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For a moment, he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy

that existed between him and the picture might cease. It had

changed in answer to a prayer; perhaps in answer to a prayer it

might remain unchanged. And yet, who, that knew anything about

life, would surrender the chance of remaining always young,

however fantastic that chance might be, or with what fateful

consequences it might be fraught? Besides, was it really under

his control? Had it indeed been prayer that had produced the

substitution? Might there not be some curious scientific reason

for it all? If thought could exercise its influence upon a living

organism, might not thought exercise an influence upon dead and

inorganic things? Nay, without thought or conscious desire, might

not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods

and passions, atom calling to atom in secret love or strange

affinity? But the reason was of no importance. He would never

again tempt by a prayer any terrible power.