"I'm much better, Gerrit."
"I'm glad of that. And those queer notions of yours: what about them?"
Ernst gave an embarrassed laugh:
"Yes," he confessed, shyly. "I did have queer notions sometimes. I don't think I have any now. But I am staying on at the doctor's. I've only come up for a day or two. . . . I've seen my rooms again."
"You have, have you? . . . And your vases?"
"Yes, my vases," said Ernst, greatly embarrassed.
"And all the voices that you used to hear, Ernst . . . all the souls that used to throng round you, old chap: you don't feel them thronging now, you don't hear them any longer?"
Gerrit tried to put on his genial bellow and to poke fun at Ernst about the vases and the souls, as he used to; but it was no good. He lay back in his chair, by the big fire; and his idle thoughts stared before him.
"No," Ernst answered, quietly. "I only hear the voices now and again; and I no longer feel them thronging so much, Gerrit. . . . And you've been very ill, haven't you?" he added, quietly.
"Yes, old chap."
"You're getting better, eh?"
"Yes, I'm getting better now. My carcase can
