"To-day you are not so sure about it. Why?"
She laughed lightly, but there was a serious undernote in her voice when
she said: "There are moments when you make me wonder if you haven't been
dabbling in necromancy, Evan. I was at that very instant telling myself
that it wasn't so."
"But you know it is so," he persisted. "Why am I different?"
"I don't know."
"Yet you recognize the fact?"
"Is it a fact?" she queried.
"Yes."
"In what way are you different?"
"I am not altogether certain that I know, myself. But I do know this:
between yesterday and to-day there is a gulf so wide that it seems
measureless. The scientists claim there are no cataclysms; no sudden and
sweeping changes taking place either in the physical or the metaphysical
field. If that be true, the changes must go on subconsciously for a long
time before they are recognized. There is no other way of accounting for
the gulfs."
"You are talking miles over my head," she protested; and, though the
assertion was not strictly true, it served its purpose.
"I can make it a little plainer," he went on, slowing the motor until
the small car was merely ambling. "You remember that night at Wartrace
Hall, and what you told me? I went out from that talk resolved to do
what you had shown me I ought to do, stubbornly refusing to consider the
possibility of failure.
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