healthy all my life, though I was highly-strung and nervous and fainted at the thought of pain or the sight of blood.
All that day I felt weak and serious. I was at my work and the old feeling of sanity and peace came over me. My astral friend never left my side. I felt that he was sorry and would not let me out of his care.
One evening, soon after this, I felt myself being made to turn round three times from right to left and then to walk into the next room.
I allowed myself to become passive, anxious to see what was going to happen.
I seemed to have taken on another's personality.
I felt myself walking slowly back into my bedroom and, seating myself in the armchair, sat and looked towards the bed.
And then a curious thing happened.
I found myself as if I were watching an operation being performed on the bed.
I looked intently at the pillow where a face would lie, then looked with horror at another seeing him bending over it. I glanced from that face to the foot of the bed and looked sadly into the face on the pillow. I then watched the shadow of an operation performed. Up and down—from the face to the poor body I looked, till suddenly, as if unable to bear more I flung myself across the body with my face against hers and sobbed.
What it was and what it meant I can't think, but that is what happened.
Then one day I felt myself turned round again in the same manner and, letting myself become limp so that I could find out what was going to happen, I found myself guided into the next room and towards the book-case—caused to take something up—I even shut my eyes—It was Tony's photograph.
I made myself quite passive, just allowing things to happen and was quite conscoius that it was not I who was doing it.
I found myself walking into my bedroom and towards the bed with the photograph in my hand.
Quietly and quite firmly I reached the bed and, allowing myself to be guided by this Presence, slowly put my arm across the bed and laid the picture on it at his dictation.
I was mentally watching this performance with great interest even while my body was doing it and, just to see what would happen, took the picture back again to its old place on my bookshelf.
"Well," I said, addressing the unseen person who was making me do these extraordinary things. "I'd like to know what you're going to make me do next. Who are you anyway? Tell me who you are, and what you are here for?
