"But the memory alone, surely—"
"That's made you nervous; but I've known cases not far different. You remember meeting Sir Henry Milwood here? When I knew him he was a young clergyman. He had an illness; forgot all about his clerical life, and went sheep-farming in Australia, where he made his fortune."
"But his personality?" asked Stewart, with anxiety. "Was that changed?"
"Certainly. A colonial sheep-farmer is a different person from a young Don just in orders."
"I don't mean that, Master. I mean did he rise from his bed with ideas, with feelings quite opposite to those which had possessed him when he lay down upon it? Did he ever have a return of the clerical phase, during which he forgot how he became a sheep-farmer and wished to take up his old work again?"
"No—no."
There was a pause. The Master played with his gold spectacles and sucked his under lip. Then:
"Take a good holiday, Stewart," he said.
Stewart's clear-cut face hardened and flushed momentarily. "These are not fancies of my own, Master. Cases occur in which two, sometimes more than two, entirely different personalities alternate in the same individual. The spontaneous cases are rare, of course, but hypnotism seems to develop them pretty freely. The facts are there, but English scientists prefer to say nothing about them."
The Master rose and trotted restlessly about.