'Yes, dear, though you almost know it by heart. You see, you have begun to laugh already.'
'You are laughing too, Ellen. I can't help it!'
She begins to read; they are both chuckling.
A WELL-REMEMBERED VOICE
Out of the darkness comes the voice of a woman speaking to her dead son.
'But that was against your wish, was it not? Was that against your wish? Would you prefer me not to ask that question?'
The room is so dark that we cannot see her. All we know is that she is one of four shapes gathered round a small table. Beyond the darkness is a great ingle-nook, in which is seated on a settle a man of fifty. Him we can discern fitfully by the light of the fire. It is not sufficiently bright to enable him to read, but an evening paper lies on his knee. He seems wistful and meek. He is paying no attention to the party round the table. When he hears their voices it is only as empty sounds.
The mother continues. 'Perhaps I am putting the question in the wrong way. Are you not able to tell us any more?'
A man's voice breaks in. 'There was a distinct movement that time, but it is so irregular.'