“Yes, though I cannot see very well in the sunshine. I have been there, however, and have seen them by moonlight. But where are you going from here?” “Where do you want me to go?” “Up the Nile, to Assouan.” “I will go. When shall I start?” “The day after to-morrow. And now _au revoir_, my love. I will return by and by.” A moment later we were outside--she and I--in the soft starlight of an Egyptian evening. “Did I not tell you the truth?” she demanded, with a little laugh of triumph. “But have you no desire to go on in the spiritual world?” I asked. “Is there anything more spiritual than love?” she asked in return. “Is not love the fulfilling of the Law?” “But,” I said, “I recently wrote a letter to the men and women of the earth, advising those who should come out here to get away from the earth as soon as possible.” “Lovers like me will not take your advice,” she answered, with a smile. “And tell me now: Is it not better for Henry to enjoy my society in the long evenings--is it not better for him to be happy than to grieve for me?” “But at first? Was he not inconsolable at your going out?” “Yes, until I came to him. He was sitting one night in deep dejection, and I reached for his hand, and wrote with it: ‘I am here, speak to me.’ ‘My Love!’ he cried, his face alight, ‘are you really there?’ ‘Yes, I am here, and I shall come to you every day until you come out to me,’ I answered, through the pencil. “He had never known that he was what you call a ‘writing medium.’ He would never have been but for my presence in a form of matter different from his own. “Come now, my friend,” she added, “would you really advise me not to visit Harry any more?” “There are said to be exceptions to all rules,” I answered. “At this moment you seem to me to be one of those exceptions.” “And will you add a postscript to your recent letter to the world?” “If I can,” I said, “I will tell your story. My readers can draw their own conclusions.” “Thank you,” was her answer. “But,” I added, “when Henry comes out here in his turn, you two together should go away from the world.” “Have _you_ been away from the world then?” “To some extent. I am only stopping here now until a certain work is finished.” “And then where are you going?” “To visit other planets.” “Henry and I will do that, too, when he comes out.” Now, my friend, I tell you this story for whatever it is worth. There are cases like hers, where an earthly tie is all-compelling. But in the case of most persons I stand by my original assertion and my original advice. LETTER LIII THE ARCHIVES OF THE SOUL