go into this little cell and pat all in order and dust it to the best of his poor ability, and then he will sit down and wait, and the pure light will shine and the back parlour will become a shadow—a memory of the past instead of a reality. Or otherwise he will go there and find, alas! that the door is closed upon him and he cannot get out. And no light has entered, nor ever will enter, as far as he can see. He won’t know where he is. He’ll imagine it’s a long dream of endless night, for after awhile he will forget where the door is and lose the power to want to get out. And he will have nothing to look at but the cupboard and the table—nothing to feel but the fire, nothing to rest on but the chair. And then in the long, long end, when it’s all over, he’ll come back on the earth if his soul has been bargained for. And if he was a prince before he may now be a beggar; and if a beggar formerly, now a prince. Nature will give his flesh the Hapsburg lip or Bourbon nose—it will not alter his soul. And then the next battle begins with different flesh in other surroundings, and he stands his chance again. And some people are not conscious of any back parlours, and they are those curious people born with the sham soul. And many who would like to be without the little shabby chamber are all too conscious that it’s there.” We had listened to the musical rhythm of his voice throughout, and I for one had felt its truth, and Philemon was more deeply moved than I. “Vestasian,” he said, “why do you come here to tell us such things? You have almost made me feel myself on earth again.” But Vestasian rose, laughing. “It’s a queer knack I have of getting low-spirited at times—it is natural to me—and is never more than a passing whim—no weakness, as in mortals. Come with me to see Jesus.” * * * * * _Two pages of MS. omitted_ * * * * * Then for some distance we walked on in silence. The sun was setting behind the high peaked hills with a glorious speaking silence. I had never seen such purple clouds—such red and pink and gold embodied in a sky. They cast their reflection on the spot we walked on and dyed Vestasian’s garments and my own. It was the stilly point of eve, and none but ourselves walked toward the great gates that bound the city. And suddenly he stopped, and turning, looked at me.