Silent and expectant they sat for three or four minutes. Then, apparently out of the air above their heads, two large fresh, red roses fell on the table before them. Examination proved that they were real and not illusory. “Where did you get them?” Cartice asked. “I went what you would call a long distance for them,--about two hundred miles; but it is nothing to me, for I know no distance outside of my own thought.” Unsolicited, one evening Prescott volunteered to tell his two faithful friends some of his experiences since passing out of their sight. He wrote with a rapidity and energy even greater than in life, though he had ever a nervous, hasty manner of writing, which was his true form of expression. In conversation he had little ability. He consumed three evenings in the task he had set himself, and this was his story, which was addressed to Cartice: * * * * * “There was the accident at the elevator. It occurred in a few seconds of time, but I did not realize what was taking place. A thought that something was going wrong flashed through my mind, but it conveyed no sense of danger. I was like a spectator who sees disaster overtake another, yet has no clear idea what that disaster is. From this and what I have learned here, I am inclined to the belief that victims of accidents which result in sudden death have no painful experiences--do not even suffer from fear. “As you know, I was killed instantly--that is pushed out of life as you understand life, without warning. When I awoke, or regained consciousness, on this side of death--which I believe was soon after the accident, though I am not sure on this point--I found myself groping blindly, staggering weakly in the dark and reaching about me with my hands to find something that would help me to a knowledge of my whereabouts. “I was never distinguished for patience. Now I began to feel impatient and cross at finding myself in such an unaccountable situation. Then the darkness got thicker, more depressing, and at last terrible, until my spirit quailed before it, and the thought came to me that I was indeed, in a place and condition strange and fearful. “Then I thought of you, Cartice, and of how devotedly I loved you. With that thought came light, such radiant, phenomenal, overpowering light that it dazzled me. I shuddered before its awful effulgence, and put my hands over my eyes that it might not blind me. My love for you seemed to fill all space and include all things. While enjoying it, drinking it in, floating in it, I moved on, for I was walking,--or so it seemed--until I met my dear old friend William Bissell. “That astonished me, for I instantly remembered that he had died five years before, and I had been one of those selected for the solemn honor of carrying his body to the grave. Was I dreaming?