Gladly would Dawn have spent many days with Basil and his sister, but her life was too active to allow her to tarry long in one place. On the evening of the day, the events of which were narrated in our last chapter, a note was placed in her hand from Mrs. Austin, stating that she was ill and needed her presence.

"You cannot go before to-morrow," broke in both sister and brother, at once.

"We must make much of this evening," said Beatrice.

"And spend it as though it was our last together; for life's conditions are so uncertain," remarked Basil, in that far-off tone, in which he often spoke.

"We may have many experiences before another meeting, yet I hope we shall come together again soon."

"How shall we spend our evening?" said Miss Bernard to her brother, yet looking at Dawn.

"Naturally. Let it take its own course." Their eyes at that instant rested on Dawn, whose features glowed with a heavenly light and sweetness.

"It is a trance symptom," said Basil. "Let us keep ourselves passive."

The light of the room seemed to vibrate with life, and their bodies to be so charged with an electric current so etherial that it seemed that their spirits must be freed from all earthly hold. And then there came a calm over all. The features of Dawn seemed to change to those of one so familiar to them in their early days, that they started with surprise.

"I was on earth known as Sybil Warner," said a voice which seemed not that of Dawn, and yet her vocal organs were employed to speak the name.

"Sybil Warner!" exclaimed Basil, white with emotion, and turning to his sister, whose palor equaled his own, "Have you ever spoken that name to her?" he asked, pointing to the upturned face of Dawn.

"Never! I am equally astonished and interested with yourself."

"Shall we question her,--the spirit?" But before Basil could reply the spirit spoke:

"You were not aware, I know, that I passed to the spirit-land a few years ago; and for that reason, and many others, I come to give you a test. The mention of my name must have been a surprise to you, for never in the earth-life, did I meet this lady whose organism I now employ to speak to you. You would know of my life, after I withdrew from the world of fashion. At some other time it shall be given you; enough for the present, that I became world-weary, and, possessing what is called second-sight, drifted through life, caring naught for the heartlessness around me. The life which makes up three-fourths of the so called happiness of humanity I could not adopt as my own; therefore I was alone, and a wanderer. I was, of course, called strange and weird. What cared I, when every-day glimpses of the larger life were given me,--that life which I was so soon to enter upon. One humble spirit stands by me here, whose name is Margaret, and sends love and gratitude to the beautiful being through whom I now address you.

"Friends of my youth, always so good and true to me, I come to mingle my life with yours, and to grow strong with you in good and holy purposes. We of the upper air, do not live alone; we need your life, as well as you do ours. This communion is as ancient as time, and will endure throughout eternity. Volumes could not tell of the broken households united through this light. Search for its hidden treasures; they are worthy of untiring study. Its glory will not fall into your life; it must be worked out by your own efforts and found within your own experience. Thus it will become a part of your immortal self, and help you on your heavenly way. The skeptic cannot sit and call us who have thrown off the mortal, by words alone, for only in answer to deep and heartfelt desire do we come and hold communion with our earthly friends. They who seek shall find.

"Of the spiritual condition of those who enter this state of existence, I can only say to you now that it is identically the same after what you call 'death,' as before; neither higher nor lower. Progress and happiness here, is as it is with you, dependent upon personal effort. We of the spirit-world have rest and unrest, hope and doubt, according as our states, conditions and surroundings vary. One of my strongest purposes has been to identify myself to you, my friends, to-night. I have succeeded beyond a doubt; none can exist in your minds of my identity-my self, for you have never breathed my name to this mortal. Again will I come to you and tell you of our lovely world which we enjoy, each according to individual development. I dwell in peace. Peace I leave with you. Farewell."

Dawn passed her hand over her brow, as though trying to recall a vanished thought, and slowly came to her normal condition, while her face shone with a light most beautiful to behold.

"Were you conscious of what has transpired?" asked Miss Bernard.

"Yes; and yet so absorbed in another life, that my own spirit seemed floating, yielding to another's will and heart pulsations. This is imperfect, I know, as an explanation, but it is the best I can give."

"It is something which cannot be explained," said Basil, and she knew by these words that he fully comprehended her.

O, soul, how thou dost relieve the labor of the mind, seeing with finer vision into the centre of life, and there beholding the countless workings of the inner being. What an atom of our self do we exhibit in our little sojourn here. Those of limited sight say we are thus and so, and pass on. Others measure us by themselves, and call us dull, or lacking vital life, ignorant of the fact that they each take all they know how to appropriate, of our quality. A lifetime would give them no more, if their receptive states did not change.

"This experience has given our life a new sweetness," said Basil, seating himself by Dawn. "We have long believed in these things, but have never had such proof of their truthfulness as to-night. We need not tell you how happy you have made us, or how much we shall always enjoy your coming; for we enjoy you personally, aside from this thrilling power which your organization embodies. I, too, have experienced this light, and know well the strange thrill which comes over us, when we meet those who are akin in soul, and assimilate with our mental and spiritual natures."

"And how the depth is sounded, when we are brought in contact with those who are antagonistic," said Dawn.

"I presume that those who disharmonize us, aid us to higher states, for they force us out in search of something better. The divine economy is at work in every phase of life, and our growth of soul is often greater in our night of sorrow than in our day of joy; or rather, we reach forth deeper and stronger after the true life, when the cloud is upon us, than when the sun shines brightly on our path, just as the tree extends its roots farther into the ground, when rocked and swayed by the tempest."

"Yet the sunshine of happiness matures the leaves and branches. I have had much sunshine," said Dawn, speaking the words slowly and tenderly.

"I would that the storms might pass over you, but in the human lot I know they must come."

She looked into his eyes, and they appeared so like Ralph's just then that tears came to her own, and she could not force them back.

"This emotion is not all your own," said Mr. Bernard.

Dawn looked up inquiringly.

"He is here-Ralph, and too often for your good and his own."

A flush came over her face.

"I mean no harm," he continued. "It is true that he will weaken you by too much emotion, which was ever a large component of his beautiful and trusting nature. Ralph must put aside his deep tenderness, and come less often, and then he will bring you more strength when he does come to you."

"But what if he never left me, and never can, Mr. Bernard?"

"Then you must mingle with those who are his opposite, those who can strengthen him through you."

"I never thought of that before."

"Nor I, Miss Wyman. It is the impression of the moment, but none the less true for that."

"I feel its truth, and will act upon it; thus a portion of his development will come through my associations, be drawn up through the earthly conditions that surround me. How little we know of the other life, or of this."

"The two are so conjoined that a knowedge of one cannot but bring with it some truth concerning the other."

The conversation had been of so much interest that they had not noticed how far into the night it had been protracted, until a sudden glance at the clock led Beatrice to suggest that Dawn might wish for rest preparatory for her journey on the morrow.

"How kind of you to come so soon, Dawn," said Mrs. Austin, excitedly clasping her to her heart. "I am so sad, and only you can relieve me."

"What is it? Are you or any of your family ill?"

"No, no. Something worse, much worse to me. Sit by me while I tell you."

Dawn took the seat, while in hurried, trembling tones, her friend related her story.

"You know my sister Emily, Mrs. Dalton. Well, two days ago I received a letter from her, stating that she had left her husband, and was coming to see me a few days to tell me all, and then go through the world alone."

"Is that all? I thought something fearful had happened," said Dawn, looking calmly on her friend.

"All? Can anything be worse than that? Think of the disgrace to us;" and Mrs. Austin burst into a flood of tears.

"It's no disgrace if they could not harmonize, but the very highest and best thing they could do."

"O, Dawn; but what will the world come to, if all the married people flare up at every little inharmony, and separate?"

"You are not the judge of your sister's course. You do not know what she may have passed through. She knows best, and this is her work alone, her cross. I do not advocate that parties should separate, until all means for a harmonious life have been tried. Then, if they find there can be no assimilation, it is far better that they should part, rather th............