listening, for when she put down her spoon and leaned back in her chair,
she said: "In those dreams the things come from such a very far way
back, and they don't belong to a life that is like this. They belong to
a life like what you hear the life after this is. We are the same as we
are here; but the things are different. We haven't the same rules, the
same wishes--I can't explain."

"You mean that we are differently conditioned?"

"Yes. And if you can understand, I feel as if I remembered long back of
this, and long forward of this. But one can't remember forward!"

"That wouldn't be remembrance; no, it would be prescience; and your
consciousness here, as you were saying yesterday, is through knowing,
not remembering."

She stared at him. "Was that yesterday? I thought it was--to-morrow."
She rubbed her hand across her forehead as people do when they wish to
clear their minds. Then she sighed deeply. "It tires me so. And yet I
can't help trying." A light broke over her face at the sound of a step
on the gravel walk near by, and she said, laughing, without looking
round: "That is papa! I knew it was his step."


V

Such return of memory as she now had was like memory in what we call the
lower lives. It increased, fluctuantly, with an ebb in which it almost
disappeared, but with a flow that in its advance carried it beyond its
last flood-tide mark. After the first triumph in which she could address