The sky was a pale, soft blue, cloudless and serene. There were no clouds, and even the delicate fronds of the weeping willow drooped motionless. So it could not have been a storm I heard. Yet as he spoke, a dark shadow seemed to scud across the sky, veiling the sunlight, and the gods made portent in the swell of distant thunder. I felt the short hairs stiffen on my neck, and despite the warmth I shivered. I said, and why I spoke in a whisper I cannot tell, "Never before ... until ... _now_?" "Until now!" he repeated. And suddenly his fingers were swift with eagerness, he fumbled with the flap of the envelope while words raced from his lips. "Several months ago I began to experiment with automatic writing, one of the means by which telaesthetic contact is authenticated. "At first the results were--as might be expected--faulty. From the autohypnotic syncopes into which I was able to project myself, I woke to find nothing on the sheets before me but meaningless scribbles. "And then, suddenly, I woke one day to find that in my period of subliminal usurpation I had achieved a definite result. I--or someone--had written four full pages. The first four pages of this manuscript!" Here he handed the manuscript to me. I had time to notice that the writing was full-bodied, flowing. Then Dr. Winslow's words claimed my attention again. "That was but the beginning. Once having established contact, it was as though I became the _alter ego_ of this mysterious correspondent. From that time on my experiments were graced with success. Whenever I resumed contact, pages were added to the manuscript. By the periodicity of these, I am led to believe that Brian O'Shea is a diarist, and that through some inexplicable phenomenon, it is given to me to be able to set down, telaesthetically, the very words he writes in his diary--" "You said," I interrupted, "Brian--?" "O'Shea," nodded Winslow. "Brian O'Shea. A soldier in the army of the Americas, Clinton--in the year 1963 A.D.! His diary is a history of the things to come!" * * * * * What I would have said then, I do not know. Maybe I would have said something bitingly scurrilous--which I most certainly would have regretted later. Or perhaps, as is most likely, I was momentarily stunned into speechlessness. But I was spared the necessity of speaking. Dr. Winslow had risen; eyes glowing strangely, he touched my shoulder. "I am going to leave you now, so you may read this manuscript in peace. When you have finished, you will understand why I came, and know that which must be done.