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AGAIN.
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When they reached home he took her upstairs to his room. He had locked the door when he left it in the morning. He unlocked it, and they went in. A cloth covered something standing upon the table. He drew it aside with an unsteady hand.
"Look at it," he said. "It has been there since last night. You see it haunts me too."
"What!" she said, "you brought it out yourself—again!"
"Yes," he answered, "again."
She drew nearer, and sat down in the chair before the table.
"He used to sit here?" she said.
"Yes."
"If it had been finished," she said, as if speaking to herself, "Death would have seemed a little thing to him. Even if it should be finished now, I think he would forget the rest."
