The door of the winding stair leading to my room in the turret stood open—and I availed myself of this tacit permission to return thither. I found everything as I had left it, except that when I sought for the mysterious little room hung with purple silk, where I had begun to read the book called 'The Secret of Life,' a book which through all my strange adventure I still had managed to keep with me, I could not find it. The walls around me were solid; there was no sign of an opening anywhere.

I sat down by the window to think. There before my eyes was the sea, calm, and in the full radiance of a brilliant sun. No mysterious or magic art suggested itself in the visible scene of a smiling summer day. Had I been long absent from this room, I wondered? I could not tell. Time seemed to be annihilated. And so far as I myself was concerned I desired nothing in this world or the next save just to know if Rafel Santoris still lived—and—yes!—one other assurance— to feel that I still possessed the treasure of his love. All the past, present and future hung on this possibility,—there was nothing more to hope for or to attain. For if I had lost Love, then God Himself could give me no comfort, since the essential link with Divine things was broken.

Gradually a great and soothing quietude stole over me and the cloud of depression that had hung over my mind began to clear. I thought of my recent experience with the man and woman who had sought to 'rescue' me, as they said, and how when in sheer desperation I had called "Rafel! Rafel!" they had suddenly disappeared and left me free. Surely this was a sufficient proof that I was not forgotten by him who had professed to love me?—and that his aid might still be depended upon? Why should I doubt him?

I had placed my book, 'The Secret of Life,' on the table when I re- entered my room—but now I took it up again, and the pages fell open at the following passage:—

"When once you possess the inestimable treasure of love, remember that every effort will be made to snatch it from you. There is nothing the world envies so much as a happy soul! Those who have been your dearest friends will turn against you because you have a joy in which they do not share,—they will unite with your foes to drag you down from your height of Paradise. The powers of the coarse and commonplace will be arrayed against you—shafts of disdain and ridicule will be hurled at your tenderest feelings,—venomous lies and cruel calumnies will be circulated around you,—all to try and draw you from the circle of light into darkness and chaos. If you would stand firm, you must stand within the whirlwind; if you would maintain the centre-poise of your Soul, you must preserve the balance of movement,—the radiant and deathless atoms whereof your Body and Spirit are composed must be under steady control and complete organisation like a well disciplined army, otherwise the disintegrating forces set up by the malign influences of others around you will not only attack your happiness, but your health, break down your strength and murder your peace. Love is the only glory of Life,—the Heart and Pulse of all things,—a possession denied to earth's greatest conquerors—a talisman which opens all the secrets of Nature—a Divinity whose power is limitless, and whose benediction bestows all beauty, all sweetness, all joy! Bear this in mind, and never forget how such a gift is grudged to those who have it by those who have it not!"

Reading thus far, a light began to break in upon me. Had not all the weird and inexplicable experience of the past hours (or days) tended to shake me from Love and destroy my allegiance to the ideal I cherished? And—had I yielded to the temptation? Had I failed? I dared not estimate either failure or success!

Leaving my place at the window, I saw that the little 'lift' or dresser in the wall had come up noiselessly with its usual daintily prepared refection of fruit and bread and deliciously cool spring water. I had felt neither hunger nor thirst during my strange wanderings in unknown places, but now I was quite ready for a meal, and enjoyed it with all the zest of an unspoilt appetite. When I had finished, I returned to my precious book, and placing it on the table, I propped up my head between my two hands and set myself resolutely to study. And I write down here the passages I read, exactly as I found them, for those who care to practise the lessons they teach.

FREE-WILL

"The exercise of the Will is practically limitless. It is left unfettered so that we may be free to make our own choice of life and evolve our own destiny. It can command all things save Love, for Love is of God and God is not subject to authority. Love must be born IN the Soul and OF the Soul. It must be a dual flame,—that is to say, it must find its counterpart in another Soul which is its ordained mate, before it can fulfil its highest needs. Then, like two wings moved by the same soaring impulse, it assists the Will and carries it to the highest heaven. Through its force life is generated and preserved—without it, life escapes to other phases to find its love again. Nothing is perfect, nothing is lasting without the light and fire of this dual flame. It cannot be WILLED either to kindle or to burn; it must be born of itself and IN itself, and shed its glory on the souls of its own choice. All else is subject to order and command. Love alone is free."

POWER

"Power over all things and all men is obtained by organisation—that is to say, 'setting one's house in order.' The 'house' implied is the body in which the Soul has temporary dwelling; every corner of it must be 'in order,'—every atom working healthfully in its place without any suggestion of confusion. Then, whatever is desired shall be attained. Nothing in the Universe can resist the force of a steadfastly fixed resolve; what the Spirit truly seeks must, by eternal law, be given to it, and what the body needs for the fulfilment of the Spirit's commands will be bestowed. From the sunlight and the air and the hidden things of space strength shall be daily and hourly renewed; everything in Nature shall aid in bringing to the resolved Soul that which it demands. There is nothing within the circle of Creation that can resist its influence. Success, wealth, triumph upon triumph come to every human being who daily 'sets his house in order'—whom nothing can move from his fixed intent,—whom no malice can shake, no derision drive from his determined goal,—whom no temptation can drag from his appointed course, and who is proof against spite and calumny. For men's minds are for the most part like the shifting sands of the sea, and he alone rules who evolves Order from Chaos."

ETERNAL LIFE

"Life is eternal because it cannot die. Everything that lives MUST live for ever. Everything that lives has ALWAYS lived. What is called death, is by law impossible. Life is perpetually changing into various forms,—and every change it makes we call 'death' because to us it seems a cessation of life, whereas it is simply renewed activity. Every soul imprisoned to-day in human form has lived in human form before,—the very rose that flowers on its stem has flowered in this world before. Each individual Spirit preserves its individuality and, to a certain extent, its memory. It is permitted to remember a few out of the million incidents and episodes with which its psychic brain is stored, but ONLY a few during its period of evolvement. When it reaches the utmost height of spiritual capacity, and is strong enough to know and see and understand, then it will remember all from the beginning. Nothing can ever be forgotten, inasmuch as forgetfulness implies waste, and there is no waste in the scheme of the Universe. Every thought is kept for use,—every word, every sigh and tear is recorded. Life itself, in our limited view of it, can be continued indefinitely on this earth, if we use the means given to us to preserve and renew it. It was easy to preserve and prolong it in the early days of the world's prime, for our planet was then nearer to the sun. In the present day it is returning to a position in the heavens which encourages and sustains life—and men live longer without knowing why, never thinking that it is the result of the immediate situation of the planet with regard to the sun. The Earth is not where it was in the days of Christ; it has been rushing through space these two thousand years, and yet mankind forgets that its place in the heavens is different from that which it formerly occupied, and that with this difference the laws of climate, custom and living are changed. It is not Man who alters his surroundings—it is Nature, whose order cannot be disobeyed. Man thinks that the growth of science and what he calls his 'progress' is the result of his own cleverness alone; on the contrary, it is the result of a change in his atmospheric ether which not only helps scientific explanation and discovery, but which tends to give him greater power over the elements, as well as to prolong his life and intellectual capability. There is no such thing as 'standing still' in the Universe. Every atom, every organism is doing something, or going somewhere, and there is no stop. Rest itself is merely a form of Progress towards Beauty and Perfection, and there is no flaw anywhere in the majestic splendour of God's scheme for the ultimate happiness of His entire Creation."

ARROGANT ASCETICISM

"The ascetic is a blasphemer of God and of the work for which God alone is responsible. By withdrawing himself from the world of men he withdraws himself from human sympathy. By chastising the body and its natural emotions and desires, he chastises that which God has made as a temple for his soul to dwell in. By denying the pleasures of this world, he denies all the good which God has prepared and provided for him, and he wrongs the fair happiness of Nature and the order in which the Universe is planned. The so-called 'religious' person who retires into a monastery, there to pray and fast and bemoan the ills of the flesh, is an unnatural creature and displeasing to his Maker. For God looked upon everything He had made and found it 'good.' Good—not bad, as the arrogant ascetic would assume. Joy, not sorrow, should be the keynote of life—the world is not a 'vale of tears' but a flower-filled garden, basking in the perpetual sunshine of the smile of God. What is called 'sin' is the work of Man—God has no part in it. 'By pride the angels fell.' By pride Man delays his eternal delight. When he presumes to be wiser than his Creator,—when he endeavours to upset the organisation of Nature, and invents a kind of natural and moral code of his own, then comes disaster. The rule of a pure and happy life is to take all that God sends with thankfulness in moderation—the fruits of the earth, the joys of the senses, the love of one's fellow- creatures, the delights of the intellect, the raptures of the soul; and to find no fault with that which is and must ever be faultless. We hear of wise men and philosophers sorrowing over 'the pain and suffering of the world'—but the pain and suffering are wrought by Man alone, and Man's cruelty to his fellows. From Man's culpable carelessness and neglect of the laws of health has come every disease, as from Man's egotism, unbelief and selfishness have sprung all the crimes in the calendar." I paused here, for it seemed to me that it was getting dark,—at any rate I could not see to read very clearly. I looked at the window, but very little light came through it,—a sudden obscurity, like a heavy cloud, darkened all visible things. I quickly made up my mind that I would not yield to any more fanciful terrors, or leave the room, even if I saw another outlet that night. With this determination I undressed quickly and went to bed. As I laid my head on the pillow I felt a kind of coldness in the air which made me shiver a little—an 'uncanny' sensation to which I would not yield. I saw the darkness thickening round me, and closed my eyes, resolving to rest—and so succeeded in ordering all my faculties to this end that within a very few minutes I was soundly asleep.



XIX

THE UNKNOWN DEEP

My slumber was so profound and dreamless that I have no idea how long it lasted, but when finally I awoke it was with a sense of the most vivid and appalling terror. Every nerve in my body seemed paralysed—I could not move or cry out,—invisible bands stronger than iron held me a prisoner on my bed—and I could only stare upwards in horror as a victim bound to the rack might stare at the pitiless faces of his torturers. A Figure, tall, massive and clothed in black, stood beside me—I could not see its face—but I felt its eyes gazing down upon me with a remorseless, cold inquisitiveness—a silent, searching enquiry which answered itself without words. If every thought in my brain and every emotion of my soul could have been cut out of me with a dissecting knife and laid bare to outward inspection, those terrible eyes, probing deep into the very innermost recesses of my being, would have done the work.

The beating of my heart sounded loud and insistent in my own ears,— I lay still, trying to gain control over my trembling spirit,—and it was almost with an awful sense of relief that I saw the figure move at last from its rigid attitude and beckon me—beckon slowly and commandingly with one outstretched arm from which the black, dank draperies hung like drifting cloud. Mechanically obeying the signal, I strove to rise from my bed—and found that I could do so,- -I sat up shiveringly, looking at the terrifying Form that towered above me, enclosing me as it were in its own shadow—and then, managing to stand on my feet, though unsteadily, I mutely prepared to follow where it should lead. It moved on—and I went after it, compelled by some overpowering instinct against which I dared not rebel. Once the vague, half-formed thought flitted through my brain- -"This is Death that summons me away,"—till with the thought came the remembrance that according to the schooling I was receiving, there is no such thing as 'Death,' but only the imaginary phantom we call by that name.

Slowly, sedately, and with an indescribable majesty of movement, the dark Figure glided on before me, and I, a trembling little creature, followed it, I knew not whither. There was no obstacle in our course,—doors, walls and windows seemed to melt asunder into nothingness as we passed—and there was no stop to our onward progress till suddenly I saw before me a steep and narrow spiral stairway of stone winding up into the very centre of a rocky pinnacle, which in its turn lifted its topmost peak into the darkness of a night sky sprinkled with millions of stars. The sombre Figure paused: and again I felt the search-light of its invisible eyes burning through me. Then, as though satisfied with its brief survey, it began to ascend the spiral stair.

I followed step by step,—the way was long and difficult—the sharp turns dizzying to the senses, and there seemed no end to the upward winding. Sometimes I stumbled and nearly fell—sometimes I groped on hands and knees, always seeing before me the black-draped Form that moved on with such apparently little care as to whether or no I fared ill or well in my obedience to its summons.

And now, as I climbed, all sorts of strange memories began to creep into the crannies of my brain and perplex me with trouble and uncertainty. Chiefly did my mind dwell on cruelties—the cruelties practised by human beings to one another,—moral cruelties especially, they being so much worse than any physical torture. I thought of the world's wicked misjudgments passed on those who are greater in spirit than itself,—how, even when we endeavour to do good to others, our kindest actions are often represented as merely so many forms of self-interest and self-seeking,—how our supposed 'best' friends often wrong us and listen credulously to enviously invented tales against us,—how even in Love—ah!-Love!—that most etherial yet most powerful of passions!—a rough word, an unmerited slight, may separate for a lifetime those whose love would otherwise have been perfect. And still I climbed, and still I thought, and still the dark Phantom-Figure beckoned me on and on.

And then I began to consider that in climbing to some unknown, unseen height in deep darkness I was, after all, doing a wiser thing than living in the world with the ways of the world,—ways that are for the most part purely hypocritical, and are practised merely to overreach and out-do one's fellow-men and women—ways of fashion, ways of society, ways of government which are merely temporary, while Nature, the invincible and eternal, moves on her appointed course with the same inborn intuition, namely, to destroy that which is evil and preserve only that which is good. And Man, the sole maker of evil, the only opposer of Divine Order, fools himself into the belief that his evil shall prosper and his falsehood be accepted as truth, if he can only sham a sufficient show of religious faith to deceive himself and others on the ascending plane of History. He who has invented Sin has likewise invented a God to pardon it, for there is no sin in the natural Universe. The Divine Law cannot pardon, for it is inviolate and bears no trespass without punishment.

So I mused in my inward self, and still I climbed, keeping my eyes fixed on the Figure that led me on, and which now, having reached the end of the spiral stair, was slowly mounting to the highest peak of the rocky pinnacle which lifted itself to the stars. An icy wind began to blow,—my feet were bare, and I was thinly clad in my night-gear with only the addition of a white woollen wrap I had hastily flung round me for warmth when I left my bed to follow my spectral leader—and I shivered through and through with the bitter cold. Yet I went on resolutely,—indeed, having started on this perilous adventure, there was no returning, for when I looked back on the way I had come, the spiral stair had completely vanished, and there was nothing but black and empty space!

This discovery so terrified me that for the moment I lost breath, and I came to a halt in the very act of ascending. Then I saw the Figure in front of me turn round with a threatening movement, and I felt that with one second more of hesitation I should lose my footing altogether and slip away into some vast abysmal depth of unimaginable doom. Making a strong effort, I caught back my escaping self-control, and forced my shuddering limbs to obey my will and resume their work-and so, slowly, inch by inch, I resumed my climb, sick with giddiness and fear and chilled to the very heart. Presently I heard a rumbling roar like the sound of great billows rushing into hollow caverns which echoed their breaking in thuds of booming thunder. Looking up, I saw the Figure I had followed standing still; and I fancied that the sombre draperies in which it was enveloped showed an outline of glimmering light. Fired by a sudden hope, I set myself to tread the difficult path anew, and presently I too stood still, beside my mysterious Leader. Above me was a heaven of stars;—below an unfathomable deep of darkness where nothing was visible;—but from this nothingness arose a mighty turbulence as of an angry sea. I remained where I found myself, afraid to move;—one false step might, I felt, hurl me into a destruction which though it would not be actual death would certainly be something like chaos. Almost I felt inclined to catch at the cloudy garments of the solemn Figure at my side for safety and protection, and while this desire was yet upon me it turned its veiled head towards me and spoke in a low, deep tone that was infinitely gentle.

"So far!—and yet not far enough!" it said—"To what end wilt thou adventure for the sake of Love?"

"To no End whatsoever,"—I answered with sudden boldness—"But to everlasting Continuance!"

Again I thought I saw a faint glowing light within its sombre draperies.

"What wouldst thou do for Love?" its voice again enquired—"Wouldst thou bear all things and believe all things? Canst thou listen to falsehood bearing witness against truth, and yet love on? Wilt thou endure all suffering, all misunderstanding, all coldness and cruelty, and yet keep thy soul bright as a burning lamp with the flame of faith and endeavour? Wouldst thou scale the heavens and plunge to the uttermost hell for the sake of him thou lovest, knowing that thy love must make him one with thee at the God- appointed hour?"

I looked up at the Figure, vainly striving to see its face.

"All these things I would do!" I answered—"All that is in the power of my soul to endure mortally or immortally, I will bear for Love's sake!"

Again the light flashed through its black garments. When it next spoke, its voice rang out harshly in ominous warning.

"Thy lover is dead!" it proclaimed—"He has passed from this sphere to another, and ye shall not meet again for many cycles of time! DOST THOU BELIEVE IT?"

A cold agony gripped my breast, but I would not yield to it, and answered resolutely—

"No! I do not believe it! He could not die without my knowing and feeling the parting of his soul from mine!"

There was a pause, in which only the thunder of that invisible sea far down below us was audible. Then the voice went on,

"Thy lover is false!" it said—"His love for thee was a passing mood—already he regrets—already he wearies in thought of thee and loves thee no more! DOST THOU BELIEVE IT?"

I took no time for thought, but answered at once without hesitation- -

"No! For if he does not love me his Spirit lies!—and no Spirit CAN lie!"

Another pause. Then the voice put this question—

"Dost thou truly believe in God, thy Creator, the Maker of heaven and earth?"

Lifting my eyes half in hope, half in appeal to the starry deep sky above me, I replied fervently—

"I do believe in Him with all my soul!"

A silence followed which seemed long and weighted with suspense. Then the voice spoke once more—

"Dost thou believe in Love, the generator of Life and the moving Cause and Mind of all created things?"

And again I replied—

"With all my soul!"

The Figure now bent slightly towards me, and the light within its darkness became more denned and brilliant. Presently an arm and hand, white and radiant—a shape as of living flame—was slowly outstretched from the enfolding black draperies. It pointed steadily to the abyss below me.

"If thy love is so great"—said the voice—"If thy faith is so strong—if thy trust in God is sure and perfect—descend thither!"

I heard—but could not credit my own hearing. I gazed at the shrouded and veiled speaker—at the commanding arm that signed my mortal body to destruction. For a moment I was lost in wild terror and wilder doubt. Was this fearful suggestion a temptation or a test? Should it be obeyed? I strove to find the centre-poise of my own self—to gather all my forces together,—to make myself sure of my own will and responsible for my own deeds,—and then—then I paused. All that was purely mortal in me shuddered on the brink of the Unknown. One look upward to the soft gloom of the purple sky and its myriad stars—one horrified glance downward at the dark depth where I heard the roaring of the sea! I clasped my hands in a kind of prayerful desperation, and looked once more at the solemn Shadow beside me.

"If thy love is so great!" it repeated, in slow and impressive tones—"If thy faith is so strong! If thy trust in God is so sure and perfect!"

There came a moment of tense stillness—a moment in which my life seemed detached from myself so that I held it like a palpitating separate creature in my hands, Suddenly the recollection of the last vision of all those I had seen among the dark mountains of Coruisk came back to me vividly—that of the woman who had knelt outside a barred gate in Heaven, waiting to enter in—"O leave her not always exiled and alone!" I had prayed then—"Dear God, have pity! Unbar the gate and let her in! She has waited so long!"

A sob broke unconsciously from my lips—my eyes filled with burning tears that blinded me. Imploringly I turned towards the relentless Figure beside me once more—its hand still pointed downwards—and again I seemed to hear the words—

"If thy love is so great! If thy faith is so strong! If thy trust in God is so sure and perfect!"

And then I suddenly found my own Soul's centre,—the very basis of my own actual being—and standing firmly upon that plane of imperishable force, I came to a quick resolve.

"Nothing can destroy me!" I said within myself—"Nothing can slay the immortal part of me, and nothing can separate my soul from the soul of my beloved! In all earth, in all heaven, there is no cause for fear!"

Hesitating no longer, I closed my eyes,—then extending my clasped hands I threw myself forward and plunged into the darkness!—down, down, interminably down! A light followed me like a meteoric shaft of luminance piercing the blackness—I retained sufficient consciousness to wonder at its brilliancy, and for a time I was borne along in my descent as though on wings. Down, still down!—and I saw ocean at my feet!—a heaving mass of angry waters flecked with a wool-like fleece of foam!

"The Change that is called Death, but which is Life!"

This was the only clear thought that flashed like lightning through my brain as I sank swiftly towards the engulfing desert of the sea!- -then everything swirled into darkness and silence!

* * * * * *

A delicate warm glow like the filtering of sunbeams through shaded silk and crystal—a fragrance of roses—a delicious sound of harp- like music—to these things I was gradually awakened by a gentle pressure on my brows. I looked up—and my whole heart relieved itself in a long deep sigh of ecstasy!—it was Aselzion himself who bent over me,—Aselzion whose grave blue eyes watched me with earnest and anxious solicitude. I smiled up at him in response to his wordless questioning as to how I felt, and would have risen but that he imperatively signed to me to lie still.

"Rest!" he said,—and his voice was very low and tender. "Rest, poor child! You have done more than well!"

Another sigh of pure happiness escaped me,—I stretched out my arms lazily like one aroused from a long and refreshing slumber. My sensations were now perfectly exquisite; a fresh and radiant life seemed pouring itself through my veins, and I was content to remain a perfectly passive recipient of such an inflow of health and joy. The room I found myself in was new to me—it seemed made up of lovely colourings and a profusion of sweet flowers—I lay enshrined as it were in the centre of a little temple of beauty. I had no desire to move or to speak,—every trouble, every difficulty had passed from my mind, and I watched Aselzion dreamily as he brought a chair to the side of my couch and sat down—then, taking my hand in his, felt my pulse with an air of close attention.

I smiled again.

"Does it still beat?" I asked, finding my voice suddenly—"Surely the great sea has drowned it!"

Still holding my hand, he looked full into my eyes.

"'Many waters cannot quench love'!" he quoted softly. "Dear child, you have proved that truth. Be satisfied!"

Raising myself on my pillows, I studied his grave face with an earnest scrutiny.

"Tell me,"—I half whispered—"Have I failed?"

He pressed my hand encouragingly.

"No! You have almost conquered!"

Almost! Only 'almost'! I sank back again on the couch, wondering and waiting. He remained beside me quite silent. After a little the tension of suspense became unbearable and I spoke again—

"How did I escape?" I asked—"Who saved me when I fell?"

He smiled gravely.

"There was nothing to escape from"—he answered—"And no one saved you since you were not in danger."

"Not in danger!" I echoed, amazed.

"No! Only from yourself!"

I gazed at him, utterly bewildered. He gave me a kind and reassuring glance.

"Have patience!" he said, gently—"All shall be explained to you in good time! Meanwhile this apartment is yours for the rest of your stay here, which will not now be long—I have had all your things removed from the Probation room in the tower, so that you will no more be troubled by its scenic transformations!" Here he smiled again. "I will leave you now to recover from the terrors through which you have passed so bravely;—rest and refresh yourself thoroughly, for you have nothing more to fear. When you are quite ready touch this"—and he pointed to a bell—"I shall hear its summons and will come to you at once."

Before I could say a word to detain him, he had retired, and I was left alone.

I rose from my couch,—and the first impression I had was that of a singular ease and lightness—a sense of physical strength and well- being that was delightful beyond expression. The loveliness and peace of the room in which I was enchanted me,—everything my eyes rested upon suggested beauty. The windows were shaded with rose silk hangings—and when I drew these aside I looked out on a marble loggia or balcony overhung with climbing roses,—this, in its turn, opened on an exquisite glimpse of garden and blue sea. There was no clock anywhere to tell me the time of day, but the sun was shining, and I imagined it must be afternoon. Adjoining this luxurious apartment was an equally luxurious bathroom, furnished with every conceivable elegance,—the bath itself was of marble, and the water bubbled up from its centre like a natural spring, sparkling as it came. I found all my clothes, books and other belongings arranged with care where I could most easily get at them, and to my joy the book 'The Secret of Life,' which I thought I had lost on my last perilous adventure, lay on a small table by itself like a treasure set apart.

I bathed and dressed quickly, allowing myself no time to think upon any strange or perplexing point in my adventures, but giving myself entirely up to the joy of the new and ecstatic life which thrilled through me. A mirror in the room showed me my own face, happy and radiant,—my own eyes bright and smiling,—no care seemed to have left a trace on my features, and I was fully conscious of a perfect strength and health that made the mere act of breathing a pleasure. In a very short time I was ready to receive Aselzion, and I touched the bell he had indicated as a signal. Then I sat down by the window and looked out on the fair prospect before me. How glorious was the world, I thought!—how full of perfect beauty! That heavenly blue of sky and sea melting into one—the tender hues of the clambering roses against the green of the surrounding foliage—the lovely light that filtered through the air like powdered gold!—were not all these things to be thankful for? and can there be any real unhappiness so long as our Souls are in tune with the complete harmony of Creation?

Hearing a step behind me, I rose—and with a glad smile stretched out my hands to Aselzion, who had just then entered. He took them in his own and pressed them lightly—then drawing a chair opposite to mine, he sat down. His face expressed a certain gravity, and his voice when he began to speak was low and gentle.

"I have much to tell you"—he said—"but I will make it as brief as I can. You came here to pass a certain psychic ordeal—and you have passed it successfully—all but the last phase. Of that we will speak presently. For the moment you are under the impression that you have been through certain episodes of a more or less perplexing and painful nature. So you have—but not in the way you think. Nothing whatever has happened to you, save in your own mind—your adventures have been purely mental—and were the result of several brains working on yours and compelling you to see and to hear what they chose. There!—do not look so startled!"—for I had risen with an involuntary exclamation—"I will explain everything quite clearly, and you will soon understand."

He paused—and I sat down again by the window, wondering and waiting.

"In this world," he went on, slowly—"it is not climate, or natural surroundings that affect man so much as the influences brought to bear upon him by his fellow-men. Human beings really live surrounded by the waves of thought flung off by their own brains and the brains of those around them,—and this is the reason why, if they are not strong enough to find a centre-poise, they are influenced by ways and moods of thought which would never be their own by choice and free-will. If a mind, or let us say a Soul, can resist the impressions brought to bear upon it by other forces than itself—if it can stand alone, clear of obstacle, in the light of the Divine Image, then it has gained a mastership over all things. But the attainment of such a position is difficult enough to be generally impossible. Influences work around us everywhere,—men and women with great aims in life are swept away from their intentions by the indifference or discouragement of their friends—brave deeds are hindered from accomplishment by the suggestion of fears which do not really exist—and the daily scattering and waste of psychic force and powerful mentality by disturbing or opposing brain-waves, is sufficient to make the world a perfect paradise were it used to that end."

He waited a moment—then bent his eyes earnestly upon me as he resumed—

"You do not need to be told by me that you have lived on this earth before, and that you have many times been gently yet forcibly drawn into connection with the other predestined half of yourself,—that Soul of love which blindly seeking, you have often rejected when found—not of yourself have you rejected it—but simply because of the influences around you to which you have yielded. Now in this further phase of your existence you have been given another chance— another opportunity. It is quite possible that had you not come to me you would have lost your happiness again, and it was this knowledge which made me receive you, against all the rules of our Order, when I saw that you were fairly resolved. Your ordeal would have been longer had you not made the first bold advance yourself on the occasion of your entrance into our chapel. The light of the Cross and Star drew you, and your Soul obeyed the attraction of its native element. Had you opposed its intention by doubts and fears, I should have had more trouble with you than I should have cared to undertake. But you made the first step yourself with a rare courage- -the rest was comparatively easy."

He paused again and again went on.

"I have already said that you are under the impression of having gone through certain adventures or episodes, which have more or less distressed and perplexed you. These things have had NO EXISTENCE except in your mind! When I took you up to your room in the turret, I placed you under my influence and under the influence of four other brains acting in conjunction with myself. We took entire possession of your mentality, and made it as far as possible like a blank slate, on which we wrote what we chose. The test was to see whether your Soul, which is the actual You, could withstand and overcome our suggestions. At first hearing, this sounds as if we had played a trick upon you for our own entertainment—but it is not so,—it is merely an application of the most powerful lesson in life—namely, THE RESISTANCE AND CONQUEST OF THE INFLUENCES OF OTHERS, which are the most disturbing and weakening forces we have to contend with."

I began to see clearly what he meant me to understand, and I hung upon his words with eager attention.

"You have only to look about you in the world," he continued—"to realise the truth of what I say. Every day you may meet some soul whose powers of accomplishment might be superb if it were not for the restricting influences to which it allows itself to succumb. How often do you not come upon a man or woman of brilliant genius, who is nevertheless rendered incompetent by opposing influences, and who therefore lives the life of a bird in a cage! Take the thousands of men wrongly mated, whose very wives and children drag them down and kill every spark of ambition and accomplishment within them! Take the thousands of women persuaded or forced into unions with men whose low estimate of woman's intellect coarsens and degrades her to a level from which it is almost impossible to rise! This is the curse of 'influences'—the magnetic currents of other brains which set our own awry, and make half the trouble and mischief in the world. Not one soul in a hundred thousand has force or courage to resist them! The man accustomed to live with a wife who without doing any other harm, simply kills his genius by the mere fact of her daily contact, moods, and methods, makes no effort to shake himself free from the apathy her influence causes, but simply sinks passively into inaction. The woman, bound to a man who insists on considering her lower than himself, and often pulled this way and that by the selfish desires or aims of her children or other family belongings, becomes a mere domestic drudge or machine, with no higher aims than are contained in the general ordering of household business. Love,—the miraculous touchstone which turns everything to gold,—is driven out of the circle of Life with the result that Life itself grows weary of its present phase, and makes haste to seek another more congenial. Hence proceeds what we call age and death."

I was about to interrupt by an eager question—but he silenced me by a gesture.

"Your position," he went on—"from a psychic standard,—which is the only necessary, because the only lasting attitude,—is that of being brought into connection with the other half of your spiritual and immortal Ego,—which means the possession of perfect love, and with it perfect life. And because this is so great a gift, and so entirely Divine, influences are bound to offer opposition in order that the Soul may make its choice VOLUNTARILY. Therefore, when I, and the other brains acting with me, placed you under our power, we impressed you with all that most readily shakes the feminine mind— doubt, jealousy, suspicion, and all the wretched terrors these wretched emotions engender. We suggested the death of Rafel Santoris as well as his treachery,—you heard, as you thought, voices behind a wall—but there were no voices—only the suggestion of voices in your mind. You saw strange phantoms and shadows,—they had no existence except in so far as we made them exist and present themselves to your mental vision. You wandered away into unknown places, so you imagined,—but as a matter of fact you NEVER LEFT YOUR ROOM!"

"Never left my room!" I echoed—"Oh, that cannot be!"

"It can be, because it is!" he answered me, smiling gravely—"The only thing in your experience that was REAL was the finding of the book 'The Secret of Life'—in the purple-draped shrine. Here it is"- -and he took it up from the table on which it lay—"and if you had turned it over a little more, you would have found this"—and he read aloud—

"'All action is the material result of Thought. Suffering is the result of THINKING INTO PAIN—disease the result of THINKING INTO WEAKNESS. Every emotion is the result of wrong or right THINKING, with one exception—Love. Love is not an Emotion but a Principle, and as the generator of Life pervades all things, and is all things. Thought, working WITHIN this Principle, creates the things of beauty and lastingness,—Thought, working OUTSIDE this Principle, equally creates the things of terror, doubt, confusion, and destruction. There is no other Secret of Life—no other Elixir of Youth—no other Immortality!'"

He pronounced the last words with gentle and impressive emphasis, and a great sweetness and calm filled my mind as I listened.

"I—or I should say we—for four of my Brethren were deeply interested in you on account of the courage you had shown—we took you up to the utmost height of endurance in the way of mental terror—and, to our great joy, found your Soul strong enough to baffle and conquer the ultimate suggestion of Death itself. You held firmly to the truth that there is NO death, and with that spiritual certainty risked all for Love. Now we have released you from our spells!"—and his eyes were full of kindness as he looked at me— "and I want to know if you thoroughly realise the importance of the lesson we have taught?"

I met his enquiring glance fully and steadily.

"I think I do,"—I said—"You mean that I must stand alone?"

"Alone, yet not alone!"—he answered, and his fine face was transfigured into light with its intense feeling and power—"Alone with Love!—which is to say alone with God, and therefore surrounded by all god-like, lasting and revivifying things. You will go back from this place to the world of conventions,—and you will meet a million influences to turn you from your chosen way. Opinion, criticism, ridicule, calumny and downright misunderstanding—these will come out against you like armed foes, bristling at every point with weapons of offence. If you tell them of your quest of life and youth and love, and of your experience here, they will cover you with their mockery and derision—if you were to breathe a word of the love between you and Rafel Santoris, a thousand efforts would be instantly made to separate you, one from the other, and snatch away the happiness you have won. How will you endure these trials?—what will be your method of action?"

I thought a moment.

"The same that I have tried to practise here"—I answered—"I shall believe nothing of ill report—but only of good."

He bent his eyes upon me searchingly.

"Remember," he said—"what force there is in a storm of opinion! The fiercest gale that ever blew down strong trees and made havoc of men's dwellings is a mere whisper compared with the fury of human minds set to destroy one heaven-aspiring soul! Think of the petty grudge borne by the loveless against Love!—the spite of the restless and unhappy against those who have won peace! All this you will have to bear,—for the world is envious—and even a friend breaks down in the strength of friendship when thwarted or rendered jealous by a greater and more resistless power!" I sighed a little.

"I have few friends,"—I said—"Certainly none that have ever thought it worth while to know my inner and truest self. Most of them are glad to be my friends if I go THEIR way—but if I choose a way of my own their 'friendship' becomes mere quarrel. But I talk of choosing a way! How can I choose—yet? You say my ordeal is not over?"

"It will be over to-night,"—he answered—"And I have every hope that you will pass through it unflinchingly. You have not heard from Santoris?"

The question gave me a little thrill of surprise.

"Heard from him?—No"—I replied—"He never suggested writing to me."

Aselzion smiled.

"He is too closely in touch with you to need other correspondence,"- -he said—"But be satisfied that he is safe and well. No misadventure has befallen him."

"Thank God!" I murmured. "And—if—"

"If he loves you no more,"—went on Aselzion—"If he has made an 'error of selection' as the scientists would say, and is not even now sure of his predestined helper and inspirer whose love will lift him to the highest attainment—what then?"

"What then? Why, I must submit!" I answered, slowly—"I can wait, even for another thousand years!"

There was a silence, during which I felt Aselzion's eyes upon me. Then he spoke again in a lighter tone.

"Let us for the moment talk of what the world calls 'miracle'"—he said—"I believe you are just now conscious of perfect health, and of a certain joy in the mere fact of life. Is it not so?"

Smiling, I bent my head in acquiescence.

"Understand then"—he continued—"that while you control the life- forces of which you are made, by the power of an all-commanding spirit, this perfect health, this certain joy will continue. And more than this—everything in Nature will serve you to this end. You have but to ask your servants and they will obey. Ask of the sun its warmth and radiance,—it will answer with a quick bestowal—ask of the storm and wind and rain their powers of passion,—they will give you their all,—ask of the rose its fragrance and colour, and the very essence of it shall steal into your blood,—there is nothing you shall seek that you will not find. Try your own powers now!"— and with the word he got up and opened the window a little wider, then signed to me to step out on the balcony—"Here are roses climbing up on their appointed way—bend them to-wards you by a single effort of the will!"

I gazed at him in complete surprise and bewilderment. His answering looks were imperative.

"By a single effort of the will!" he repeated.

I obeyed him. Raising my eyes to the roses where they clambered upwards round the loggia, I inwardly commanded them to turn towards me. The effect was instantaneous. As though blown by a light breeze they all bent down with their burden of bright blossom—some of the flowers touching my hands.

"That would be called 'miraculous' by the ignorant," said Aselzion— "And it is nothing more than the physical force of the magnetic light-rays within you, which, being focused in a single effort, draw the roses down pliantly to your will. No more miracle is there in this than that of the common magnet which has been vainly trying to teach us lessons about ourselves these many years. Now, relax your will!"

Again I obeyed, and the roses moved gently away and upward to their former branching height.

"This is an object lesson for you,"—said Aselzion, smiling then— "You must understand that you are now in a position to draw everything to you as easily as you drew those roses! You can draw the germs of health and life to mix and mingle with your blood—or— you can equally draw the germs of disease and disintegration. The ACTION is with you. From the sun you can draw fresh fuel for your brain and nerves—from the air the sustenance you demand—from beautiful things their beauty, from wise things their learning, from powerful things their force—NOTHING can resist the radiating energy you possess if you only remember HOW to employ it. In every action it must be focused on the given point—it must not be disturbed or scattered. The more often it is used the more powerful it becomes— the more all-conquering. But never forget that it must work WITHIN the Creative Principle of Love—not outside it."

I sat absorbed and half afraid.

"And to-night—?" I said, softly.

He rose from his chair and stood up to his full superb stature, looking down upon me with a certain mingling of kindness and pity.

"To-night,"—he replied—"we shall send for you! You will confront the Brethren, as one who has passed the same mental test through which they are passing! And you will face the last fear! I do not think you will go back upon yourself—I hope not—I strongly desire you to keep your courage to the end!"

I ventured to touch his hand.

"And afterwards?" I queried.

He smiled.

"Afterwards—Life and its secrets are all with you and Love!"



XX

INTO THE LIGHT

When I was left alone once more I gave myself up to the enchanting sense of perfect happiness that now seemed to possess my whole being. The world of glorious Nature showed me an aspect of brilliancy and beauty that could no more be shadowed by fear or foreboding—it was a mirror in which I saw reflected the perfect Mind of the Divine. Nothing existed to terrify or daunt the advancing Soul which had become cognisant of its own capabilities, and which, by the very laws governing it, is preordained to rise to the utmost height of supernal power. I had dimly guessed this truth- -but I had never surely known it till now. Now, I recognised that everything is and must be subservient to this interior force which exists to 'replenish the earth and subdue it'—and that nothing can hinder the accomplishment of its resolved Will. As I sat by the window thinking and dreaming, I began to wonder what would be the nature of that 'last fear' of which Aselzion had spoken? Why should the word 'fear' be mentioned, when there was no cause for fear of any kind? Fear can only arise from a sense of cowardice,—and cowardice is the offspring of weakness. From this argument it followed that my strength was not yet thoroughly tested to Aselzion's satisfaction,—that he still thought it possible that some latent weakness in my spirit might display itself on further trial. And I resolved that if such was his idea, he should be proved wrong. Nothing, I vowed, should move me now—not all the world arrayed in arms against me should hinder my advance towards the completion of myself in the love of my Beloved!

I have already said that there was no visible chronicle of time in the House of Aselzion, save such as was evidenced by the broadening or waning light of day. Just now I knew it was late afternoon, as the window where I sat faced the west, and the sun was sinking in a blaze of glory immediately opposite to me. Bars of gold and purple and pale blue formed a kind of cloud gateway across the heavens, and behind this the splendid orb shone in a halo of deep rose. Watching the royal pageantry of colour on all sides, I allowed myself to go forth as it were in spirit to meet and absorb it,—inwardly I set my whole being in tune with the great wave of light which opened itself over the sea and land, and as I did so found every nerve in my body thrilled with responsive ecstasy, even as harpstrings may be thrilled into sound by the sweep of the wind. I rose and went out, through the loggia into the garden—feeling more like a disembodied spirit than a mortal, so light and free and joyous were my very movements—so entirely in unison was I with everything in Nature. The sunset bathed me in its ruby and purple magnificence,—I lifted my eyes to the heavens and murmured almost unconsciously—"Thank God for Life! Thank God for Love! Thank God for all that Life and Love must bring to me!"

A sea-gull soaring inland flew over my head with a little cry—its graceful poise reminded me of the days I had passed in Morton Harland's yacht, when I had watched so many of these snow-white creatures dipping into the waves, and soaring up again to the skies- -and on a sudden impulse I stretched out my hand, determining to stay the bird's flight if I could and bring it down to me. The effort succeeded,—slowly, and as if checked by some obstacle it felt but could not see, the lovely winged thing swept round and round in an ever descending circle and finally alighted on my wrist. I held it so for a moment—it turned its head towards me, its ruby- brown eyes sparkling in the sun—then I tossed it off again into the air of its own freedom, where after another circling sweep or two it disappeared, and I walked on in a happy reverie, realising that what I could do with the visible things of Nature I could do as easily with the invisible. A sense of power vibrated through me [Footnote: The philosophy of Plato teaches that Man originally by the power of the Divine Image within him could control all Nature, but gradually lost this power through his own fault.]—power to command, and power to resist,—power that forbade all hesitation, vacillation or uncertainty—power which being connected by both physical and spiritual currents with this planet, the Earth, and the atmosphere by which it is surrounded, lifts all that it desires towards itself, as it rejects what it does not need.

Returning slowly through the garden, and lingering by the beds of flowers that adorned it, I noticed how when I bent over any particular blossom, it raised itself towards me as though drawn upward by a magnet. I was not inclined to gather a single one for my own pleasure—some occult sympathy had become established between me and these beautiful creations—and I could no more sever a rose from its stem than I could kill a bird that sang its little song to me. On re-entering my room I found the usual refection prepared for me— fresh fruit and bread and water—the only kind of food I was allowed. It was quite sufficient for me,—in fact I had not felt at any time the sensation of hunger. I began to wonder how long I had been a 'probationer' in the House of Aselzion? Days or weeks? I could not tell. I was realising the full truth that with the things of the infinite time has no existence, and I recalled the verse of the ancient psalm:

"A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone, Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun."

And while my thoughts ran in this groove, I opened the book of the 'Secret of Life'—and as if in answer to my inward communing, found the following:

THE DELUSION OF TIME

"Time has no existence outside this planet. Humanity counts its seasons, its days and hours by the Sun—but beyond the Sun there are millions and trillions of other and larger suns, compared with which our guiding orb is but a small star. Out in the infinitude of space there is no Time, but only Eternity. Therefore the Soul which knows itself to be eternal should associate Itself with eternal things, and should never count its existence by years. To its Being there can be no end—therefore it never ages and never dies. It is only the sham religionists who talk of death,—it is only the inefficient and unspiritual who talk of age. The man who allows himself to sink into feebleness and apathy merely because of the passing of years has some mental or spiritual weakness in him which he has not the Will to overcome—the woman who suffers her beauty and freshness to wane and fade on account of what she or her 'dearest' friends are pleased to call 'age,' shows that she is destitute of spiritual self-control. The Soul is always young, and its own radiation can preserve the youth of the Body in which it dwells. Age and decrepitude come to those with whom the Soul is 'an unknown quantity.' The Soul is the only barrier against the forces of disintegration which break down effete substances in preparation for the change which humanity calls 'Death.' If the barrier is not strong enough, the enemy takes the city. These facts are simple and true; too simple and too true to be accepted by the world. The world goes to church and asks a Divinity to save its soul, practically showing in all its ways of society and government an utter disbelief in the Soul's existence. Men and women die when they might as well have lived. If we examine into the cause of their deaths we shall find it in the manner of their lives. Obstinacy and selfishness have murdered more human beings than any other form of plague. The blasphemy of sham religion has insulted the majesty of the Creator more than any other form of sin, and He has answered it by His Supreme Silence. The man who attends a ritual of prayer which he does not honestly believe in, merely for the sake of social custom and observance, is openly deriding his Maker and the priests who gain their living out of such ritual are trading on the Divine. Let the people of this Earth be taught that they live not in Time but Eternity,—that their thoughts, words and deeds are recorded minutely and accurately—and that each individual human unit is expected to contribute towards the general beauty and adornment of God's scheme of Perfection. Every man, every woman, must give of his or her best. The artist must give his noblest art, not for what it brings to him personally of gain or renown, but for what it does to others in the way of uplifting;—the poet must give his highest thought, not for praise, but for love;—the very craftsman must do his best and strongest work not for the coin paid, but for the fact that it is work, and as such must be done well—and none must imagine that they can waste the forces wherewith they have been endowed. For no waste and no indolence is permitted, and in the end no selfishness. The attitude of the selfish human being is pure disintegration,—a destroying microbe which crumbles and breaks down the whole constitution, not only ruining the body but the mind, and frequently making havoc of the very wealth that has been too selfishly guarded. For wealth is ephemeral as fame—only Love and the Soul are the lasting things of God, the Makers of Life and the Rulers of Eternity."

So far I read—then laying down my book I listened. Music, solemn and exquisitely beautiful, stole on my ears from the far distance— it seemed to float through the open window as though in a double chorus—rising from the sea and falling from the heavens. Delicious harmonies trembled through the air, soft as fine rain falling on roses,—and with their penetrating tenderness a thousand suggestions, a thousand memories came to me, all infinitely sweet. I began to think that even if Rafel Santoris were separated from me by some mischance, or changed to me in any way, it need not affect me over-much so long as I cherished the love I had for him in my own soul. Our passion was of a higher quality than the merely material,- -it was material and spiritual together, the spiritual predominating, thus making of it the only passion that can last. What difference could a few years more or less bring, if we were bound, by the eternal laws governing us, to become united in the end? The joy of life is to love rather than to be loved,—and the recipient of love is never so fully conscious of perfect happiness as the giver.

The music went on in varying moods of lovely harmony, and my mind, like a floating cloud, drifted lazily above the waves of sound. I thought compassionately of the unrest and discontent of thousands who devote themselves to the smallest and narrowest aims in life,— people with whom the loss of a mere article of wearing apparel is more important than a national difficulty—people who devote all their faculties to social schemes of self-aggrandisement—people who discuss trifles till discussion is worn threadbare, and ears are tired and brain is weary—people who, assuming to be religious and regular church-goers, yet do the meanest things, and have no scruple in playing the part of tale-bearer and mischief-maker, setting themselves deliberately to break friendships and destroy love— people who talk of God as though He were their intimate, and who have by their very lives drawn everything of God out of them—I thought of all these, I say—and I thought how different this world would be if men would hold by the noblest ideals, and suffer the latent greatness in them to have its way—if they would truly rule their own universe and not allow its movements to fall into chaos— how fair life would become!—how replete with health and joy!—what a paradise would be created around us!—and what constant benediction we should draw down upon us from the Most High! And gradually as I sat absorbed in my own reveries the afternoon waned into twilight, and twilight into dusk—one star brilliant as a great diamond, flashed out suddenly above a rift of cloud—and a soft darkness began to creep stealthily over sky and sea. I moved away from the window and paced slowly up and down the room, waiting and wondering. The music still continued,—but it had now grown slower and more solemn, and founded like a great organ being played in a cathedral. It impressed me with a sense of prayer and praise—more of praise than prayer, for I had nothing to pray for, God having given me my own Soul, which was all!

As the darkness deepened, a soft suffused light illumined the room— and I now noticed that it was the surface of the walls that shone in this delicate yet luminous way. I put my hand on the wall nearest to me—it was quite cold to the touch, yet bright to the eyes, and was no more fatiguing to look at than the sunshine on a landscape. I could not understand how the light was thus arranged and used, but its effect was beautiful. As I walked to and fro, looking at the various graceful and artistic objects which adorned the room, I perceived an easel, on which a picture was placed with a curtain of dark velvet drawn across it. Moved by curiosity, I drew the curtain aside,—and my heart gave a quick bound of delight,—it was an admirably painted portrait of Rafel Santoris. The grave blue eyes looked into my own,—a smile rested on the firm, handsome mouth—the whole picture spoke to me and seemed to ask 'Wherefore didst thou doubt?' I stood gazing at it for several minutes, enrapt,—realising how much even the 'counterfeit presentment' of a beloved face may mean. And then I began to think how strange it is that we never seem ready to admit the strong insistence of Nature on individuality and personality. Up at a vast height above the Earth, and looking down upon a crowd of people from the car of a balloon, or from an aeroplane, all human beings look the same—just one black mass of tiny moving units; but, in descending among them, we find every face and figure wholly different, and though all are made on the same model there are no two alike. Yet there are many who argue and maintain that though individual personality in bodies may be strongly marked, there is no individual personality in souls—ergo, that Nature thinks so little of the intelligent Spirit inhabiting a mortal form that she limits individuality to that which is subject to change and has no care for it in that which is eternal! Such an hypothesis is absurd on the face of it, since it is the Soul that gives individuality to the Body. The individual personality of Rafel Santoris, expressed even in his painted portrait, appealed to me as being that of one I had loved long and tenderly,—there was no strangeness in his features but only an adorable familiarity. Long long ago, in centuries that had proved like mere days down the vista of time, the Soul in those blue eyes had looked love into mine! I recognised their tender, half-entreating, half-commanding gaze,—I knew the little fleeting, wistful smile which said so little and yet so much—I felt that the striving, ambitious spirit of this man had sought mine as the help and completion of his own uplifting, and that I had misunderstood him and turned from him at the crucial moment when all might have been well. And I studied his picture long and earnestly, so moved by its aspect that I found myself talking to it softly as though it were a living thing.

"I wonder if I shall ever meet you again?" I murmured—"Will you come to me?—or shall I go to you? How shall we find each other? When shall I be able to tell you that I know you now to be the only Beloved!—the one centre of my life round which all other things must for evermore revolve,—the very mainspring of my best thought and action,—the god of my universe from whose love and pleasure spring the light and splendour of creation! When shall I see you again to tell you all that my heart longs to express?—when may I fold myself in your arms as a bird folds its wings in a nest, and be at peace, knowing that I have gained the summit of all ambition and desires in love's perfect union? When shall we attune our lives together in that harmonious chord which shall sound its music sweetly through eternity? When shall our Souls make a radiant ONE, through which God's power and benediction shall vibrate like living fire, creating within us all beauty, all wisdom, all courage, all supernal joy?—For this is bound to be our future—but—when?"

Moved by my own imagining, I stretched out my arms to the picture of my love, and tears filled my eyes. I was nothing but the weakest of mortals in the sudden recollection of the happiness I might have won long ago had I been wise in time!

A door opened quietly behind me, and I turned round quickly. Aselzion's messenger, Honorius, stood before me—and I greeted him with a smile, though my eyes were wet.

"Have you come to fetch me?"—I asked—"I am ready."

He inclined his head a little.

"You are not quite ready"—he said—and with the word he gave into my hands a folded garment and veil—"You must attire yourself in these. I will wait for you outside."

He retired and left me, and I quickly changed my own things for those which had been brought. They were easily put on, as they consisted simply of one long white robe of a rather heavy make of soft silk, and a white veil which covered me from head to foot. My attiring took me but a few minutes, and when all was done I touched the bell by which I had previously summoned Aselzion. Honorius entered at once—his looks were grave and preoccupied.

"If you should not return to this room,"—he said, slowly—"is there any message—any communication you would like me to convey to your friends?"

My heart gave a quick bound. There was some actual danger in store for me, then? I thought for a moment—then smiled.

"None!" I answered—"I shall be able to attend to all such personal matters myself—afterwards!"

Honorius looked at me, and his handsome but rather stern face was grave even to melancholy.

"Do not be too sure!"—he said, in a low tone—"It is not my place to speak, but few pass the ordeal to which you are about to be subjected. Only two have passed it in ten years."

"And one of these two was—?"

For answer, he pointed to the portrait of Santoris, thus confirming my instinctive hope and confidence.

"I am not afraid!" I said—"And I am ready to follow you now wherever you wish me to go."

He made no further remark and, turning round, led the way out of the apartment.

We went down many stairs and through many corridors,—some dimly lit, some scarcely illumined at all. The night had now fully come,— and through one of two of the windows we passed I could see the dark sky patterned with stars. We came to the domed hall where the fountain played, and this was illumined by the same strange all- penetrating light I had previously noticed,—the lovely radiance played on the spray of the fountain, making the delicate frondage of ferns and palms and the hues of flowers look like a dream of fairyland. Passing through the hall, I followed my guide down a dark narrow passage—then I found myself suddenly alone. Guided by the surging sound of organ music, I went on,—and all at once saw a broad stream of light pouring out from the open door of the chapel. Without a moment's hesitation, I entered—then paused—the symbol of the Cross and Star flamed opposite to me—and on every side wherever I looked there were men in white robes with cowls thrown back on their shoulders, all standing in silent rows, watching me as I came. My heart beat quickly,—my nerves thrilled—I trembled as I walked, thankful for the veil that partially protected me from that multitude of eyes!—eyes that looked at me in wonder, but not unkindly—eyes that mutely asked questions never to be answered— eyes that said as plainly as though in actual speech—"Why are you among us?—you, a woman? Why should you have conquered difficulties which we have still to overcome? Is it pride, defiance, or ambition with you?—or is it all love?"

I felt a thousand influences moving around me—the power of many brains at work silently cross-examined my inner spirit as though it were a witness in defence of some great argument—but I made up my mind not to yield to the overpowering nervousness and sudden alarm of my own position which threatened to shake my self-control. I fixed my eyes on the glittering symbol of the Cross and Star and moved on slowly—I must have looked a strangely solitary creature, draped in white like a victim for sacrifice and walking all alone towards those burning, darting rays of light which enveloped the whole of the chapel in a flood of almost blinding splendour. The music still thundered on round me—and I thought I heard voices far off singing—I could distinguish words that came falling through the music, like blossoms falling through rain:

Into the Light, Into the heart of the fire! To the innermost core of the deathless flame I ascend—I aspire! Under me rolls the whirling Earth, With the noise of a myriad wheels that run Ever round and about the Sun,— Over me circles the splendid heaven, Strewn with the stars of morn and even, And I, the queen Of my soul serene, Float with my rainbow wings unfurled, Alone with Love, 'twixt God and the world!

My heart beat rapidly; every nerve in me trembled—yet I went on resolvedly, not allowing myself to even think of danger.

And then I saw Aselzion—Aselzion, transfigured into an almost supernatural beauty of aspect by the radiance which bathed him in its lustrous glory!—Aselzion, with outstretched hands beckoning me towards him—and as I approached I instinctively sank on my knees. The music died away suddenly, and there was a profound silence. I felt, though I could not see, that the eyes of all present were fixed upon me. And Aselzion spoke:

"Rise!" he said—and his voice was clear and imperative—"Not here must thou kneel—not here must thou rest! Rise and go onward!—thou hast gone far, but the way is still beyond! The gate of the Last Probation stands open—enter!—and may God be thy Guide!"

I rose as he commanded me,—and a dazzling flash of light struck my eyes as though the heavens had opened. The blazing Cross and Star became suddenly severed in two separate portions, dividing asunder and disclosing what seemed to be a Hall of living fire! Flames of every colour burned vividly, leaping and falling without pause or cessation,—it was a kind of open furnace in which surely everything must be consumed! I looked at Aselzion in silent enquiry—not in fear—and in equally silent answer he pointed to the glowing vault. I understood—and without another moment's hesitation I advanced towards it. As in a dream I heard a kind of murmuring behind me—and suppressed exclamations from the students or disciples of Aselzion who were all assembled in the chapel—but I paid no heed to this—my whole soul was set on fulfilling the last task demanded of me. Step by step I went on—I passed Aselzion with a smile—

"Good-bye!" I murmured—"We shall meet again!"

And then I advanced towards the leaping flames. I felt their hot breath on my cheeks—the scorching wind of them lifted my hair through the folds of my veil—an idea came upon me that for some cause or other I was now to experience that 'Change which men call Death'—and that through this means I should meet my Beloved on the other side of life—and with his name on my lips, and a passionate appeal to him in my heart, I stepped into the glowing fire.

As I did so, I lost sight of Aselzion—of the chapel and of all those who watched my movements, and found myself surrounded on all sides by darting points of light which instead of scorching and withering me like a blown leaf in a storm, were like cool and fragrant showers playing all over me! Amazed, I went on—and as I went grew bolder. At one step I was bathed in a rain of delicate rays like sparkling diamond and topaz—at another a lovely violet light shrouded me in its rich hues—at another I walked in melting azure, like the hues of a summer sky—and the farther in I went the deeper and more glowing was the light about me. I felt it penetrating every pore of my skin—I held my hands out to it, and saw them look transparent in the fine luminance,—and presently, gaining courage, I threw back my veil and breathed in the radiance, as one breathes the air! My whole body grew light, and moved as though it floated rather than walked—I looked with unfatigued, undazzled eyes at the glittering flames that sparkled harmlessly about me and which changed to lovely shapes of flowers and leaves beneath my feet, and arched themselves over my head like branches of shading trees—and then all at once, down the long vista I caught sight of a Shape like that of an Angel!—an angel that waited for me with watchful eyes and outstretched arms!—it was but a moment that I saw this vision, and yet I knew what it meant, and I pressed on and on with all my Soul rising in me as it were, to go forth and reach that Companion of itself which stood waiting with such tender patience! The light around me now changed to waves of intense luminance which swept upon me like waves of the sea—and I allowed myself to be borne along with them, I knew not whither. All at once I saw a vast Pillar of Fire which seemed to block my way,—pausing a moment, I looked and saw it break asunder and form the Cross and Star!—I gazed upward, wondering—its rays descending seemed to pierce my eyes, my brain, my very soul!—I sprang forward, dazed and dazzled, murmuring, "Let this be the end!"

Someone caught me in his arms—someone drew me to his breast, holding me there as if I were the dearest possession of all the world or life or time could give—and a voice, infinitely tender, answered me—

"Not the end, but the Endless, my beloved!—Mine at last, and mine for ever!—in triumph, in victory, in perfect joy!"

And then I knew!—I knew that I had found my love!—that it was Rafel Santoris who thus held me in his close embrace,—that I had fulfilled my own desire, which was to prove my faith if not my worthiness—that I had won all I wanted in this world and the next, and that nothing could ever separate our Souls, one from the other again! This is the deep eternal ecstasy of a knowledge divinely shared by the very angels of God, and of such supernal happiness nothing can be said or written!

* * * * * *

I pen these last words on the deck of the 'Dream' with my Beloved beside me. The sun is sinking in a glory of crimson—we are about to anchor in still waters. A rosy light flashes on our wonderful white sails, which will be presently furled; and we shall sit together, Rafel and I, watching the night draw its soft dark curtain around us, and the stars come out in the sky like diamonds embroidered on deep purple velvet, and listening to the gentle murmur of the little waves breaking into a rocky corner of the distant shore. And the evening will close on a day of peace and happiness,—one of the many unwearying, beautiful days which, like a procession of angels, bring us new and ever more perfect joy!

More than a year has elapsed since my 'Probation' in the House of Aselzion,—since we, my Beloved and I, knelt before the Master and received his blessing on our eternal union. In that brief time I have lost all my 'worldly' friends and acquaintances,—who have, if I may so express it, become afraid of me. Afraid, chiefly, because I possess all that the world can give me without their advice and assistance—and not only afraid, but offended, because I have found the Companion of my Soul with whom they have nothing in common. They look upon me as 'lost to society' and cannot realise how much such loss is gain! Meanwhile we, Rafel and I, live our own radiant and happy lives, in full possession of all that makes life sweet and valuable, and wanting nothing that our own secret forces cannot supply. Wealth is ours—one of the least among the countless gifts Nature provides for those among her children who know where to find her inexhaustible riches—and we also enjoy the perfect health which accompanies the constant inflowing of an exhaustless vitality. And though the things we attain seem 'miraculous' to others, so that even while accepting help and benefit at our hands, they frown and shake their heads at the attitude we assume towards social hypocrisies and conventions, we are nevertheless able to create such 'influences' around us, that none come near as without feeling stronger, better and more content,—and this is the utmost we are permitted to do for our fellow-creatures, inasmuch as none will listen to argument, and none will follow advice. The most ardent soul that ever dwelt in human form cannot lead another soul in the way of lasting life or lasting happiness if it refuses to go,—and there is no more absolute truth than this—That each man and each woman must make his or her own destiny both here and hereafter. This is the Law which changes not and which can never be subject to the slightest variation. Forgiveness of sins there is none—since every trespass against law carries its own punishment. Necessity for prayer there is none,—since every faithful wish and desire of the Soul is granted without parley. Necessity for praise there is much!- -since the Soul lives and grows in the glory of its Creator. And the whole Secret of Everlasting Life and Happiness is contained in the full possession and control of the Divine Centre of ourselves—this 'Radia' or living flame, which must be DUAL in order to be perfect, and which in its completed state, is an eternal Force which nothing can destroy and nothing can resist. All Nature harmonises with its action, and from Nature it draws its perpetual sustenance and increasing power.

To me, and my Beloved, the world is a garden of paradise—rich with beauty and delight. We live in it as a part of its loveliness—we draw into our own organisations the warmth of the sunlight, the glory of colour, the songs of sweet birds, the fragrance of flowers, and the exquisite vibrations of the light and air. Like two notes of a perfect chord we sound our lives on the keyboard of the Infinite— and we know that the music will become fuller and sweeter as the eternal seasons roll on. If it is asked why there should have been any necessity to pass through the psychic ordeal imposed on me by Aselzion, I reply—Look at the world in which men and women generally live, and say frankly whether its ways are such as to engender happiness! Look at society—look at politics—look at commerce—all mere schemes for self-aggrandisement! And more than all, look at the Sham of modern religion! Is it not too often a mere blasphemy and affront to the majesty of the Divine? And are not many, if not all these mistakes against Nature,—these offences against eternal Law,—the result of Man's own 'influence' working in opposition to the very decrees of God, which he disobeys even while recognising that they exist?

The chief point of Aselzion's instruction was the test of the Brain and Soul against 'influences'—the opposing influences of others— and this is truly the chief hindrance to all spiritual progress. The coward sentiment of fear itself is born in us through the influence of timorous persons—and it is generally the dread of what 'other people will say' or what 'other people will think' that holds us back from performing many a noble action. It should be thoroughly understood that in the eternal advancement of one's own Soul 'other people' and their influences are hindrances to progress. It does not matter a jot what anybody thinks or says, provided the central altar of one's own Spirituality is clear and clean for the steadfast burning of the dual flame of Life and Love. All opinion, all criticism becomes absurd in such matters as these and absolutely worthless.

It does not affect me that anyone outside my sphere of thought should be incredulous of my beliefs,—nor can it move me from my happiness to know that persons who live their lives on a lower plane consider me a fool for electing to live mine on the highest. I take joy in the fact that even in so selfish and material an age as this, Aselzion still has his students and disciples,—a mere handful out of the million, it is true, but still sufficient to keep the beautiful truth of the Soul's power alive and helpful to the chosen few. For such who have studied these truths and have mastered them sufficiently to practise them in the ordinary round of existence, Life presents an ever living happiness—and offers daily proof that there is no such thing as Death. Youth remains where Love is, and Beauty stays with health and vitality. Decay and destruction are changes which are brought about by apathy of the Will and indifference to the Soul's existence, and the same Law which gives the Soul its supreme sovereignty equally works for its release from effete and inactive substances.

To those who would ask me how I am able to hold and keep the treasures of life, love and youth, which the majority of mankind are for ever losing, I answer that I can say no more than I have said, and the lesson which all may learn is contained in what I have written. It is no use arguing with those whom no argument will convince, or trying to teach those who will not be taught. We—my Beloved and I—can only prove the truth of the Soul's absolute command over all spiritual, material and elemental forces by our One life and the way we live it—we, to whom everything that is necessary and desirable for our progress, comes on demand,—we, whom Science serves as an Aladdin's lamp, realising every imaginable delight—we, with whom Love, which with many human beings is judged the most variable and transitory of emotions, is the very Principle of Life, the very essence of the waves of the air through which we move and have our being. The attainment of such happiness as ours is possible to all, but there is only One Way of Attainment, and the clue to that Way is in the Soul of each individual human being. Each one must find it and follow it, regardless of all 'influences' which may be brought to bear on his or her actions,—each one must discover the Centre-poise of Life's movement, and firmly abide by it. It is the Immortal Creature in each one of us whose destiny is to make eternal progress and advancement through endless phases of life, love and beauty, and when once we know and admit the actual existence of this Immortal Centre we shall realise that with it all things are possible, save Death. Radiating outward from itself, it can preserve the health and youth of the body it inhabits indefinitely, till of its own desire it seeks a higher plane of action,—radiating inwardly, it is an irresistible attractive force drawing to itself the powers and virtues of the planet on which it dwells, and making all the forces of visible and invisible Nature subject to its will and command. This is one of those great Truths which the world denies, but which it is destined to learn within the next two thousand years.

If anyone should desire to know the fate of Motion Harland and his daughter, that fate has been precisely what they themselves brought about by their way of life and action. Morton Harland himself 'died,' as the world puts it, of a painful and lingering disease which could have been cured had he chosen to take the means offered to him through Rafel Santoris. He did not choose,—therefore the end was inevitable. Catherine married Dr. Brayle, and they two now live a sufficiently wretched life together,—she, a moping, querulous invalid, and he as a 'society' physician, possessed of great wealth and the position wealth brings. We never meet,—our ways are now for ever sundered. Mine is the upward and onward path—and with my Beloved I ascend the supernal heights where the Shadow of Evil never falls, and where the Secret of Life is centred in the Spirit of Love.

THE END