“The vision of a woman,” replied Peregrine. “Though it was but in vision I saw her, I believed her to exist in reality, hence I set out to find her. I have pursued her for over a year. Plainly, I know not truly whether she exists or no. At times I have been certain of her reality; at times the certainty has fallen from me. A moment or so agone it had left me. Now, in speaking of her again, I am very sure she lives. There is the matter in a nutshell. ’Tis a tantalizing enough quest for a man, and maybe I am a fool to pursue it. At times I see the folly very plainly, at times I see in it naught but the clearest sanity.” Menippus drew down his eyelids. His finger-tips together he spoke smoothly. “Presuming the quest sane, presuming it fulfilled, what think you to gain when you have found her?” “That,” said Peregrine quietly, “will lie between her and me.” The Sage’s tone had struck strangely on his heart. It brought with it at once hope and danger. Here it is none too easy to make my meaning clear. It was as though, on the one hand, the Sage had knowledge of the truth of the quest, yet, on the other, would put hindrance in its way. The full articulation of the thought came not entirely home to Peregrine; he but scented the matter as it were from afar. The Sage’s next words brought amazement to him. “I know the woman you seek,” he said briefly. There was no mistaking the assurance of the tone. “You have seen her?” he cried, even as he had cried to Simon. “Verily I have,” returned Menippus. “Now listen. Pursuit of her is of little avail; that you have fully proved. I know her dwelling. She welcomes not all men to her presence. That you have had vision of her shows me that she desires yours. There is no need to question at the moment how this may be. We, who study the riddle of the Universe, know well that there are matters which lie beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals. Doubtless you would find it hard to understand how I should have been aware of your presence in the snow-drift without making use of my physical faculties,—in this case the sight of my eyes. Nevertheless I did know, and to my knowledge is due the fact that you are now lying upon that couch. That is to us a simple matter, the A B C of our Science. In fact I doubt me that it goes beyond A. It is a mere question of vibration, to which the customarily accepted channels of communication are a hindrance rather than a help. You will discover this in the case of the blind. Deprived of the coarser physical attributes of sight, which read merely the heavy and slow vibrations, the mind is alert and attuned to the light and quick vibrations, which are, in a sense, of spirit rather than of matter. To make my meaning clearer,—one possessed of physical sight interprets rightly the vibrations received from an object before his eyes. This object emits heavy vibrations, which reach and correspond to the physical vibrations of the eye. Every