In both the incidents of his work that have been described above, it will have been noticed that the boy Cyril was unable to materialize himself, and that the operation had to be performed for him by an older friend. One more of his experiences is worth relating, for it gives us a case in which by intensity of pity and determination of will he _was_ able to show himself--a case somewhat parallel to that previously related of the mother whose love enabled her somehow to manifest herself in order to save her children’s lives. Inexplicable as it may seem, there is no doubt whatever of the existence in nature of this stupendous power of will over matter of all planes, so that if only the power be great enough, practically _any_ result may be produced by its direct action, without any knowledge or even thought on the part of the man exercising that will as to _how_ it is to do its work. We have had plenty of evidence that this power holds good in the case of materialization, although ordinarily it is an art which must be learnt just like any other. Assuredly an average man on the astral plane could no more materialize himself without having previously learnt how to do it than the average man on this plane could play the violin without having previously learnt it; but there are exceptional cases, as will be seen from the following narrative. CHAPTER X. THE TWO BROTHERS. This story has been told by a pen of far greater dramatic capability than mine, and with a wealth of detail for which I have here no space, in _The Theosophical Review_ of November, 1897, p. 229. To that account I would refer the reader, since my own description of the case will be a mere outline, as brief as is consistent with clearness. The names given are of course fictitious, but the incidents are related with scrupulous accuracy. Our _dramatis personae_ are two brothers, the sons of a country gentleman--Lancelot, aged fourteen, and Walter, aged eleven--very good boys of the ordinary healthy, manly type, like hundreds of others in this fair realm, with no obvious psychic qualifications of any sort, except the possession of a good deal of Celtic blood. Perhaps the most remarkable feature about them was the intensity of the affection that existed between them, for they were simply inseparable--neither would go anywhere without the other, and the younger idolized the elder as only a younger boy can. One unlucky day Lancelot was thrown from his pony and killed, and for Walter the world became empty. The child’s grief was so real and terrible that he could neither eat nor sleep, and his mother and nurse were at their wits’ end as to what to do for him. He seemed deaf alike to persuasion and blame; when they told him that grief was wicked, and that his brother was in heaven, he simply answered that he could not be certain of that, and that even if it were true, he knew that Lancelot could no more be happy in heaven without him than he could on earth without Lancelot.