There was another scene as well in which I saw motionless, stretched figures. I could never see it clearly, though. Darkness invariably rolled down and hid it; and I had the idea that LeVallon tried to prevent its complete recovery--just then. Nor was I sorry at this, for beyond it lay something that seemed the source of the shrinking dread that haunted me. If I saw all, I should see also--_her_. I should know the secret thing Julius kept back from me, the thing we three had somehow to “set right again.” And once, when this particular scene was in my mind and Julius, I felt sure, was seeing it too, as he lay beside me on the grass, there passed into me a sudden sensation of a kind I find it difficult to describe. There was yearning in it, but there was anguish too, and a pain as of deep, unfathomable regret wholly beyond me to account for. It swept into me, I think, from him. I turned suddenly. He lay, I saw, with his face hidden in his hands; his shoulders shook as though he sobbed; and it seemed that some memory of great poignancy convulsed him. For several minutes he lay speechless in this way, yet an air of privacy about him, that forbade intrusion. Once or twice I surprised him under these curious attacks; they were invariably connected with this particular “inner scenery”; and sometimes were followed by bouts of that nameless and mysterious illness that kept him in the sick-room for several days. But I asked no questions, and he vouchsafed no explanation. On this particular point, at least, I asked no questions; but on the general subject of my uneasiness I sometimes probed him. “This sense of funk when I remember these old forgotten things,” I asked, “what is it? Why does it frighten me?” Gazing at me out of those strange eyes that saw into so huge a universe, he answered softly: “It’s a faint memory too--of the first pains and trials you suffered when you began to learn. You feel the old wrench and strain.” “It hurt so----?” He nodded, with that smile of yearning that sometimes shone so beautifully on his face. “At first,” he replied. “It seemed like losing your life--until you got far enough to know the great happiness of the bigger way of living. Coming back to me like this revives it. We began to learn together, you see.” I mentioned the extraordinary feelings of the playground when first I spoke with him, and of the class-room when first we saw each other. “Ah,” he sighed, “there’s no mistaking it--the coming together of old friends or enemies. The instant the eyes meet, the flash of memory follows. Only, the tie must have been real, of course, to make it binding.” “How can it ever end?” I asked. “Each time starts it all going again.” “By starting the opposite. Love dissolves the link. Understand why you hate--and at once it lessens. Sympathy follows, feeling-with--that’s love; and love sets you both free. It’s not thinking, but feeling that makes the strongest chains.”