him. I never knew till an hour ago that my mother was against the others, too. Knowing that, I think that if my mother had lived, she and father would have come to the issue with grandfather, but since she died, father could not. He loved her so and perhaps for my sake he decided he couldn't take action. I wonder if, after he was dead and perhaps saw mother, he learned that she wished justice—justice, whatever that may be—to be done; I wonder if that was what father was trying to tell you for me?"
She stopped walking and stood at the gray window, gazing vacantly at her grandfather's huge house beyond the edge of the deserted village.
"The other side of the veil," she repeated. "I've heard that before, but I never thought much about it. A veil—only a veil, they say, between here and where my father is? Do you believe that, Mr. Loutrelle?—In that case," she went on, not waiting when he did not immediately answer, "he would know the situation here and what should be done and who would be affected much more definitely than I'd supposed; and he would . . ." She turned about to Barney and checked herself from continuing this speculation. "At any rate, I shall find out what I can about this business and face the consequences. For that reason, I'll not see my grandmother again. I'd like to but maybe, if I saw her, I couldn't go through with this as I must. I'll let him pack me off with Miss Platt. That's best."
She glanced down the road a hundred paces where Miss Platt, with stiff impatience, was sitting waiting on the sled. Ethel knew that Barney would escort her to the sled, but this was her last moment alone with him; and he, also recognizing it, asked:
"Where are you going in Chicago? To be particu-
