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Page 9
Yes. She was at home. I was shown into the drawing-
room and found her sitting with a book upon her lap.
"You are an early visitor, Austin," said she, smiling.
"And you have been an even earlier one," I answered.
She looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"You have not been out to-day?"
"No, certainly not."
"Agatha," said I seriously, "would you mind telling me
exactly what you have done this morning?"
She laughed at my earnestness.
"You've got on your professional look, Austin. See
what comes of being engaged to a man of science.
However, I will tell you, though I can't imagine what
you want to know for. I got up at eight. I
breakfasted at half-past. I came into this room at ten
minutes past nine and began to read the `Memoirs of
Mme. de Remusat.' In a few minutes I did the French
lady the bad compliment of dropping to sleep over her
pages, and I did you, sir, the very flattering one of
dreaming about you. It is only a few minutes since I
woke up."
"And found yourself where you had been before?"
"Why, where else should I find myself?"
"Would you mind telling me, Agatha, what it was that
you dreamed about me? It really is not mere curiosity
on my part."
"I merely had a vague impression that you came into it.
I cannot recall any thing definite."
"If you have not been out to-day, Agatha, how is it
that your shoes are dusty?"
A pained look came over her face.
"Really, Austin, I do not know what is the matter with
you this morning. One would almost think that you
doubted my word. If my boots are dusty, it must be, of
course, that I have put on a pair which the maid had
not cleaned."
It was perfectly evident that she knew nothing whatever
about the matter, and I reflected that, after all,
perhaps it was better that I should not enlighten her.
It might frighten her, and could serve no good purpose
that I could see. I said no more about it, therefore,
and left shortly afterward to give my lecture.
But I am immensely impressed. My horizon of scientific
possibilities has suddenly been enormously extended. I
no longer wonder at Wilson's demonic energy and
enthusiasm. Who would not work hard who had a vast
virgin field ready to his hand? Why, I have known the
novel shape of a nucleolus, or a trifling peculiarity
of striped muscular fibre seen under a 300-diameter
lens, fill me with exultation. How petty do such
researches seem when compared with this one which
strikes at the very roots of life and the nature of the
soul! I had always looked upon spirit as a product of
matter. The brain, I thought, secreted the mind, as
the liver does the bile. But how can this be when I
see mind working from a distance and playing upon
matter as a musician might upon a violin? The body
does not give rise to the soul, then, but is rather the
rough instrument by which the spirit manifests itself.
The windmill does not give rise to the wind, but only
indicates it. It was opposed to my whole habit of
thought, and yet it was undeniably possible and worthy
of investigation.
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