Aunt Rachel opened her eyes again. She repeated dully after Annabel:
"It is gone."
"Ghosts," the gipsy whispered presently, "are of the dead. Therefore it must have lived."
But again Aunt Rachel shook her head. "It never lived."
"You were young, and beautiful?…"
Still the shake of the head. "He died on the eve of his wedding. They took my white garments away and gave me black ones. How then could it have lived?"
"Without the kiss, no…. But sometimes a woman will lie through her life, and at the graveside still will lie…. Tell me the truth."
But they were the same words that Aunt Rachel repeated: "He died on the eve of his wedding; they took away my wedding garments…." From her lips a lie could hardly issue. The gipsy's face became grave….
She broke another long silence.
"I believe," she said at last. "It is a new kind—but no more wonderful than the other. The other I have seen, now I have seen this also. Tell me, does it come to any other chair?"