Arletta had evidently
set the orchestral mechanism in motion again, and was accompanying it by
tenderly singing her own requiem. With tremulous modulation, her vocal
chords produced sounds such as I had never heard before, and of which I
am powerless to give the faintest description. Like a statue, I stood
and listened to the almost supernatural melody, and inwardly prayed that
it might continue forever. But suddenly both the music and singing
ended, and absolute quietness prevailed. It may have been a pure fancy
on my part, but as I waited in breathless silence, hoping for more
music, the apparition of Arletta seemed to pass directly over my head,
and continued right on up through the solid roof of the hallway.
Startled beyond expression at what I now consider a mere delusion, I
shouted Arletta at the top of my voice several times, and receiving no
answer, either telepathically or phonetically, I came to the awful
conclusion that she was no more.
Is it unmanly to cry? If so, I must confess my unmanliness, for on this
occasion it was impossible for me to repress the tears from coursing
down my cheeks, as I realized that the last of nature's grandest and
noblest earthly beings had passed away. But the tears I shed apparently
softened my nature, and as I stood buried in the depth of meditation
concerning the preceding events, I became impregnated with the desire to
try and do some real good in the world; to make myself useful to
mankind; to live for others instead of myself alone.
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