"Only the proof of my own feelings. I am not clairvoyant to the extent of remembering my former incarnations, nor can I—as some can—consciously leave my physical body at will and return to it with a recollection of what I have seen. Now you are more advanced."
"Indeed, I am not. I have learned much from my father, who knows a great deal about such psychic matters. But I have never been properly instructed and my knowledge is very limited."
"But you believe in the doctrine of reincarnation?" urged Montrose eagerly.
"Of course. It is a most sensible doctrine to believe, and explains nearly everything in a common-sense way. But I cannot prove my belief."
"There is no need to prove it to me," said Montrose, thinking of his vision, "for I know beyond all question that we have lived and loved before."
"Yes," assented the girl dreamily, "I knew you the moment you entered Mrs. Barrast's drawing-room."
The young man glanced round, and, seeing that they were more or less sheltered from observation, gently took her hand. She did not remove it, although her whole body thrilled to the touch. "You knew me as what?" asked Montrose.
"I can't say more than that I knew you as a familiar friend."
"So cold a word," pleaded the other softly.
"What other word can I use to you when we have only known each other for a single week?"