"Oh yes—he's done with all that now."
"Then why on earth should we go on—"
"We're not dead, my dear."
"You don't mean—"
She looked at him with horror-filled eyes.
"What's the matter?"
"You—" But she couldn't bring the awful doubt to birth. That any one in her own range of experience should be heard to hint that the dead were done with thinking! Not that a mythical person in a book, but some one she knew, should be found saying calmly that he had abandoned hope of the life to come! "My father," she whispered, coming a trace nearer, "did he ever say he didn't believe in immortality? No! no! he couldn't. But did he ever tell you he wasn't sure?"
"How can any one be sure?"
"How can you bear to live if you're not sure?" she cried.