For I felt some subtle communication with that other mind beyond the obstructing door--not, however, as it was to-day, but as it was in the recoverable centuries when the three of us had committed the audacious act which still awaited its final readjustment at our hands. Julius, searching by some method of his own among the layers of our ancient lives, reconstructed the particular scenes he needed. Involuntarily, unwittingly, I shared them too. I had stepped into his ancient mood.... My mind grew crowded. The pictures rose and passed, and rose again.... But it was always one in particular that returned, staying longer than the others. He concentrated upon one, then. In his efforts to find _her_ soul in its body of to-day, he went back to the source of our original relationship, the immensely remote experience when he and I and she had sown the harvest we had now come back to reap together. Thence, holding the clue, he could trace the thread of her existences down to this very moment. He could find her where she stood upon the earth--to-day. This seemed very clear to me, though how I realised it is difficult to say. I remember a curious thought--which proves how real the conviction was in me. I asked myself: “Does _she_ feel anything now, as she goes about her business on this earth, perhaps in England, perhaps not far removed from us, as distance goes? And is she, too, wherever she stands and waits, aware perhaps of some queer presentiment that haunts her waking or her sleeping mind--the presentiment of something coming, something about to happen--that someone waits for her?” The one persistent picture rose and captured me again....