'It might take actual shape—assume a bodily form visible to the eye?' repeated Henriot, amazed as before that doubt and laughter did not break through his mind.
'We are on the earth,' was the reply, spoken unnecessarily low since no living thing was within earshot, 'we are in physical conditions, are we not? Even a human soul we do not recognise unless we see it in a body—parents provide the outline, the signature, the sigil of the returning soul. This,' and he tapped himself upon the breast, 'is the physical signature of that type of life we call a soul. Unless there is life of a certain strength behind it, no body forms. And, without a body, we are helpless to control or manage it—deal with it in any way. We could not know it, though being possibly aware of it.'
'To be aware, you mean, is not sufficient?' For he noticed the italics Vance made use of.
'Too vague, of no value for future use,' was the reply. 'But once obtain the form, and we have the natural symbol of that particular Power. And a symbol is more than image, it is a direct and concentrated expression of the life it typifies—possibly terrific.'
'It may be a body, then, this symbol you speak of.'
'Accurate vehicle of manifestation; but ‘body' seems the simplest word.'
Vance answered very slowly and deliberately, as though weighing how much he would tell. His language was admirably evasive. Few perhaps would have detected the profound significance the curious words he next used unquestionably concealed. Henriot's mind rejected them, but his heart accepted. For the ancient soul in him was listening and aware
