Another thing in the book which interested our friend was the story of the woman in the invisible who made a journey into Egypt with her still-living husband. He used to wonder whether, if he should die, he could go in the spirit, as he said, to the little place in North Wales which he had once visited with his sweet-heart, and which they had selected as the future scene of their wedding journey. One night he wrote her a long letter asking her, in case of his death, to go there this summer, and saying he would try to meet her there. Then after reflection he destroyed the letter, fearing it might make her sad. When I saw about him a peculiar light which the indwelling spirit throws round its vehicle when that vehicle is about to be destroyed, I waited, knowing there would soon be work to do. Suddenly I saw his body fall to the ground, and saw the tenuous bodies exuding themselves. I waited but a moment, then went forward and lifted the spirit out of the sleep into which it would have drifted. I breathed on the forehead of the astral--for astrals have foreheads, make no mistake about that--I breathed on the astral forehead of the man who had paid our book the compliment of thinking about it and about us in the last moment of his life. He opened his eyes on my face. “Hello, ‘X’!” he said. “I hoped you would meet me here. You’re a good fellow not to disappoint me.” “Oh, I was always a good fellow!” I answered. “How did you know so quickly that you had come out?” “Because I saw you.” “And how did you know me?” “By your photograph, which I saw in a magazine.” “But do I still look like that old hulk?” I asked; for I rather pride myself on the recovery of a certain part of my original youth and beauty. “Why,” he said, “you _do_ look like the photograph.” “That is strange,” I replied. Then I remembered that my very knowledge of the man’s thoughts of me, as being the old Judge of the story, might have made my body transform itself to meet the demands of his recognition, even without the intervention of my will. “Do you want to take a nap?” I asked, though there was no sleepiness in his eyes. “No, thank you, ‘X.’ I should like to go to England. But perhaps you have something to do besides indulging my wants and wishes.” I laughed. “Your wants and wishes are just as important as mine,” I said. “I’ll go to England with you.” We went. Crossing the Channel we passed a transport laden with troops. “I wish all those fellows knew as much as I do,” my friend said. “Maybe they would fight with renewed vigor if they could see what a good companion I have found out here.” Do not be startled, you clergymen who say, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” and draw solemn faces as you preside over the passing of souls! Do not be startled or shocked by the jolly conversation of my newly-arrived soldier-boy. He knew that he was with an old friend, and he knew also that death is no more sacred than life, and need not be any more solemn.