“You have had a long practice,” she began; “I thought you were never coming.”

I sat down beside her, and related at once all that had happened to me that afternoon.  Zara listened with deep and almost breathless interest.

“You are quite resolved,” she said, when I had concluded, “to let Casimir exert his force upon you?”

“I am quite resolved,” I answered.

“And you have no fear?”

“None that I am just now conscious of.”

Zara’s eyes became darker and deeper in the gravity of her intense meditation.  At last she said: 

“I can help you to keep your courage firmly to the point, by letting you know at once what Casimir will do to you.  Beyond that I cannot go.  You understand the nature of an electric shock?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Well, there are different kinds of electric shocks—­some that are remedial, some that are fatal.  There are cures performed by a careful use of the electric battery—­again, people are struck dead by lightning, which is the fatal result of electric force.  But all this is external electricity; now what Casimir will use on you will be internal electricity.”

I begged her to explain more clearly.  She went on: 

“You have internally a certain amount of electricity, which has been increased recently by the remedies prescribed for you by Casimir.  But, however much you have, Casimir has more, and he will exert his force over your force, the greater over the lesser.  You will experience an internal electric shock, which, like a sword, will separate in twain body and spirit.  The spiritual part of you will be lifted up above material forces; the bodily part will remain inert and useless, till the life, which is actually you, returns to put its machinery in motion once more.”

“But shall I return at all?” I asked half doubtfully.

“You must return, because God has fixed the limits of your life on earth, and no human power can alter His decree.  Casimir’s will can set you free for a time, but only for a time.  You are bound to return, be it never so reluctantly.  Eternal liberty is given by Death alone, and Death cannot be forced to come.”

“How about suicide?” I asked.

“The suicide,” replied Zara, “has no soul.  He kills his body, and by the very act proves that whatever germ of an immortal existence he may have had once, has escaped from its unworthy habitation, and gone, like a flying spark, to find a chance of growth elsewhere.  Surely your own reason proves this to you?  The very animals have more soul than a man who commits suicide.  The beasts of prey slay each other for hunger or in self-defence, but they do not slay themselves.  That is a brutality left to man alone, with its companion degradation, drunkenness.”

I mused awhile in silence.

“In all the wickedness and cruelty of mankind,” I said, “it is almost a wonder that there is any spiritual existence left on earth at all.  Why should God trouble Himself to care for such few souls as thoroughly believe in and love Him?—­they can be but a mere handful.”