"Well, first, the character of the messages changed a little. His friends in the _gnosis_ warned him of mischievous spirits, even of bad ones, but he was not to be afraid. He would not be afraid. For a while the good returned--and riveted his chains more firmly. Then the shadow crept in again. He was told of a new morality, led on to seek relief in stimulants, encouraged to voyage far and often in trance. At last only there, in trance, was there full escape. He loathed himself, but his waking life was beset with devils, prurient curiosity, perverted sensuality, a desire to inflict pain. He struggled, but in vain. But in the trance-sleep he was free." A motor car hummed up the hill and buzzed over the crest. Etheridge "waited till the sound died away. Neither of his listeners moved. "And then one day, Mr. Kestern," went on the narrator at last evenly, "having gone over in trance, he found his return barred. He could see his own body on the couch and he longed to re-enter it. But he could not. A Watcher stood on the Threshold. For an eternity there seemed no possibility of return." Paul moistened dry lips. "A watcher?" he managed to ask. "Yes. Beyond telling. Do you loathe anything? Have you ever felt Fear? Do you shrink from corruption, its scent and sight? You cannot imagine all those incarnate, but it was that." "My G-G-God," said Father Vassall. "That's enough, Etheridge." "But you are here," cried Paul. "What saved you?" "The grace of God, which is beyond telling, at the moment, and, under Him, Father Vassall afterwards. He may tell you if he please." Paul glanced at the priest. But he shook his head. "I t-t-told you it was the d-d-devil," he said. "Father Vassall, perhaps, can hardly speak of it, Mr. Kestern. He fought for my soul. He held me all one night, and a crucifix in my hands, while Satan shook my body, my bed, the very room, but could not prevail." And silence drew in and sat between the three of them. Paul broke it. He sighed. "Forgive me," he said, "but what is one to believe? You explain one thing by an unknown force; why not so explain this? And--I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Etheridge--I suppose we all have a side to our character which, supposing it were for any reason developed and released, might do terrible things." The ex-Spiritualist bowed slightly. "You are quite right," he said tranquilly. "That is one explanation. You can explain the Gospels and the Incarnation and Lourdes and--and Spiritualism that way. Men even explain man. If there were no explanation possible, there would be no need of faith." "But I haven't----" began Paul. Father Vassall made a quick gesture. "'_Si scires donum Dei_,'" he said. "Don't t-t-tempt God, Kestern." Etheridge rose as if he had not heard. "Let us walk in the garden a little," he said, "and breathe clean air."