She looked down at her form, which appeared as usual, even to its rusty black dress rather out of date. “But I still have my body,” she said. “Then you have not missed the other one?” “No.” “And you don’t know where it is?” My amazement was growing deeper and deeper. Here was a phenomenon I had not met before. “I suppose,” she said, “that they must have buried my body, if you say I left it; but this one is just the same to me.” “Has it always seemed the same?” I asked, remembering my own experiences when I first came out, my difficulty in adjusting the amount of energy I used to the lightness of my new body. “Now you mention it,” she said, “I do recall having some trouble a year or two ago. I was quite confused for a long time. I think I must have been delirious.” “Yes, doubtless you were,” I answered. “But tell me, Mrs. ----, have you no desire to visit heaven?” “Why, I always supposed that I should visit heaven when I died; but, as you see, I am not dead.” “Still,” I said, “I can take you to heaven now, perhaps, if you would like to go.” “Are you joking?” “Not at all. Will you come?” “Are you certain that I can go there without dying?” “But I assure you _there are no dead_.” As we went slowly along, for I thought it best not to hurry her too swiftly from one condition to another, I drew a word-picture of the place we were about to visit--the orthodox Christian heaven. I described the happy and loving people who stood in the presence of their Saviour, in the soft radiance from the central Light. “Perhaps,” I said, “some dwellers in that country see the face of God Himself, as they expected to see it when they were on earth; as for myself, I saw only the Light, and afterwards the figure of the Christ.” “I have often wished to see Christ,” said my companion in an awe-struck voice. “Do you think that I can really see Him?” “I think so, if you believe strongly that you will.” “And what were they doing in heaven when you were there?” she asked. “They were worshipping God, and they were happy.” “I want to be happy,” she said; “I have never been very happy.” “The great thing in heaven,” I advised, “is to love all the others. That is what makes them happy. If they loved the face of God only, it would not be quite heaven; for the joy of God is the joy of union.” Thus, by subtle stages, I led her mind away from astral boarding-houses to the ideas of the orthodox spiritual world, which was probably the only spiritual world which she could understand. I spoke of the music--yes, church music, if you like to call it that. I created in her wandering and chaotic mind a fixed desire for sabbath joys and sabbath peace, and the communion of friends in heaven. But for this gradual preparation she could not have adjusted herself to the conditions of that world. When we stood in the presence of those who worship God with song and praise, she seemed caught up on a wave of enthusiasm, to feel that at last she had come home.