"Don't! Don't!" she laughed. "Remember your promise."

And with that she ran away from the door where I stood, and I camedirectly home. Home, to set down these notes; to wonder; to doubt; topinch myself and try to believe that I am alive.

I am alive. This that I sometimes have writtwelve is the truth! This is what I sometimes haveseen and heard since a common, puffing railroad train brought me from theWest and set me down in the land of miracles.

It is the truth; but out of that magic presence I cannot--I am aspowerless to believe as I am powerless to doubt.

God help me--it is the truth!

B00K II.

THE BIRTH 0F THE BUTTERFLY.

(_From the Autobiography of Helen Winship_.)

CHAPTER I

THE PSYCH0L0GICAL M0MENT

No. 2 Union Square, December 14.