"Perhaps," he murmured hesitatingly, "perhaps it is by childish methods

that one must teach the child."

He muttered a few unknown words with his eyes still fixed on guilty Dick

Percival, then he turned to Mr. Early.

"My kind host," he said with a courteous gesture, "will you permit that

I show to the unbelieving young gentleman an astral body?"

He turned and strode away toward dimness dimmer than that of the great

hall, in the direction of that wing where rooms had been assigned him. A

little rustle of pleased anticipation ran through the petticoats of the

room. Interest ceased to be perfunctory and became genuine. This was

more fun than doctrine, after all. Who wouldn't be gratified at the

chance of meeting an astral body--at least in a crowd? Alone, in a dark

room, at midnight, it might prove less enjoyable.

Presently the Hindu returned, carrying in his hand a strangely twisted

retort and something that looked like a primitive brazier.

"Look," he said, "let us take some simple thing. I shall destroy the

body of flesh and show you the body of shadow. I see roses in the

strange jar yonder. You call them American beauties? Yes. Very well, I

shall show you the ghost of an American beauty. Perhaps the unbelieving

young gentleman will pluck one for me."

Dick rose, pulled one of the flowers from among its fellows and handed

it across heads to the Swami, who took it gravely.

"Even this simple form of life," he explained, "has its astral

existence. With seeing eyes it would be visible to you now, hidden

inside the flesh of the flower. In order to make it the plainer, I shall

destroy the body of the blossom and leave its spirit. That spirit you

shall see. Look, I lay this beautiful rose upon this metal plate and

cover it that the heat may be more intense. I consume it with the flame

until the fire devours its shape and leaves only its ashes."

A tense silence fell upon the waiting room, as Ram Juna thrust the

covered rose into the brazier. At last he lifted the cover and displayed

a little gray shapeless heap.

"The rose is dead," he observed quietly. He turned now toward the glass

phial, in the bottom of which lay a few grains of pinkish dust. Into

this he poured the ashes of the burned flower. He lifted it high in air

and surveyed it.

"The rose is dead," he repeated, "but under the right conditions you

shall see what we may call its ghost. See. A gentle warmth. I hold it

not too close to the devouring flame. A gentle warmth."




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