armhouse which he inhabited, a long apartment of many windows,
designed for spaciousness, and possessing no other good quality. No
fire could warm more than an end of it, and his lamp, wherever it was
placed, was but a heart of light in a body of shadow. He had
furnished it with the things he required; a desk was here, a table
there, bookcases were along the walls, a variety of chairs stood
where he happened to push them. It had the air of a waiting-room or a
mortuary.

Carrick was at his desk when Mr. Newman, on the Monday evening, was
shown in to him by the ironclad widow who kept house for him. He
looked up with impatience as his guest entered.

"Oh, it's you?" was his greeting.

"Good evening," said Mr. Newman cheerfully. "You'd forgotten to
expect me, I suppose. But I'm here, all the same."

"All right," said Carrick. "Sit down somewhere, will you?"

He rose and shoved a chair forward with his foot for Mr. Newman's
accommodation, and began to walk slowly to and fro with his hands in
his pockets.

"Well," said Newman; "and what's this miracle we're to work?"

"I'll show you," said Carrick, still walking. He stopped and turned
toward his guest. "Newman," he said, "where do you reckon you were a
hundred years ago?"

Mr. Newman laughed, crossing his legs as he sat.

"I'm not as old as that," he replied. "Whatever place you're
thinking of, I wasn't there."

Carrick was frowning thoughtfully. "I'm not thinking of places," he
said. "You--you exist; the matter that composes you is indestructible;
the--the essential you, the thing in that matter that makes it
mean something, the soul, if you like--that's indestructible, too.
Everything's indestructible. A hundred years hence, you'll be
somewhere; but where were you--you, that is--a hundred years ago?"

He pointed the "you" with a jabbing forefinger as he spoke it,
standing in front of Mr. Newman in the lamplight and talking down to
him.

"Oh!" said Mr. Newman, "I see--yes! A hundred years, ago I was part
of my Maker's unfinished plan of to-day."

"Were you?" said Carrick, snapping at him. "You were, eh? Part of--
we'll see! Come over to the big chair and undo your collar."

Mr. Newman rose; the big arm-chair was his place when Carrick
hypnotised him, and the loosening of his collar was part of the
ritual.

"What is the idea?" he asked, fumbling at his stud.

"Tell you afterwards," said Carrick. "If I told you now, you'd not
get it out of your mind. Can