yourselves, will remain with you.

"Come," urged the old gentleman, "the thing is quite simple of
accomplishment. As--as a certain philosopher has clearly proved: the
universe is only the result of our own perceptions. By what may
appear to you to be magic--by what in reality will be simply a
chemical operation--I remove from your memory the events of the last
twenty years, with the exception of what immediately concerns your own
personalities. You will retain all knowledge of the changes, physical
and mental, that will be in store for you; all else will pass from
your perception."

The little old gentleman took a small phial from his waistcoat pocket,
and, filling one of the massive wine-glasses from a decanter, measured
into it some half-a-dozen drops. Then he placed the glass in the
centre of the table.

"Youth is a good time to go back to," said the peak-faced little
gentleman, with a smile. "Twenty years ago, it was the night of the
Hunt Ball. You remember it?"

It was Everett who drank first. He drank it with his little twinkling
eyes fixed hungrily on the proud handsome face of Mrs. Camelford; and
then handed the glass to his wife. It was she perhaps who drank from
it most eagerly. Her life with Everett, from the day when she had
risen from a bed of sickness stripped of all her beauty, had been one
bitter wrong. She drank with the wild hope that the thing might
possibly be not a dream; and thrilled to the touch of the man she
loved, as reaching across the table he took the glass from her hand.
Mrs. Armitage was the fourth to drink. She took the cup from her