"So I see," said she, "but what is the matter?"
"We have all seen something."
"One would say a ghost."
"The ghost of God," I answered, in what she must have thought a tone of bathos!
"You imply that God is dead," she retorted in her dry way.
"He died for us, Emily," I answered most crassly! whereat she bridled, and said: "O!" with such an underlook and depth of satire, that I could not bear to see her so banned from my awful mood, and, with a motion of my hand, left her in haste, for all manner of talk at that moment seemed to me unholy.
On the Monday morning, as I was breakfasting in my own quarters, Langler came to me, saying: "I have to apologise, Arthur, if my manner last night was at all incongruous with your mood, and I have to add Emily's apologies to my own. We have now heard and read what you saw, and understand how you must have felt."
"You understand something," I answered; "you can't understand all."
"Well, no," said he: "I am only sorry that neither Emily nor I was privileged to be present, so that we might be in the fullest sympathy with you. Did you, Arthur—get a complete sight of the vision?"
He sat beside me, his hand on my arm, and I told him all, word by word, in a husky voice; and he listened with a bent head.