, Cosmo Waynflete narrated his
dream as it has been set down in these pages.

When he had made an end, Paul Stuyvesant's first remark was: "I'm sorry
I happened along just then and waked you up before you had time to get
married."

His second remark followed half a minute later.

"I see how it was," he said; "you were sitting in this chair and
looking at that crystal ball, which focussed the level rays of the
setting sun, I suppose? Then it is plain enough--you hypnotized
yourself!"

"I have heard that such a thing is possible," responded Cosmo."

"Possible?" Stuyvesant returned, "it is certain! But what is more
curious is the new way in which you combined your self-hypnotism with
crystal-gazing. You have heard of scrying, I suppose?"

"You mean the practice of looking into a drop of water or a crystal
ball or anything of that sort," said Cosmo, "and of seeing things in
it--of seeing people moving about?"

"That's just what I do mean," his friend returned. "And that's just
what you have been doing. You fixed your gaze on the ball, and so
hypnotized yourself; and then, in the intensity of your vision, you
were able to see figures in the crystal--with one of which visualized
emanations you immediately identified yourself. That's easy enough, I
think. But I don't see what suggested to you your separate experiences.
I recognize them, of course----"

"You recognize them?" cried Waynflete, in wonder.

"I can tell you where you borrowed every one of your adventures,"
Stuyvesant replied, "But what I'd like to know now is what suggested to
you just those particular characters and situations, and not any of the
many others also stored away in your subconsciousness."

So saying, he began to look about the room.

"My subconsciousness?" repeated Waynflete. "Have I ever been a samurai
in my subconsciousness?"

Paul Stuyvesant looked at Cosmo Waynflete for nearly a minute without
reply. Then all the answer he made was to say: "That's a queer
dressing-gown you have on."

"It is time I took it off," said the other, as he twisted himself out
of its clinging folds. "It is a beautiful specimen of weaving, isn't
it? I call it the dream-gown of the Japanese ambassador, for although I
bought it in a curiosity-shop in Nuremberg, it was once, I really
believe, the slumber-robe of an Oriental envoy."

Stuyvesant took the silken garment from his friend's hand.

"Why did the Japanese ambassador sell you his dream-gown in a Nurem