At midnight, when this interview was over and we were alone, although wearied to the point of exhaustion, I asked again about Mr. Farrow, receiving the same reply, with a variation to the effect that the cablegram announcing his death had been delayed by the censor, and with occasional phrases of appeal and encouragement—merely intensifying my bewilderment—from Mary K. and Maynard. “Are you sure you haven’t been away and let in disintegrating forces?” I asked Mary K. “No, we have been here. They can’t touch your purpose. Don’t fear. You will be perfectly reassured soon,” was her reply, which, had we but recognized it, was an intimation that disintegrating forces had been in partial control in spite of all effort to overcome them. Again I asked why the word “dead” had been used, and was told: “That is what the cable to Cass says.” Which manifestly did not explain. Sunday morning, Maynard Holt’s familiar signature came at once, followed by a long, personal message to a friend who was present, steadily written, and pointed by an occasional characteristic turn of phrase, indicating a clear and uninterrupted connection. When this had been finished, Cass asked, “Shall I go to the office for that cable?” “It is not there.” “It’s all a mistake?” I urged. “Farrow is here.” But I knew he was not there. Had he been present in the flesh, I could not have been more certain that he had not left this plane. All day we discussed the bearing of these persistent misstatements—provided they were misstatements—upon the experience as a whole, and I was oppressed, in addition to my personal disappointment, by a sense of my responsibility to those others to whom this new faith had brought active happiness and hope. I had arranged to go to L—— on the following Tuesday, to spend a few days with the Gaylord family; Mr. Kendal expected to arrive in New York a week or ten days later, anticipating further communication with his wife; and various other appointments were pending. But though I could neither question the authenticity of former personal communications, nor deny the constructive quality of the Lessons, I felt that I could not continue to act as intermediary if it were possible for persons like Mary K. and Maynard to lend themselves to this sort of thing, nor could I encourage others to hold a belief after it had become impossible to me. In the afternoon, Mary K. told me to go to L—— as soon as possible. When we asked about Mr. Farrow, Maynard’s signature preceded the message. “He is here. Why don’t you accept it?” “I don’t know why I can’t,” was my reply. “Why don’t you convince my mind, as you have at other times? Why don’t you make me feel it? I can’t believe it’s true.” “You have the statement of two friends.” “You’ve been mistaken before in specific statements.” “Only in those relating to dimensions of finite space, which we are unable to gauge accurately.”