..?
He did not need these things, he said--certainly not now--nor those
labels and signposts to a doubtful, unimaginable land. He needed Amy
herself, or, at least, some hint or sound or glimpse to show him that
she indeed was as she had always been; whether in earth or heaven, he
did not care; that there was somewhere something that was herself,
some definite personal being of a continuous consciousness with that
which he had known, characterized still by those graces which he
thought he had recognized and certainly loved. Ah! he did not ask
much. It would be so easy to God! Here out in this lonely lane where
he rode beneath the branches, his reins loose on his horse's neck, his
eyes, unseeing, roving over copse and meadow across to the eternal
hills--a face, seen for an instant, smiling and gone again; a whisper
in his ear, with that dear stammer of shyness; a touch on his knee of
those rippling fingers that he had watched in the moonlight playing
gently on the sluice-gate above the moonlit stream.... He would tell
no one if God wished it to be a secret; he would keep it wholly to
himself. He did not ask now to possess her; only to be certain that
she lived, and that death was not what it seemed to be.
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