is after a lapse of a great many thousands of years, or so it appeared
to me, light grew again. This time I was a black man living in
something not unlike a Kaffir kraal on the top of a hill.

There was shouting below and enemies attacked us; a woman rushed out
of a hut and gave me a spear and a shield, the latter made of wood
with white spots on it, and pointed to the path of duty which ran down
the hill. I followed in company with others, though without
enthusiasm, and presently met a roaring giant of a man at the bottom.
I stuck my spear into him and he stuck his into me, through the
stomach, which hurt me most abominably. After this I retired up the
hill where the woman pulled the spear out and gave it to another man.
I remember no more.

Then followed a whole maze of visions, but really I cannot disentangle
them. Nor is it worth while doing so since after all they were only of
the nature of an overture, jumbled incidents of former lives, real or
imaginary, or so I suppose, having to do, all of them, with elementary
things, such as hunger and wounds and women and death.

At length these broken fragments of the past were swept away out of my
consciousness and I found myself face to face with something connected
and tangible, not too remote or unfamiliar for understanding. It was
the beginning of the real story.



I, please remember always that I knew it was I, Allan, and no one
else, that is, the same personality or whatever it may be which makes
each man different from any other man, saw myself in a chariot drawn