“You are his son?”

Jerome lied; but he did it for a reason.  “Yes.”

“Then come.”

She took him by the sleeve and led him to a room, then across it to a door in the side wall.  Her step was slow and feeble; twice she stopped to sing the dirge of her wonder.  “First a man and then a woman.  Now there is one.  You are his son.”  And twice she stopped and listened.  “Do you hear anything?  A bell?  I love to hear it:  and then afterward I am afraid.  Did you ever notice a bell?  It always makes you think of church and the things that are holy.  This is a beautiful bell—­first—­”

Either the woman was without her reason or very nearly so:  she was very frail.

“Come, mother, I know, first a bell, but Dr. Holcomb?”

The name brought her back again.  For a moment she was blank trying to recall her senses.  And then she remembered.  She pointed to the door.

“In there—­Dr. Holcomb.  That’s where they come.  That’s where they go.  Dr. Holcomb.  The little old man with the beautiful whiskers.  This morning it was a man; now it is a woman.  Now there are two.  Oh, dear; perhaps we shall hear the bell.”

Jerome began to scent a tragedy.  Certainly the old lady was uncanny; the house was bare and hollow; the scant furniture was threadbare with age and mildew; each sound was exaggerated and fearful, even their breathing.  He placed his hand on the knob and opened the door.

“Now there are two.  Now there are two.”

The room was empty.  Not a bit of furniture; a blank, bare apartment with an old-fashioned high ceiling.  Nothing else.  Whatever the weirdness and adventure, Jerome was getting nowhere.  The old lady was still clinging to his arm and still droning: 

“Now there are two.  Now there are two.  This morning a man; now a woman.  Now there are two.”

“Come, mother, come.  This will not do.  Perhaps—­”

But just then the old lady’s lean fingers clinched into his arm; her eyes grew bright; her mouth opened and she stopped in the middle of her drone.  Jerome grew rigid.  And no wonder.  From the middle of the room not ten feet away came the tone of a bell, a great silvery voluminous sound—­and music.  A church bell.  Just one stroke, full toned, filling all the air till the whole room was choked with music.  Then as suddenly it died out and faded into nothing.  At the same time he felt the fingers on his arm relax; and a heap was at his feet.  He reached over.  The life and intelligence that was so near the line was just crossing over the border.  The poor old lady!  Here was a tragedy he could not understand.  He stooped over to assist her.  He was trembling.  As he did so he heard the drone of her soul as it wafted to the shadow: 

“Now there are two.”

IV

GONE