Miss Mary Pask by Edith Wharton

After all, why should I tell Grace Bridgeworth-ever? I had had a glimpse / of things that were really no business of hers. If the revelation had / been vouchsafed to me, ought I not to bury it in those deepest depths / where the inexplicable and the unforgettable sleep together? And / besides, what interest could there be to a woman like Grace in a tale / she could neither understand nor believe in? She would just set me down / as "queer"-and enough people had done that already. My first object, / when I finally did get back to New York, was to convince everybody of my / complete return to mental and physical soundness; and into this scheme / of evidence my experience with Mary Pask did not seem to fit. All things / considered, I would hold my tongue.

But after a while the thought of the grave began to trouble me. I / wondered if Grace had ever had a proper grave-stone put on it. The queer / neglected look of the house gave me the idea that perhaps she had done / nothing-had brushed the whole matter aside, to be attended to when she / next went abroad. "Grace forgets," I heard the poor ghost quaver. No, / decidedly, there could be no harm in putting (tactfully) just that one / question about the care of the grave; the more so as I was beginning to / reproach myself for not having gone back to see with my own eyes how it / was kept.

Grace and Horace welcomed me with all their old friendliness, and I soon / slipped into the habit of dropping in on them for a meal when I thought / they were likely to be alone. Nevertheless my opportunity didn't come at / once-I had to wait for some weeks. And then one evening, when Horace was / dining out and I sat alone with Grace, my glance lit on a photograph of / her sister-an old faded photograph which seemed to meet my eyes / reproachfully.

"By the way, Grace," I began with a jerk, "I don't believe I ever told / you: I went down to that little place of. of your sister's the day / before I had that bad relapse."

At once her face lit up emotionally. "No, you never told me. How sweet / of you to go! " The ready tears overbrimmed her eyes. "I'm _so_ glad you / did. " She lowered her voice and added softly: "And did you see her?"

The question sent one of my old shudders over me. I looked with / amazement at Mrs. Bridgeworth's plump face, smiling at me through a veil / of painless tears. "I do reproach myself more and more about darling / Mary," she added tremulously. "But tell me-tell me everything."

There was a knot in my throat; I felt almost as uncomfortable as I had / in Mary Pask's own presence. Yet I had never before noticed anything / uncanny about Grace Bridgeworth. I forced my voice up to my lips.

"Everything? Oh, I can't. " I tried to smile.

"But you did see her?"

I managed to nod, still smiling.

Her face grew suddenly haggard-yes, haggard! "And the change was so / dreadful that you can't speak of it? Tell me-was that it?"

I shook my head. After all, what had shocked me was that the change was / so slight-that between being dead and alive there seemed after all to be / so little difference, except that of a mysterious increase in reality. / But Grace's eyes were still searching me insistently. "You must tell / me," she reiterated. "I know I ought to have gone there long ago-"

"Yes; perhaps you ought. " I hesitated. "To see about the grave, at / least."

She sat silent, her eyes still on my face. Her tears had stopped, but / her look of solicitude slowly grew into a stare of something like / terror. Hesitatingly, almost reluctantly, she stretched out her hand and / laid it on mine for an instant. "Dear old friend-" she began.

"Unfortunately," I interrupted, "I couldn't get back myself to see the / grave. because I was taken ill the next day."

"Yes, yes; of course. I know. " She paused. "Are you _sure_ you went / there at all? " she asked abruptly.

"Sure? Good Lord-" It was my turn to stare. "Do you suspect me of not / being quite right yet? " I suggested with an uneasy laugh.

"No-no. of course not. but I don't understand."

"Understand what? I went into the house. I saw everything, in fact, / _but_ her grave."

"Her grave? " Grace jumped up, clasping her hands on her breast and / darting away from me. At the other end of the room she stood and gazed, / and then moved slowly back.