His eyes were closing, his face had assumed a deathly whiteness, and—oh God! Maurice was going down, too! In an instant both lay prostrate at the altar’s foot.
Once I thought he looked toward me as the lids descended; there was deep affection in the look—there was also supreme confidence that I would keep my word and stand by him to the last.
Again my eyes were for him alone, but I think my brain must have been obscured, for I saw, or thought I saw, that the form of my friend was growing thin and shadowy, just as I had seen in the case of the adept in the alley at Panompin.
Was it this, or was it that a thin, white mist surrounded Maurice? It seemed to be gathering all about him—it was assuming the shape and outlines of a man. Presently it separated itself from the body entirely, rose up and stood above it, looking down.
Now there were two Maurices!
Wonderingly I sought the adept.
It was the same with him, but that I had seen before. He stood above his own body a perfect man.
“George, farewell! I am off for Mars!” spoke the old familiar voice as distinctly as I ever heard it speak; and I saw those shadowy forms rise together, slowly at first, then more rapidly, moving faster and faster, until
Heavens! Was it then but a dream after all?
I was quite myself again and standing close to the altar, upon which, cold and still, lay the body of Maurice De Veber, stretched out at full length.
The light burned low, the music had ceased, the yellow lamas had vanished; I saw only Padma and the Doctor at my side.
And Maurice? I had sworn never to leave that body!
Was Maurice alive or dead?
