"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. Goopes, who had at first been a little reserved, resorted presently to the Socratic method to restrain the young man with the orange tie, and bent his forehead over him, and brought out at last very clearly from him that the body was only illusion and everything nothing but just spirit and molecules of thought. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack.
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