A Curious Transformation
Adrian listened to this strange recital in silent astonishment, and in spite of the trouble in which he was involved, felt inclined to regard the whole as the whimsical outcome of a madman's brain. He had heard a great deal about occult science, theosophy, and spiritist belief, but, engaged in a frivolous life, had not paid much attention to their teachings and looked upon them as the religions of charlatans and quacks. But here was a man who far outstripped the powers which theosophists and spiritists professed to exercise, arrogating to himself the functions of the Creator in dealing with souls. The whole narration was too fantastical for belief, still he was in such desperate danger that he gladly seized any chance that promised safety, and proceeded to interrogate Roversmire in order to find out if there was anything tangible in the weird belief he held.
"If I accept your offer," he said slowly, "and permit you to incarnate my soul in your body, what becomes of my own?"
"It will remain, to all appearances, dead, until your soul again returns to animate it."
"I will go back to it again, then?"
"Yes!—I think so. My body is sixty years old, yours is, I should say, about twenty-six years, and as things stand now, there is every prospect that you will outlive me. When, therefore your soul inhabits my body, such body will die at my allotted time, and your soul, having no habitation, will be forced to return to your own body in order to work out its period."
"But, suppose I am incarnated in your body for years, will not my own decay?"
"No—because it is not dead—only asleep. If, however, it is fated that you should die before myself, your body will begin to decay, and then you will remain in mine till the period fixed by God for solution, and your soul will then mingle in the world of spirits as if you had died in your own frame."
"I understand," said Adrian thoughtfully; "it is a curious idea."
"It is a very fortunate one—for you," replied Roversmire quietly.