The things we do!

"What are these?" exclaimed Josephine of the man who stood by.
He made no reply, but took the faded silks in his own hands,
looking at them curiously, as though he himself saw something
unexpected, inexplicable.
"What are they, sir? Whose were they? You told me once you were
alone here."
"I am," he answered. "Look. These are years old, years, years
old."
"What are they? Whose were they?" she reiterated.
"They are grave clothes," he said simply, and looked her in the
face. "Do you wish to know more?"
"Is she--was she--is she out there?" He knew she meant to ask, in
the graveyard of the family.
"Why do you wish to know?" he inquired quietly. "Is it because you
are a woman?"
"I am here because I am a woman. Well, then."
He looked at her, still silently, for a time. "She is dead," he
said slowly. "Can't you let her lie dead?"
"No. Is she out there? Tell me."
"No."
"Is she dead? Who was she?"
"I have told you, I am alone here. I have told you, I've been
alone, all my life, until you came.


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