He bowed his head. “She knows, now for the first time, that you are here.”
“She remembers?” I asked falteringly, knowing the “you” he meant was also of an older day.
“She lies in trance,” he answered, “and the buried Self is in command. She felt your presence, and she called for you—by name.”
“In trance?” I had the feeling of distress that he had forced her. But he caught my thought and set it instantly at rest.
“From deep sleep she passed of her own accord,” he said, “into the lucid state. Her older Self, which retains the memories of all the sections, is now consciously awake.”
“And she knows you too? Knows you as you were—remembers?” I asked breathlessly, thinking of my first sight of him in the doorway.
“She is aware at this very moment of both you and me,” he answered, “but as she knew us in that particular past. For the old conditions are gathering to-night about the house, and the Equinox is nearer.”
“Gathered, then, by you,” I challenged, conscious that an emotion of protection rose strong in me—protection of the woman.
“Gathered, rather,” he at once rejoined, “by our collective presence, by our collective feeling, thought and worship, but also by necessity and justice which bring the opportunity.”