“He was the larger purpose, of which we were a part.” “The original purpose is not all the same, then?” “No, there are many purposes in the beginning, but only one in the end.” “Does Frederick know all this?” “All of it.” When she said good night, she added, “God bless you,” and I asked: “Mary K., how do you see God? Frederick sees Him as light in dark places.” “Justice, light, progress.” “Is that God, or God’s work?” “Tested.” “You mean that you have tested it?” “Yes.” The next day, Sunday—two weeks from the day she had first talked to me through planchette—she returned to this theme, which still seemed somewhat fantastic to my practical and pragmatical mind, with further allusions to our long association. During the days of confusion and uncertainty before Mr. Kendal replied to my telegram, when his wife constantly implored me to write to him again, and I as constantly refused, insisting that she first show cause why she had misled me about his movements and whereabouts, I wrung from her an admission that in some way he had put her so far from him that she neither knew nor could learn anything about him, except that he suffered and needed her, which both Mary K. and Frederick verified. I said once to Mary K. that it was incredible that this could be, to which she laconically returned, “It can.” After his actual receipt of my telegram, Mary Kendal never returned to me until she came with him, and the character of her earlier banishment, and consequent inability to perceive his movements, was still unexplained. As the hour of his arrival approached I grew uneasy, and asked Mary K. whether he came happily or in dread. “Certainly with o”—the joy circle, and as we have since learned, the circle of completion. When I asked her to write it out in full to reassure me, the pencil ran back, underscoring “certainly.” She said further that Mary Kendal was with him, and very happy. “Has Mary Kendal been very unhappy?” I asked. “No. Aeons ago they were one purpose.” “What has that to do with it?” “She knew that he must answer if she could reach him.” “Does that hold good of evil purpose, too?” “Yes.” VII It seemed to me that if Mr. Kendal had not received my letters, and was in possession only of the meager information contained in my telegram, it was best that he should read the record of the earlier interviews with his wife before coming to communicate with her, and to that end the book containing the whole story was to be sent to his club before his arrival. Having decided this, it occurred to me to consult Mary K., who emphatically negatived the plan. “No. Mary Kendal is most anxious to tell him herself now.” She told us to make brief explanations, adding: “All he needs now is Mary Kendal.” Shortly afterward Mary K.’s now familiar summons—an indescribable sensation in the arm or hand—recalled me to the pencil, and she wrote, quickly and firmly: “Mary Kendal wants you to change your record.”