“Christ!” cried Oliver, and gave one huge sob as he sprang up.

She had not a great deal to tell him.  There was no explanation of the disaster published as yet; it seemed that the wings on one side had simply ceased to work.

She described the shadow, the hiss of sound, and the crash.

Then she stopped.

“Well, my dear?” said her husband, still rather white beneath the eyes as he sat close to her patting her hand.

“There was a priest there,” said Mabel.  “I saw him before, at the station.”

Oliver gave a little hysterical snort of laughter.

“He was on his knees at once,” she said, “with his crucifix, even before the doctors came.  My dear, do people really believe all that?”

“Why, they think they do,” said her husband.

“It was all so—­so sudden; and there he was, just as if he had been expecting it all.  Oliver, how can they?”

“Why, people will believe anything if they begin early enough.”

“And the man seemed to believe it, too—­the dying man, I mean.  I saw his eyes.”

She stopped.

“Well, my dear?”

“Oliver, what do you say to people when they are dying?”

“Say!  Why, nothing!  What can I say?  But I don’t think I’ve ever seen any one die.”

“Nor have I till to-day,” said the girl, and shivered a little.  “The euthanasia people were soon at work.”

Oliver took her hand gently.

“My darling, it must have been frightful.  Why, you’re trembling still.”

“No; but listen....  You know, if I had had anything to say I could have said it too.  They were all just in front of me:  I wondered; then I knew I hadn’t.  I couldn’t possibly have talked about Humanity.”

“My dear, it’s all very sad; but you know it doesn’t really matter.  It’s all over.”

“And—­and they’ve just stopped?”

“Why, yes.”

Mabel compressed her lips a little; then she sighed.  She had an agitated sort of meditation in the train.  She knew perfectly that it was sheer nerves; but she could not just yet shake them off.  As she had said, it was the first time she had seen death.

“And that priest—­that priest doesn’t think so?”

“My dear, I’ll tell you what he believes.  He believes that that man whom he showed the crucifix to, and said those words over, is alive somewhere, in spite of his brain being dead:  he is not quite sure where; but he is either in a kind of smelting works being slowly burned; or, if he is very lucky, and that piece of wood took effect, he is somewhere beyond the clouds, before Three Persons who are only One although They are Three; that there are quantities of other people there, a Woman in Blue, a great many others in white with their heads under their arms, and still more with their heads on one side; and that they’ve all got harps and go on singing for ever and ever, and walking about on the clouds, and liking it very much indeed.  He thinks, too, that all these nice people are perpetually looking down upon the aforesaid smelting-works, and praising the Three Great Persons for making them.  That’s what the priest believes.  Now you know it’s not likely; that kind of thing may be very nice, but it isn’t true.”