I saw that she had taken no notice of the unmannerly animal. She had crossed the street, and was leaning over the low stone wall, with her beautiful head supported on one hand; I saw that my most dignified course was to follow her, and I did so. “Yes,” she said, pointing downwards with her finger, “those are the other worlds. They were put there to be a heating and lighting apparatus for the most insignificant of them--at least that is the prevalent creed, for the most insignificant. Do not believe it. On each one there is life, and for each one there is a purpose; all are part of one scheme that----” The horse was quite right. At this point, I rested my head on my arms as I leaned over the parapet, and went fast asleep. I can never forgive myself for it, but I was powerless to prevent it. I do not know how long I slept, but I woke suddenly. She was no longer leaning over the parapet; she stood on the pathway, gazing upwards, with a strange light in her eyes. Of course she was in the middle of a sentence. That was only part of the generally unsatisfactory nature of everything. “----would get new experiences, new data. You would think and imagine new things. You would know what the new love means. I can only speak to you as a woman to a man, but I do not look at you as a woman would. She would see only a poor little schoolmaster, not very beautiful, rather sleepy-headed, in a dress-suit much too tight for him. I too can see that. But I see also a life that long ago came out into the darkness hand-in-hand with mine. Had you been placed in this world, you would have known as I know; but I came here, and you were sent elsewhere. Out of the same clay the potter makes two vessels, one to honour and one to dishonour.” “And that is extremely unjust,” I said. “It would be quite impossible for you to think otherwise; but you are wrong. You will soon know that you are wrong.” “When?” I asked. “On the day that you know my name, when the earthly love that you feel for me is changed to the new love of which it is the shadow, when we come back together, you and I, out of the darkness into the light.” “Where is the light?” “Look upwards. There are no more stars, and above all seems dark. And the darkness flows on like a river, on and on. But the river will run dry at the last, the darkness will have passed at the last, and then we shall enter into the light.” “And now,” said the voice of the unconscionable cab-horse behind us, “I will ask you to join with me in singing the last hymn on the paper.” “What on earth,” I exclaimed testily, “is the point of making that perfectly idiotic remark?” “Mere absent-mindedness,” the brute answered. “I thought from the general style of the conversation that I was at some missionary meeting. That’s all.” “At any rate,” I said, “you need not interrupt a--a lady.”