“Can you explain how this great memory came to be a part of you? Aye, it is possible you do remember many things which evil-doers in the great life of the past, did those who are here again for a purpose by Divine arrangement who would prefer not to have their past brought to light. But the just management of all things eternal cannot be changed. Physical man must be the adjuster of all evil, through the awakening of his soul. It matters not how strongly they fight against it, it is the inevitable. And it is a struggle often.” “You are dead right there, Governor,” replied Marriet Motuble. “Our friend John over there is undergoing a great struggle now,” and she laughed a fiendish laugh, as she continued promenading back and forth in the room. “Poor devil; if he were in his right mind now, he no doubt, would prefer to die and go straight to that place the orthodox ministers said existed, many years ago, to terrify their flocks into submission—possibly, if he thought he would be allowed to stay there forever, rather than be a ‘Subject’ and undergo what is now taking place.” In an earnest and serious tone Guillermo Gonzales said: “Your argument, dear señorita, is false. A seeking for the Eternal—after the things not comprehended by the senses—cannot be brought about by compulsion; no physical force can make the change. It is the desire for a knowledge of the Eternal; for a communion with spirits, which causes the change; the death of disease; the return of memory, the final life.” Marriet Motuble, on hearing this, was again convulsed with laughter; but finally controlling herself, said: “That is all very fine, and sounds well, and might apply very well to most every one, but to _John_—ha! ha!—to John—never! The only way to cure him, to be sure of him, is to put him into a yawning abyss of that Ebony Fluid you extract from the ‘Sun’s Rays,’ and which, I believe, you claim, if it can be produced in sufficient quantities, would be able to destroy not only all things physical, but those very things which are thought now by everybody, except possibly your honored selves, to be Eternal.” The three wise men dropped the instruments they were casually examining, on the hard, polished floor, where they were broken into a thousand pieces. Her statement confounded them. With questioning looks they gazed into each other’s faces, and then at the implacable señorita. They knew that besides themselves no one on earth had been told of the “Ebony Fluid.” In fact, they had discussed the probable use to which it could be put in hushed tones, in the sanctity of their most private study.