“And you would take it, Rutherford,” questioned Rollsborough, “that we, as we are normally, never could get more than a nebulous idea, or vision, of a higher life, even under favourable circumstances?” “I do not see that it is possible, but of course I have never given the subject a thought before; this is only my own idea, deduced from the present experience.” “It would, of course, naturally follow that at the very best, the glimpse we get might be nebulous, but never _could_ be sufficiently distinct to enable us to form even a mental idea of what a spirit really is, seeing we are mortal?” pursued Rollsborough. “I should say not, myself, judging from past experience and the ever-present impossibility of the human mind to explain the unknown.” “Possibly there may be something in the air, or in the spirit of this world, that renders us more susceptible to outside influences,” put in Godfrey. “The magnetic influence is very strong,” said Dennis, as he stepped back from looking at the dial. “It is possible,” remarked Sorrel, “that the tremendous forces above are here diverted to make the world habitable.” “That opens out another difficulty—a difficulty to me, that is,” said Godfrey. “I remember what you told me about the creation of worlds, Sorrel, and if the sun is so much younger than our own Earth—in its infancy, in fact—how can you account for a staid old world like this being in his stomach—a world which is quite the age of our own, judging from the landscape, trees and animals, all of which are practically of our period—and if this has been formed like Earth, what is it doing here?” “That is, indeed, a mystery,” said Sorrel; “strange to say, Rollsborough mentioned the very same thing to me a few days ago. He said it had been troubling him for a week or two, but I must confess the idea never occurred to me till he spoke of it. Since then we have had a good deal of talk on the subject between ourselves, but we are not certain of our ground yet.” “But have you no idea?” asked Godfrey. “It seems to me inexplicable. What do you think about it, Rollsborough?” “I must confess myself at sea, Spenser,” was the reply. “I am like Sorrel; for want of proof, there is only conjecture, and conjecture is not safe.” “Could we get proof?” “I fear not; it would mean staying here for years and years. You see, Spenser, on Earth each succeeding generation adds a little knowledge to that left by its predecessors, but only a little, and in our work and studies, we of the present time reap the benefit of the experience and discovery of ages,—of history which was mere ‘happenings’ at the time, though we of later date see all these fit in like segments of a wheel, and so the world wags! but to begin studying geological structure and scores of other sciences, from _nothing_, would take many a lifetime to get any kind of results. Is not that so, Sorrel?”