"When falling over those rocks, on which we found you, Ashton," said he, on one of those occasions, "did you utter any person's name?"
"Not that I remember of—why?" asked Morley, with surprise.
"Because—I have known of such things—that person might have heard your cry, however far distant."
"I do not understand."
"I mean on the principle, or rather the theory, of polarity. In the terror and despair of such a moment, your thoughts would flash, or rush to some one whom you loved—say Miss Basset—who became the recipient of the force, the hearer of your cry, by that faculty which is called in some countries second hearing."
Morley, though he coloured at Ethel's name, smiled, for he knew that this was another of Morrison's strange theories.
"I never heard of an instance of this," said he; "have you?"
"I shall tell you," replied Morrison; "but, perhaps, you won't believe me?"
"Why?"
"Because you English are so sceptical about the mystic, generally."