some people, the mad impulses which tyrannise over others; the alternations of one's own personality on different days, or at different depths and planes of consciousness—when one thinks of all this one feels that if there is to be any sanity or sequence in the conclusion, it must mean a long period of brooding and reconciliation and of re-adjustment and even of sleep.
"'At first it may well be a troubled period of nightmare—like confusion; but at last there must come a time when harmony is restored. The past lifetime is spread out like a map before one—all its events fall into their places, composed and clear. The genius, rising from the depths, throws a strange light upon them. 'This was necessary—That could not have been otherwise—And that again which seemed so fatal, do you not now see its profound meaning?' The soul, surveying, gradually redeems the past. It comes to understand. Tout comprendre est tout pardonner.'"
"Yes, well that's what I say—the submerged self—get your book and come. Here," she called back into the shop, "Mr. Sefton, this is a friend of mine, Miss Malone—Mr. Sefton and I are old friends."
I turned then and saw Tony.
He was standing at the back of the shop. He was a little man with a shock of fair hair and deep, dark eyes that, at this moment, were fixed on Sybil with a look that I could not understand. It was deep and fierce and his arms were folded as if he were keeping back some deep feeling. I felt somehow that he had been watching us both for some time and was somehow stirred and displeased.
He came forward and took his introduction, but with his eyes still more on her than on mine. She seemed to be conscious of the fact, but to be wickedly rather delighting in it.
He was the assistant in the shop and, having taken my book from me, wrapped it up and handed it to me, keeping silence all the while.
Sybil was conscious of him I know, as she passed along the bookshelves, as I fumbled for my money; but she hummed and pretended not to see.
"Come along," she said, and tucked her arm into mine as she drew me out of the shop and nodded good-bye to Mr. Sefton.
So that was how I was led to the "Occult School."
For some time I only attended lectures but by degrees Sybil persuaded me to join one of the classes.
Tony was there—or Mr. Sefton, as I then called him.
He was a figure you could not help noticing. Everyone seemed to want to have something to say to him and at first I just looked on.
