Apparently it only now lay with me to cease asking _why_, and accept the goods provided by the gods, making the most of such an opportunity. On these occasions so many possible questions tumble over each other in the brain that it is difficult to select any one to start with. At length I asked the following question:-- "What did George Eliot think of the author who had been so much discussed and so highly applauded on the previous afternoon?" Very quickly came the answer: "_I have no sympathy there--a mere puppet._" Certainly this was not thought reading; for my own opinion then was very indefinite, and Lizzie's views, as it turned out, were as enthusiastic as those of most people in the Colony. It was not until several years later that I realised that an extraordinarily _apt_ criticism had been made; for a puppet is made to dance by other entities. I was longing to ask another question, but had some natural hesitation in doing so before such a young girl. Moreover, I feared the answer must almost of necessity be coloured by the traditions of the latter, and therefore would be of no great value either way. But taking my courage "in both hands," I put the question: "Please ask George Eliot if she _now_ thinks that she was justified in the position she took up with regard to George Lewes?" The answer came in a flash: "CERTAINLY. _We are one here, as we were on earth._" Anything less likely to emanate from the brain of an orthodox young girl can hardly be conceived! Amongst other details, George Eliot said finally that she had come to know my mother in spirit life, where she was called STELLA. Now my mother's name in earth life was Ellen, which has the same root for its origin. Of course, Miss Maynard did not then know whether my mother were alive or dead, and nothing naturally concerning her Christian name. The last statement made by George Eliot on this occasion was that "_before another year had rolled by, a great gift would come to me, and I must be very careful to use without abusing it_." I was too tired at the moment to ask whether "another year rolling by" meant a whole year from 28th October 1887 (the date of the message), or the end of the current year--namely, 31st December 1887. When the message had come to an end, Miss Maynard gathered up the scattered sheets, and promising to copy them out for me, took her departure, and left me to muse--so far as a racking brain would allow--on the curious and interesting result of her visit. No cup of tea to thirsty wayfarer was ever surely so grandly rewarded! My next adventure had a distant connection with these Australian experiences.