She must

The

A scrape in Agnes Dawes' throat brought her back. have uttered some oroaking dream parody of Cy's soroan. cigaret pack was an empty crumple, the bottle held little more than an inch. How? When? But these images were only a dull one-dimensional mural, an irrelevance, behind Cy's searing agony.

Honora! she moaned, flung fist on the rough boards of the cabin floor, tearing them with her nails. Honora, my life! Wait for me, I'm coming too... Not in the book, that. But it had happened. And Honora...Lynn didn't die actually... not then... She came in through the cabin door.

Oh Lynn, I meant to write. Don't go without understanding that... Somehow it was Lynn herself...here...not Honora bending over Cy in a cabin. Lynn in this room, tall, sardonic, an unfamiliar white streak in the dark hair, clothes of today, not those in the only the 1940 picture...

-

Lynn, Lynn, I love you. I've loved you thirty years. If we'd met you'd have been the only one, forever, you must understand that... Don't leave me...

Color was fading from even the dull one-dimensional mural now, its grays running together in a dim blur. But Lynn stood clear...a thin color-slide projected faintly on a mottling gray wall...

With unmoving lips Lynn said: I know, I've always known. There'll be no one else for either of us now...

The transparent strong brown hand reached out for her fingers.

Suddenly all the lights were out and it was incredibly, deathly cold... But Agnes Dawes was happier than she had ever been...in her life.

THE LADDER welcomes any and all contributions in the form of articles, stories, poems and artwork either for illustrations inside the magazine or possible covers.

11