wife lay in the centre one and Edward to the right of her.
They stood there for a while in silence.
"I suppose it's only my fancy," said Mr. Mowbray, "but you seem to me to grow more like Ted every year. I don't mean in appearance, though even there I often see a look in your eyes that reminds me of him. But in other ways. Sometimes I could almost think it was he speaking."
"I have changed," said Anthony. "I feel it myself. His death made a great void in my life. I felt that I had been left with a wound that would never heal. And then one day the thought came to me—it can hardly be called a thought. I heard his very voice speaking to me, with just that little note of irritation in it that always came to him when he was arguing and got excited. 'I am not dead,' he said. 'How foolishly you are talking. How can I be dead while you are thinking of me—while you still love me and are wanting me. Who wants the dead? It is because you know I live, and that I love you, and always shall, that you want me. I am not dead. I am with you.'"
"Yes," said Mowbray after a little pause, "he loved you very dearly. I was puzzled at first because I thought you so opposite to one another. But now I know that it was my mistake."
