Then as I tossed my arms to and fro in painful weakness, grunting weakly and whimpering, I said: "You've killed me now—Just see what you've done! You've killed me! Do you hear? Very well I don't care—I don't mind dying—I'm not afraid of death—Now you see what you've done. Why did you do it? I don't care—I'm not fond of life—I never wanted to live—I don't care if I die—Bring me round, you brute—Bring me round, do you hear?"
He seemed to stop and be in great trouble and I, conscious of him crouching against a corner of the wall as if terrified of what he had done.
Then I called Tony's name, begging him to come to my aid.
Whether he came in spirit or not I don't know but I felt my fingers begin to move as if playing finger-exercises as I lay with my arms outstretched beyond the bed, palms upward and then my left arm was made to rub the inside of my right arm between the wrist and the elbow.
I went on talking all the time weakly and furiously saying that I was all alone, that I could not get up to get some water, that I was dying (and indeed I felt I was). Then suddenly I seemed to feel that he came to my side and was crying bitterly as if unstrung and my feeling turned from fury to pity.
I imagined him as kneeling at the bedside and I, still weak and hardly able to move, placed my arm round his neck telling him not to mind.
"Never mind," I said. "Don't cry—don't cry—Poor boy—don't cry—it's all right now—It's all right," and I patted his head but he still knelt on, his head in his arms and his hands thrown over me as if for pardon.
And then, as he knelt there and I gradually found my strength coming back, my eyes were drawn to one spot in the room where I fancied I saw a tiny soft light like a "Will-o-the-Wisp" and I knew it was my mother's spirit.
I felt my eyes drawn from one side to the other and following it, somehow knew it was my mother. And sometimes I felt my eyes drawn to a spot just over my head as if she were bending over me—and I was made to smile.
The next morning I felt weak and serious but I went to my work as usual. But my astral friend stayed by me all day. I was conscious of him there, I felt a sudden straightening of my spine and found myself taking a long breath, and knew that he was there. Then I felt a pressure of my hand.
I began mentally to ask him questions to which he answered "yes" or "no" by one or other movements of my hand.
It was curious that feeling of having been operated on. I had known nothing of a surgeon's knife and had been most
