Surely I could not have thought aloud. Yet here from somewhere or other was moving across the floor the figure that had appeared after my first trance. I was so awestruck by the noiseless flash of the approach that I could make no sign of welcome. What could I say to a being who came so near to what we consider in the old world the supernatural? As soon as my thoughts touched upon the state of my mind and the circumstances that surrounded me, my host (should I call him so?) appeared. And, though my senses, I thought, had acquired preternatural acuteness, not a sound had I heard of his entrance or of his footsteps across the chamber. He seemed to know the perplexity of my thoughts again, for he advanced with so airy a grace that my eyes were fascinated by the ease of the motion. And his words came almost like music; I scarcely considered what he was saying, so beautiful were the tones and manner in which it was said. “Come, and I shall tell you what has occurred,” was what I understood. It was in the primary or simplest vocabulary of Limanora, the vocabulary that Noola had taught me. He led me by a covered but transparent way into a vaulted chamber, that seemed to the other as a cathedral to a chapel; for it was pillared and galleried and aisled with the most transcendent art. But I was too interested in the story he had to tell to give way to my passive enjoyment of the scene. He motioned me to ascend with him a platform that rose above us in a lofty recess at one brightly sunlit corner of the building. I saw him lean back, and feared that he would fall to the floor; but with his motion the rich mosaic of the platform opened, and a rest rose to meet his body which was of the same alabaster-like texture as the curtains and seemed to shape itself to every curve and bend of his figure. He stretched out his hand towards me, and before I knew what he had done I was resting, in an attitude not far from the upright, on a soft machine like his own. He showed me how to control this by a knob under my right hand, and then together we flew to the ceiling and back, wheeled round, swung gently in the air, or remained still. It moved like a thing of life in sympathy with every desire; a slight change of the position would relieve any part of the body and yet leave all the rest supported; any kind of motion was accomplished on changing the screw that lay in the knob. I afterwards investigated the mechanism, and was amazed at its simplicity; a few levers, cunningly mastering all the various combinations of motion, turned on or off the force needed for the necessary changes. After a few hours’ experience of it, I could find no comparison in nature but the couch of air on which the albatross seems to rest as it moves. I afterwards found that a nice management of compressed air was the secret of this wonderful rest that was neither couch nor chair. As soon as we ceased to use it, it disappeared as suddenly as it had risen. This accounted