On the other side of the shield held between us, I soon discovered that she knew no more of modern city life than a well-taught child who has never left home. She listened eagerly to accounts of theatres and restaurants. The history of Phillida and Ethan Vere seemed to her more moving and wonderful than any story she could tell me. I was amazed and humbled to find that she rated my ability to make music as a lofty art among the occult sciences. Of the evil Thing that haunted me, we came to say little. To press her with questions meant to end her visit, I found by experience. When I spoke of that strand between the Barrier and the gray mist-hidden sea, her passion of distress closed all intercourse with the plea that I go away at once, while escape was possible, while life remained mine. So for the most part I curbed my tongue and my consuming curiosity; not from consideration, but of necessity. One night I asked her how the dark Thing spoke to me, by what medium of communication. "Spirits of all orders can speak to man in every language, so long as they are face to face," she answered, with a faint surprise at my lack of knowledge. "'_When they turn to man, they come into use of his language and no longer remember their own, but as soon as they turn from man they resume their own language, and forget his._' "But they themselves are unaware of this fact, for they utter thought to thought by direct intelligence. So if angel or demon turns his back to you, Roger, you may not make him hear you though you call with great force." "How do you know that, Desire?" "But by simple reading! Do not Ennemoser and many writers record it?" "Have you spoken to such beings, Desire?" The question was rash, but it escaped me before I could check the impulse. To my relief, she answered without resentment: "No." "No? The Thing--the enemy that comes to me has never spoken to you?" "No." I was silent in amazement and incredulity. The dark creature claimed her, she declared herself helpless to escape from that dominion into normal life, and yet It never had spoken to her? It spoke to me, a stranger most ignorant, and not to the seeress who was familiar with Its existence and the lore which linked humanity to Its fearful kind? "You do not believe me," her voice came quietly across my thoughts. "I believe you, of course," I stammered. "I was only--astonished. You have described It, and the Barrier, so often; from the first night----! I supposed you had seen all I have, and more." "All you have seen? Now tell me with what eyes you have seen the Barrier and the Far Frontier? The eyes of the body, or that vision by which man sees in a dream and which is to the sight as the speech of spirits is to the hearing?" "I suppose--with the inner sight." "Then understand me when I say that I have seen with the eyes of another, by a sight not mine and yet my own."