“Did it never occur to you, Lyle, that these fancies, as you call them, might possibly be an effort on the part of memory to recall something, long ago forgotten?”
“I never thought of such a possibility,” she replied, slowly.
Miss Gladden threw one arm about her caressingly.
“If these were mere fancies why should they occur so persistently, and why should there be this sense of familiarity, of which you have spoken, with other and far different associations than these, unless there is some distinct image hidden away in the recesses of your brain, which your mind is trying to recall?”
Lyle had grown very pale; she had caught the idea which Miss Gladden was trying to convey, and her form trembled, while her lips and delicate nostrils quivered with suppressed agitation.
“Leslie,” she cried, “do you mean that you think it possible there is any reality in it,––that I have ever known a different life from this,––a life anything like that which seems to come back to me?”
“I think it not only possible, but probable,” said her friend, drawing the trembling girl closer to herself, “and that is why I want you to encourage these impressions, and see if you will not, after a time, be able to recall the past more definitely.”
“But why do you believe this?” questioned Lyle, “How did you ever think of it?”
“When you first told me of your fancies, as you called them, and of your dreams, constantly recurring since your earliest childhood, I felt that they must be produced by something that had really occurred, some time in the past, but perhaps so long ago that only the faintest impression was left upon your mind; but however faint, to me it seemed proof that the reality had existed. The more I have questioned you, the more I have become convinced of this, and I find I am not alone in my opinion.”
“Have you talked with Jack, and does he think as you do?” Lyle questioned. Miss Gladden answered in the affirmative.