, but I feared to show the other to you. I feared for your reason, my friend. I was careful not to touch you, when that other was visible, for with the touch my power of sight would pass to you, also. But at the last, the strain was too great. I forgot, for one moment. And when I put my hand on your knee, you saw.”
I could not reply to him at once. In the presence of this old man, whose eyes beheld the soul, I had become very humble. He smiled at me, and waited, for the question which I think he knew was coming.
“You said that you could explain” I ventured, at last; but he shook his head, gently.
“I am not so sure of these things, my friend. I said only that I had tried to explain it, to myself. Now that you have told me of the last message which passed between them—the message of one soul speaking to another through the eyes—perhaps I am surer. When their eyes met, she who was about to pass into the world of spirits took control of her who was to linger in this world. It was a wise and loving control. It steadied a mind that was about to break. They were so close, these two, that when the one was taken the other could not remain sane without help, until the critical moments were over.
And, help was forthcoming. Sally waited to give it, before she passed on. I think, too, my friend, that in the final dance she conferred upon her sister her portion of the genius they had in common. You see? For the first time, then, your Norma was complete—if I may call it that. They had been mutually dependent; now she depended on no one. The cord was cut which held her back from greatness. That is how I explain it, but it is only my surmise. I am not certain.”
“She was my daughter,” I cried, with a sharpening of the old grief I had thought long buried. “Why could I not see her from the first? Why was she hidden from my eyes until you touched me?”
The old man shrugged his shoulders, and smiled.
“Who shall answer that, my friend? Who shall say why so few of us ever see into the reality of the great mystery of life that surrounds us? And why are they who have sight given a glimpse of it so seldom?”
I shook my head. I was thrown into deep thought.
“No one knows,” said the old man “—no one can answer that question. It is one of the things we leave with God.”
The Man Who Died Twice
(Continued from page 48)
He was a thin, emaciated ghost, but he could make himself felt. Nothing but vengeance remained to him, and he did not intend to forgive his wife. It was not in his nature to forgive. He would force a confession from her, and if necessary he would choke the breath from her abominable body. He advanced and seized her by the throat.
He was pressing with all his might upon the delicate white throat of his wife. He was pressing with lean, bony fingers; his victim seemed sunk into a kind of stupor. Her eyes were half-shut and she was leaning against the wall.
The stranger watched her with growing horror. When she began to cough he ran into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. When he handed it to her she drained it at a gulp. It seemed to restore her slightly. “I can’t explain it,” she murmured. “But I feel as if a band were encircling my throat. It is hot in here. Please open the windows!”
The stranger obeyed. It occurred to Hazlitt that the man really loved his wife. “Worse luck to him!” he growled, and his ghostly voice cracked with emotion. The woman was choking and gasping now and gradually he forced her to her knees.
“Confess,” he commanded. “Tell this fool how you get rid of your husbands. Warn him in advance, and he will thank you and clear out. If you love him you won't want him to suffer.”
Hazlitt’s wife made no sign that she had heard him. “You’re doing no good at all by acting like this!” he shouted. “If you don’t tell him everything now I'll kill you! I'll make you a ghost!”
The tall stranger turned pale. He could not see or hear Hazlitt but it was obvious that he suspected the presence of more than two people in the room. He took Hazlitt's wife firmly by the wrists and endeavored to raise her.
“In heaven’s name what ails you?” he asked fearfully. You act as if someone were hurting you. Is there nothing that I can do?”
There was something infinitely pathetic in the woman’s helplessness. She was no longer able to speak, but her eyes cried out in pain. . . . The stranger at length succeeded in aiding her. He got her to her feet, but Hazlitt refused to be discouraged. The stranger's opposition exasperated him and he redoubled his efforts. But soon he realized that he could not choke her. He had expended all his strength and still the woman breathed, A convulsion of baffled rage distorted his angular frame. He knew that he would be obliged to go away and leave the woman to her lover. A ghost is a futile thing at best and cannot work vengeance. Hazlitt groaned.
The woman beneath his hands took courage. Her eyes sought those of the tall stranger. “It is going away; it is leaving me,” she whimpered. “I can breathe more easily now. It is you who have given me courage, my darling."
The stranger was bewildered and horrified. “I can’t understand what’s got into you,” he murmured. “I don’t see anything. You are becoming hysterical. Your nerves are all shattered to' pieces.”
Hazlitt’s wife shook her head and color returned to her checks. “It was awful, dearest. You cannot know how I suffered. You will perhaps think me insane, but I know he was back of it. Kiss me darling; help me to forget.” She threw her arms about the stranger’s neck and kissed him passionately upon the lips.
Hazlitt covered his eyes with his hand and turned away with horror. Despair clutched at his heart. “A futile ghost.” lie groaned. “A futile, weak ghost! I couldn't punish a fly. Why in heaven’s name am I earthbound?”
He was near the window now, and suddenly he looked out. A night of stars attracted him. “I shall climb to heaven,” he thought. “I shall go floating through the air, and wander among the stars. I am decidedly out of place here.”
It was a tired ghost that climbed out of the window, and started to propel itself through the air. But unfortunately a man must overcome gravitation to climb to the stars, and Hazlitt did not ascend. He was still earthbound.
He picked himself up and looked about him. Men and women were passing rapidly up and down the street but no one had apparently seen him fall.
“I’m invisible, that’s sure,” he reflected. “Neither Upcher, nor the directors nor my wife saw me. But my wife felt me. And yet I’m not satisfied. I didn’t accomplish what I set out to do. My wife is laughing up her sleeve at me now. My wife? She has probably married that ninny, and I hope she lives to regret it. She didn’t even wait for the grass to cover my grave. I won’t trust a woman again if I can help it.”
A woman walking on the street passed through him. “Horrible!” he groaned.
