“As you know, I was killed instantly—that is pushed out of life as you understand life, without warning. When I awoke, or regained consciousness, on this side of death—which I believe was soon after the accident, though I am not sure on this point—I found myself groping blindly, staggering weakly in the dark and reaching about me with my hands to find something that would help me to a knowledge of my whereabouts.
“I was never distinguished for patience. Now I began to feel impatient and cross at finding myself in such an unaccountable situation. Then the darkness got thicker, more depressing, and at last terrible, until my spirit quailed before it, and the thought came to me that I was indeed, in a place and condition strange and fearful.
“Then I thought of you, Cartice, and of how devotedly I loved you. With that thought came light, such radiant, phenomenal, overpowering light that it dazzled me. I shuddered before its awful effulgence, and put my hands over my eyes that it might not blind me. My love for you seemed to fill all space and include all things. While enjoying it, drinking it in, floating in it, I moved on, for I was walking,—or so it seemed—until I met my dear old friend William Bissell.
“That astonished me, for I instantly remembered that he had died five years before, and I had been one of those selected for the solemn honor of carrying his body to the grave. Was I dreaming?
“He came toward me smiling. I thought I had never seen him look so well, so handsome, so young or so benignant. He was ever the soul of kindness, not only ready but always anxious to serve others; and he had a particular fondness for meeting friends at the railroad station when they came back to the city after an absence—especially those who had no near kindred to welcome them.
“‘I’m glad to see you, Gordon,’ he said; but I thought I saw something in his face more than the words implied, and a foreboding of unwelcome news came to me.
“‘How is this, William?’ I asked. ‘Am I dreaming? I thought I helped to bury you five years ago.’
“He smiled significantly and said, ‘Has it not occurred to you that somebody may be arranging to do the same service for you?’
“‘What do you mean, William?’ I asked, calling upon my soul to sustain me against the shock of the reply.
“‘Well, Gordon,’ he said, gently, kindness making his face shine like a lamp, ‘tell me if a dead man’s arm has any bones in it?’