t! Across the gulf of Time they
still are one. Time hath no power against Identity, though sleep the
merciful hath blotted out the tablets of our mind, and with oblivion
sealed the sorrows that else would hound us from life to life, stuffing
the brain with gathered griefs till it burst in the madness of uttermost
despair. Still are they one, for the wrappings of our sleep shall roll
away as thunder-clouds before the wind; the frozen voice of the past
shall melt in music like mountain snows beneath the sun; and the weeping
and the laughter of the lost hours shall be heard once more most sweetly
echoing up the cliffs of immeasurable time.

"Ay, the sleep shall roll away, and the voices shall be heard, when down
the completed chain, whereof our each existence is a link, the lightning
of the Spirit hath passed to work out the purpose of our being;
quickening and fusing those separated days of life, and shaping them to
a staff whereon we may safely lean as we wend to our appointed fate.

"Therefore, have no fear, Kallikrates, when thou--living, and but lately
born--shalt look upon thine own departed self, who breathed and died
so long ago. I do but turn one page in thy Book of Being, and show thee
what is writ thereon.

"_Behold!_"

With a sudden motion she drew the shroud from the cold form, and let the
lamplight play upon it. I looked, and then shrank back terrified; since,
say what she might in explanation, the sight was an uncanny one--for her
explanations were beyond the grasp of our finite minds, and when they
were stripped from the mists of vague esoteric philosophy, and brought
into conflict with the cold and horrifying fact, did not do much to
break its force. For there, stretched upon the stone bier before us,
robed in white and perfectly preserved, was what appeared to be the body
of Leo Vincey. I stared from Leo, standing _there_ alive, to Leo lying
_there_ dead, and could see no difference; except, perhaps, that the
body on the bier looked older. Feature for feature they were the same,
even down to the crop of little golden curls, which was Leo's most
uncommon beauty. It even seemed to me, as I looked, that the expression
on the dead man's face resembled that which I had sometimes seen upon
Leo's when he was plunged into profound sleep. I can only sum up the
closeness of the resemblance by saying that I never saw twins so exactly
similar as that dead and living pair.

I turned to see what effect was produce