“‘Next time?’ I echoed, trembling with fear.
“‘Yes; next time, for you must come again and do it over and do it right,’ she said, sternly.
“Then I shrieked and awoke. O Lilla, now I see, I know, I understand. I must live my life again and live it better—must do my best all the way through. I don’t want to—no; I don’t want to; but I must, and so must all who fail to give their best—not as penalty, but because it is the only way to learn, and to grow.
“We have lived always; we shall live always. This is the foundation rock upon which we build the indestructible temple, character. Victor Hugo spoke of life as a fairy tale a thousand times written, and said there was not an age in which he could not find his spirit. He believed he would exist forever, inasmuch as he felt in his soul thousands of songs, and dramas that never had found expression: He was sure he should come again and give them life. I, too, feel within me numberless tales untold which must be born somewhere. A great soul, like Hugo, may voluntarily come again and again to help others; but a recreant dreamer like me MUST come.
“Years ago I had a dream that now I understand. It is my belief, as you know, that every mortal has a soul-guardian—a being higher than a spirit, a dweller in the land of souls, beyond the middle kingdom, far away from the earth and its ties. This guardian gives us all the experiences we have, because he sees their uses in our development. The bitter cups we would fain have pass from us he resolutely holds to our lips, because he knows it is good for us to drink of them. Blessings disguised as calamities and sorrows come from his hand, and all the fires of anguish that scorch us are fanned by his breath.
“I dreamed of this guardian angel. He was going with me through life, or rather through a series of scenes or situations representing different lives. I could talk to him, and hear him, but could not see him. Of the many pictures that were shown to me I remembered only two when morning came.
“In the one which represented a life before this I was resting on a rude couch, outdoors, near a blazing fire, in the midst of a nauseating swamp. It was after night, and the light from the fire played fantastically on dank little pools, rank tufts of grass, curious plants, watery mosses and slimy roots.
“Looking off into the swamp I saw a great mottled snake curled up in a hollow, looking directly at me, malignity darting from his eyes. I pointed him out to the people who were about me, and told them I would kill him. But one and all urged me to let him alone, and predicted serious trouble, if I disturbed him.
“I answered that it was trouble to have him there, throwing hate upon me with his eyes, and that, at least, I would give him a hint that his presence was not desirable. So I got up and threw a stone at him. It struck him straight on his back, but rebounded as though it had met a wall, without so much as bruising him, save in spirit. It enraged him fearfully. He raised himself in the air perpendicularly till he stood on his tail, and hatred flashed from his eyes in bright electric rays.
“He did not stop at this, but hurled invective after invective at me in plain English, and threatened me as a snake never threatened before. He hissed, raved, cursed and glared at me, and swore that he would take it out of me in slices scattered along a thousand years. In short, he made me understand clearly enough that his principal business forever after would be to make me wretched. So direful were his threats that I lay down on my small bed quaking with terror, fearing either to sleep or stay awake, and ‘none had power to protect me from mine enemy.’