one afternoon, almost by accident. The sight of the crystals, newly exhibited, fascinated me. I could hardly tear myself away in time for a lecture.
"The next afternoon I came again. I watched the black spots dancing in their vibrant fluid. Sometimes they would whirl in the center of the liquid with monotonous regularity. Then suddenly they would dash at the walls which held them in and circle them with inconceivable speed. Was it my imagination, or did the specks take on shape or form? Were they prisoners forever beating their heads against the bars of a cell, seeking to be free? Engrossed in such thoughts I did not know that another had entered the museum until a voice addressed me.
"'So you have come under their spell, too, Ross.'
"I looked up with a start and recognized John Cabot. We knew each other, of course, Because I had studied under him for two years.
"'They look so life-like, sir,' I replied. 'Haven't you noticed it?'
"'Perhaps,' he said quietly, 'they are life.'
"The thought stirred my imagination.
"'You know,' he went on, 'that there are scientists who claim life originally came to the earth from some other star, perhaps from outside the universe entirely. Maybe,' he said, "it came, even as these crystals came, in a meteor.'"
The sick man paused and moistened his lips with water.
"That," he said, "was the beginning of the intimacy which sprang up between John Cabot and me. It was often possible for Cabot to take one of the crystals to his room, and then we would foregather there and ponder the mystery of it, Cabot was a sound teacher of physics, but he was more than that. He was a scientist who was also a speculative philosopher, which meant being something of a mystic. Have you ever studied mysticism? No? Then I can't tell you about that. Only from him and his speculations I struck fire. How can I describe it? Perhaps gazing in the crystal hypnotized us both. I don't know as to that. Only night and day both of us became eaten with an overwhelming curiosity.
"'What do the scientists say is inside the crystals?' I asked Cabot.
"'They don't say,' he replied. 'They don't know. A message from Mars perhaps, or from beyond the Milky Way.'
"From beyond the Milky Way," whispered the sick man. "Can't you see what that would mean to our imaginations?"
He beat the quilt that covered him with his hand.
"It meant," he said, "the forbidden. We dreamed of doing what the scientists of America and Europe said they hesitated to do for fear of the consequences—or for fear of destroying objects valuable to science. We dreamed of breaking the crystal!"
A big moth fluttered into the radius of light and the dying man followed it with his eyes. "That's what we were, Cabot and I, though we didn't know it: moths, trying to reach a searing flame."
By this time I was engrossed in his story. "What then?" I prompted.
"We stole the crystals! Perhaps you read about it at the time?"
I shook my head.
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