I went from one thing to another, touching it; and everything was real and responded to my touch. I walked the whole long length of the room, I was in no cell. I felt the steady light within the room. It was no passing flicker, no dying gleam. Then, unable to remain within, I went out and down the staircase. Slowly I walked back and forwards through the long hall, fighting the grimmest fight that spirits have to fight, that of retaining clear existence. How long I walked thus I cannot tell, but when I roused myself I found that night had fallen and the lights shone from the roof. Looking towards the staircase I saw Vestné descending. She was dressed more beautifully than I had ever seen her, and looked more brilliant than ever before. “I am sorry you cannot come with me, I like company,” she murmured. “I am sorry too,” I rejoined. “If you care to wear a decent suit you may come,” she went on. I glanced at the simple robe I was wearing. “Thank you,” I replied. “So long as I stay here this shall suffice me. It is my own, and that is everything.” “But this is a very brilliant entertainment to which I am going to-night. Come.” “I think,” I observed, “you have shown me enough for one day. You will excuse me.” At this she left me, and I sat down and tried to read. I had taken Milton’s _Paradise Lost_, but somehow or other to-night it struck me as the most tawdry, unreal thing I ever read. The beauty of its diction, the stately flow of language, the marvellous knowledge of the writer on all points except one, irritated rather than soothed me. Despite this I still continued reading, till, more than usually irritated with his appreciation of the Godhead, I flung the book down, laughing involuntarily. What was my surprise on looking up to see Plucritus standing at some little distance watching me. On seeing him I felt the nearest approach to pleasure this place gives, and rose, extending my hand to him. I remember he looked somewhat surprised, as indeed he well might under the circumstances, but he returned my salutation pleasantly and came and sat down near me. CHAPTER V “I quite forgot,” said he, giving me no time to put a question, “I quite forgot to borrow a needle and thread whilst on the earth. Probably you yourself have learnt the art of mending.” “Well,” I replied, “I am not yet reduced to tatters, though I possess but one garment.” “Where is Vestné?” he continued. “She has gone to take part in some theatricals, I think.” “Where?” “Do not ask me. Your relatives and friends are legion, and quite beyond my understanding.” “Have you seen many of them?” he asked. “Very few.” “Then you have still no friend but Vestné?” I laughed. “I was not aware that she was my friend.” “But,” said he, whimsically, “Vestné is very charming.” “Maybe, to those who understand her—I do not.” “And yet she moves on far straighter lines than the women on earth.”