“You do not believe that you saw what you actually did see?”
“No. I refuse to believe it. I utterly reject it.”
“Do you know the full meaning of what you saw?”
“Yes.”
“You do not.”
“I beg your pardon, I do.”
“I repeat, you do not. Mr. Wylde, let me tell you something. It will surprise you when I inform you that one hour ago I was in Benares in the private apartments of my friend, Radma Gungeet, whom I understand you have met since I was with you last.”
“That I know to be false.”
“On the contrary, you know nothing about it; moreover it is true.”
“But your body”
Bah! What is this earthly body? I speak of my astral body, which envelopes the soul, my real self. I am no more bound to this body than you are to the black gown you wear at the present moment, which, by the way, becomes you immensely. Why, I have not been with this body before for months. I dreaded the journey to this place and sent my body on ahead—that is all.”
“And it is quite enough!” I cried angrily. “I will hear no more of it. You have deluded me in some way. I am at a loss to tell how, but listen to your theosophic rubbish any longer, I won’t.”
He sighed, and turned away muttering:
“Useless, useless! They cannot understand. Will the time never come?”
This ended our conversation, for just then the Doctor woke up and the fun began.
Morning dawned—another day was upon us; after a long and heated discussion we were on the move again.
Not that Mr. Mirrikh joined in the argument. He said nothing, but walked out into the open as soon as I began it, remaining there until it was over.
The discussion was between Maurice, the Doctor and myself.
“It is no use, George; let that man be what he may, I shall go on,” Maurice had said. “He has made certain promises to me, set up certain claims. So far he has kept his promises and established his claims, and I propose to stick
