Notwithstanding this definite decision, I declined to be discouraged because of the memory of my experience upon the day when the light and the thought came to me, "I am all the Substance there is." I seemed to be able to live that experience over at will, and with it there always came a flood of courage and renewed energy. We journeyed on to London, and from there telegraphed Troward, asking for an interview. The telegram was promptly answered by Troward setting a date when he could see us.
At this time Troward was living in Ruan Manor, a little-out-of -the-way place in the southern part of England, about twenty miles from a railway station. We could not find it on the map, and with great difficulty Cook's Touring Agency in London, located the place for us. There was very little speculation in my mind as to what Troward would say to me in this interview. There always remained the feeling that the truth was mine; also that it would grow and expand in my consciousness until peace and contentment were outward as well as inward manifestations of my individual life.
We arrived at Troward's house in a terrific rainstorm, and were cordially received by Troward himself, whom I found, much to my surprise, to be more the type of a Frenchman than an Englishman (I afterward learned that he was a descendant of the Huguenot race), a man of medium stature, with rather a large head, big nose, and eyes that fairly danced with merriment. After we had been introduced to the other members of the family and given a hot cup of tea, we were invited into the living room where Troward talked very freely of everything except my proposed studies. It seemed quite impossible to bring him to that subject.
Just before we were leaving, however, I asked quite boldly: "Will you not reconsider your decision to take a personal pupil? I wish so much to study with you," to which he replied with a very indifferent manner that he did not feel he could give the time it would require for personal instruction, but that he would be glad to give me the names of two or three books which he felt would not only be interesting but instructive to me. He said he felt much flattered and pleased that I had come all the way from America to study with him, and as we walked out through the lane from his house to our automobile his manner became less indifferent, a feeling of sympathy seemed to touch his heart, and he turned to me with the remark: "You might write to me, if so inclined, after you get to Paris, and perhaps, if I have time in the autumn, we could arrange something, though it does not seem possible now."
I lost no time in following up his very kind invitation to write. My letters were all promptly and courteously answered, but there was never a word of encouragement as to my proposed studies. Finally, about two months later, there came a letter with the question in it: "What do you suppose is the meaning of this verse in the 21st Chapter of Revelation?"
"16. And the city lieth foursquare and the length is as large as the breadth; and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal."
Instinctively I knew that my chance to study with Troward hung upon my giving the correct answer to that question. The definition of the verse seemed utterly beyond my reach. Naturally, answers came to my mind, but I knew intuitively that none was correct. I began bombarding my scholarly friends and acquaintances with the same question. Lawyers, doctors, priests, nuns and clergymen, all over the world, received letters from me with this question in them. Later answers began to return to me, but intuition told me that none was correct. All the while I was endeavoring to find the answer for myself, but none seemed to come. I memorized the verse in order that I might meditate upon it.
I began a search of Paris for the books Troward had recommended to me, and after two or three days' search we crossed the River Seine to the Ile de Cite to go into some of the old bookstores there. They were out of print, and these were the best places to find them in. Finally we came upon a little shop that had the books there. These were the last copies the man had, consequently the price was high. While remonstrating with the clerk, my eye rested upon the work of an astrologer, which I laughingly picked up and asked: "Do you think Prof. would read my horoscope?" The clerk looked aghast at the suggestion, and responded, "Why, no, Madame, this is one of France's greatest astrologers. He does not read horoscopes."
In spite of this answer, there was a persistent impulse within me to go to the man. The friend who had accompanied me in my search for the books remonstrated with me, and tried in every way to dissuade me from going to the famous astrologer, but I insisted, and she went with me. When we came to his office I found it somewhat embarrassing to ask him to read my horoscope. Nevertheless, there was nothing to do but put the question. Reluctantly, the Professor invited us into his paper-strewn study, and reluctantly, and also impatiently, asked us to be seated. Very courteously and coldly he told me that he did not read horoscopes. His whole manner said, more clearly than words could, that he wished we would take our departure.
My friend stood up. I was at a great loss what to do next, because I felt that I was not quite ready to go. Intuition seemed to tell me there was something for me to gain there. Just what it was I was unable to define, so I paused a moment, much to my friend's displeasure, when one of the Professor's enormous Persian cats jumped into my lap. "Get down, Jack!" the Professor shouted. "What does it mean?" he seemed to ask himself. Then with a greater interest than he had hitherto shown in me, the Professor said with a smile: "Have never known that cat to go to a stranger before, Madame; my cat pleads for you." I, also, now feel an interest in your horoscope, and if you will give me the data it will give me pleasure to write it out for you." There was a great feeling of happiness in me when he made this statement. He concluded by saying: "I do not feel that you really care for your horoscope." The truth of this statement shocked me, because I did not care about a horoscope, and could not give any reason why I was letting him do it. "However," he said, "May I call for your data next Sunday afternoon?"
On Sunday afternoon at the appointed time, the Professor arrived, and I was handing him the slip of paper with all the data of my birth, etc., when the idea came to me to ask the Professor for the answer to the question about the 16th verse of the 21st Chapter of Revelation. The thought was instantly carried into effect, and I found myself asking this man what he thought this verse meant. Without pausing to think it over he immediately replied "it means: The city signifies the truth, and the truth is non-invertible; every side from which you approach it is exactly the same." Intuitively and undoubtingly I recognized this answer as the true one, and my joy knew no bounds, because I felt sure that with this correct answer in my possession, Troward would accept me as his pupil in the fall.
As the great astrologer was leaving, I explained to him all about my desire to study with Troward, how I had come from New York City for that express purpose, seemingly to no avail, until the answer to this test question had been given to me by him. He was greatly interested and asked many questions about Troward, and when asked if he would please send me his bill, he smilingly replied, "Let me know if the great Troward accepts you as his pupil," and bade me good afternoon. I hastened to my room to send a telegram to Troward giving my answer to the question about the 16th verse of the 21st Chapter of Revelation.
There was an immediate response from Troward that said: "Your answer is correct. Am beginning a course of lectures on The Great Pyramid In London. If you wish to attend them, will be pleased to have you, and afterward, if you still wish to study with me, I think it can be arranged." On receipt of this reply preparations were at once made to leave Paris for London.
I attended all the lectures, receiving much instruction from them, after which arrangements were made for my studying with Troward. Two days before leaving for Cornwall I received the following letter from Troward clearly indicating the line of study he gave me:
31 Stanwick Road,
W. Kensington, England,
November 8, 1912.
Dear Mrs. Behrend,
I think I had better write you a few lines with regard to your proposed studies with me, as I should be sorry for you to be under any misapprehension
