THE NECROMANCERS

_Other books by Robert Hugh Benson_

 _The Light Invisible_ _By What Authority?_ _The King's Achievement_ _The History of Richard Reynall, Solitary_ _The Queen's Tragedy_ _The Religion of the Plain Man_ _The Sanctity of the Church_ _The Sentimentalists_ _Lord of the World_ _A Mirror of Shalott, composed of tales told at a symposium_ _Papers of a Pariah_ _The Conventionalists_ _The Holy Blissful Martyr Saint Thomas of Canterbury_ _The Dissolution of the Religious Houses_ _The Necromancers_ _Non-Catholic Denominations_ _None Other Gods_ _A Winnowing_ _Christ in the Church: a volume of religious essays_ _The Dawn of All_ _Come Rack! Come Rope!_ _The Coward_ _The Friendship of Christ_ _An Average Man_ _Confessions of a Convert_ _Optimism_ _Paradoxes of Catholicism_ _Poems_ _Initiation_ _Oddsfish!_ _Spiritual Letters of Monsignor R. Hugh Benson to one of his converts_ _Loneliness_ _Sermon Notes_

THE NECROMANCERS

Robert Hugh Benson

First published in 1909. 

Wildside PressDoylestown, Pennsylvania

I must express my gratitude to the Rev. Father Augustine Howard, O. P. , who has kindly read this book in manuscript and favored me withhis criticisms. 

--Robert Hugh Benson. 

_Chapter I_

I

"I am very much distressed about it all, " murmured Mrs. Baxter. 

She was a small, delicate-looking old lady, very true to type indeed, with the silvery hair of the devout widow crowned with an exquisitelace cap, in a filmy black dress, with a complexion of precious china, kind shortsighted blue eyes, and white blue-veined hands busy now uponneedlework. She bore about with her always an atmosphere of piety, humble, tender, and sincere, but as persistent as the gentlesandalwood aroma which breathed from her dress. Her theory of theuniverse, as the girl who watched her now was beginning to find out, was impregnable and unapproachable. Events which conflicted with itwere either not events, or they were so exceptional as to benegligible. If she were hard pressed she emitted a patheticpeevishness that rendered further argument impossible. 

The room in which she sat reflected perfectly her personality. Inspite of the early Victorian date of the furniture, there was in itsarrangement and selection a taste so exquisite as to deprive it ofeven a suspicion of Philistinism. Somehow the rosewood table on whichthe September morning sun fell with serene beauty did not conflict asit ought to have done with the Tudor paneling of the room. A tapestryscreen veiled the door into the hall, and soft curtains of velvetygold hung on either side of the tall, modern windows leading to thegarden. For the rest, the furniture was charming and suitable--lowchairs, a tapestry couch, a multitude of little leather-covered bookson every table, and two low carved bookshelves on either side of thedoor filled with poetry and devotion. 

The girl who sat upright with her hands on her lap was of another typealtogether--of that type of which it is impossible to predicateanything except that it makes itself felt in every company. Anyrespectable astrologer would have had no difficulty in assigning herbirth to the sign of the Scorpion. In outward appearance she was notremarkable, though extremely pleasing, and it was a pleasingness thatgrew upon acquaintance. Her beauty, such as it was, was based upon agood foundation: upon regular features, a slightly cleft rounded chin, a quantity of dark coiled hair, and large, steady, serene browneyes. Her hands were not small, but beautifully shaped; her figureslender, well made, and always at its ease in any attitude. In fact, she had an air of repose, strength, and all-round competence; and, contrasted with the other, she resembled a well-bred sheep-dog eyeingan Angora cat. 

They were talking now about Laurie Baxter. 

"Dear Laurie is so impetuous and sensitive, " murmured his mother, drawing her needle softly through the silk, and then patting hermaterial, "and it is all terribly sad. "

This was undeniable, and Maggie said nothing, though her lips openedas if for speech. Then she closed them again, and sat watching thetwinkling fire of logs upon the hearth. Then once more Mrs. Baxtertook up the tale. 

"When I first heard of the poor girl's death, " she said, "it seemed tome so providential. It would have been too dreadful if he had marriedher. He was away from home, you know, on Thursday, when it happened;but he was back here on Friday, and has been like--like a madman eversince. I have done what I could, but--"

"Was she quite impossible?" asked the girl in her slow voice. "I neversaw her, you know. "

Mrs. Baxter laid down her embroidery. 

"My dear, she was. Well, I have not a word against her character, ofcourse. She was all that was good, I believe. But, you know, her home, her father--well, what can you expect from a grocer--and a Baptist, "she added, with a touch of vindictiveness. 

"What was she like?" asked the girl, still with that meditative air. 

"My dear, she was like--like a picture on a chocolate-box. I can sayno more than that. She was little and fair-haired, with a very prettycomplexion, and a ribbon in her hair always. Laurie brought her uphere to see me, you know--in the garden; I felt I could not bear tohave her in the house just yet, though, of course, it would have hadto have come. She spoke very carefully, but there was an unmistakableaccent. Once she left out an aitch, and then she said the word overagain quite right. "

Maggie nodded gently, with a certain air of pity, and Mrs. Baxter wenton encouraged. 

"She had a little stammer that--that Laurie thought very pretty, andshe had a restless little way of playing with her fingers as if on apiano. Oh, my dear, it would have been too dreadful; and now, my poorboy--"

The old lady's eyes filled with compassionate tears, and she laid hersewing down to fetch out a little lace-fringed pocket-handkerchief. 

Maggie leaned back with one easy movement in her low chair, claspingher hands behind her head; but she still said nothing. Mrs. Baxterfinished the little ceremony of wiping her eyes, and, still winking alittle, bending over her needlework, continued the commentary. 

"Do try to help him, my dear. That was why I asked you to come backyesterday. I wanted you to be in the house for the funeral. You see, Laurie's becoming a Catholic at Oxford has brought you two together. It's no good my talking to him about the religious side of it all; hethinks I know nothing at all about the next world, though I'm sure--"

"Tell me, " said the girl suddenly, still in the same attitude, "has hebeen practicing his religion? You see, I haven't seen much of him thisyear, and--"

"I'm afraid not very well, " said the old lady tolerantly. "He thoughthe was going to be a priest at first, you remember, and I'm sure Ishould have made no objection; and then in the spring he seemed to begetting rather tired of it all. I don't think he gets on with FatherMahon very well. I don't think Father Mahon understands him quite. Itwas he, you know, who told him not to be a priest, and I think thatdiscouraged poor Laurie. "

"I see, " said the girl shortly. And Mrs. Baxter applied herself againto her sewing. 

 * * * * *

It was indeed a rather trying time for the old lady. She was atranquil and serene soul; and it seemed as if she were doomed to liveover a perpetual volcano. It was as pathetic as an amiable cat tryingto go to sleep on a rifle range; she was developing the jumps. Thefirst serious explosion had taken place two years before, when herson, then in his third year at Oxford, had come back with theannouncement that Rome was the only home worthy to shelter hisaspiring soul, and that he must be received into the Church in sixweeks' time. She had produced little books for his edification, as induty bound, she had summoned Anglican divines to the rescue; but allhad been useless, and Laurie had gone back to Oxford as an avowedproselyte. 

She had soon become accustomed to the idea, and indeed, when the firstshock was over had not greatly disliked it, since her own adopteddaughter, of half French parentage, Margaret Marie Deronnais, had beeneducated in the same faith, and was an eminently satisfactory person. The next shock was Laurie's announcement of his intention to enter thepriesthood, and perhaps the Religious Life as well; but this too hadbeen tempered by the reflection that in that case Maggie would inheritthis house and carry on its traditions in a suitable manner. Maggiehad come to her, upon leaving her convent school three years before, with a pleasant little income of her own--had come to her by anarrangement made previously to her mother's death--and her manner oflife, her reasonableness, her adaptability, her presentableness hadreassured the old lady considerably as to the tolerableness of theRoman Catholic religion. Indeed, once she had hoped that Laurie andMaggie might come to an understanding that would prevent all possibledifficulty as to the future of his house and estate; but the fourthvolcanic storm had once more sent the world flying in pieces aboutMrs. Baxter's delicate ears; and, during the last three months she hadhad to face the prospect of Laurie's bringing home as a bride therather underbred, pretty, stammering, pink and white daughter of aBaptist grocer of the village. 

This had been a terrible affair altogether; Laurie, as is the customof a certain kind of young male, had met, spoken to, and ultimatelykissed this Amy Nugent, on a certain summer evening as the stars cameout; but, with a chivalry not so common in such cases, had alsosincerely and simply fallen in love with her, with a romance usuallyreserved for better-matched affections. It seemed, from Laurie'sconversation, that Amy was possessed of every grace of body, mind, andsoul required in one who was to be mistress of the great house; it wasnot, so Laurie explained, at all a milkmaid kind of affair; he was notthe man, he said, to make a fool of himself over a pretty face. No, Amy was a rare soul, a flower growing on stony soil--sandy perhapswould be the better word--and it was his deliberate intention to makeher his wife. 

Then had followed every argument known to mothers, for it was notlikely that even Mrs. Baxter would accept without a struggle adaughter-in-law who, five years before, had bobbed to her, wearing apinafore, and carrying in a pair of rather large hands a basket ofeggs to her back door. Then she had consented to see the girl, and theinterview in the garden had left her more distressed than ever. (Itwas there that the aitch incident had taken place. ) And so thestruggle had gone on; Laurie had protested, stormed, sulked, takenrefuge in rhetoric and dignity alternately; and his mother had withgentle persistence objected, held her peace, argued, and resisted, conflicting step by step against the inevitable, seeking to reconcileher son by pathos and her God by petition; and then in an instant, only four days ago, it seemed that the latter had prevailed; and todayLaurie, in a black suit, rent by sorrow, at this very hour at whichthe two ladies sat and talked in the drawing-room, was standing by anopen grave in the village churchyard, seeing the last of his love, under a pile of blossoms as pink and white as her own complexion, within four elm-boards with a brass plate upon the cover. 

Now, therefore, there was a new situation to face, and Mrs. Baxter wasregarding it with apprehension. 

 * * * * *

It is true that mothers know sometimes more of their sons than theirsons know of themselves, but there are certain elements of characterthat sometimes neither mothers nor sons appreciate. It was one or twoof those elements that Maggie Deronnais, with her hands behind herhead, was now considering. It seemed to her very odd that neither theboy himself nor Mrs. Baxter in the least seemed to realize theastonishing selfishness of this very boy's actions. 

She had known him now for three years, though owing to her own absencein France a part of the time, and his absence in London for the rest, she had seen nothing of this last affair. At first she had liked himexceedingly; he had seemed to her ardent, natural, and generous. Shehad liked his affection for his mother and his demonstrativeness inshowing it; she had liked his well-bred swagger, his manner withservants, his impulsive courtesy to herself. It was a real pleasure toher to see him, morning by morning, in his knickerbockers and Norfolkjacket, or his tweed suit; and evening by evening in his swallow-tailcoat and white shirt, and the knee breeches and buckled shoes that hewore by reason of the touch of picturesque and defiant romanticismthat was so obvious a part of his nature. Then she had begun, littleby little, to perceive the egotism that was even more apparent; hisself-will, his moodiness, and his persistence. 

Though, naturally, she had approved of his conversion to Catholicism, yet she was not sure that his motives were pure. She had hoped indeedthat the Church, with its astonishing peremptoriness, might dosomething towards a moral conversion, as well as an artistic andintellectual change of view. But this, it seemed, had not happened;and this final mad episode of Amy Nugent had fanned her criticism toindignation. She did not disapprove of romance--in fact she largelylived by it--but there were things even more important, and she was asangry as she could be, with decency, at this last manifestation ofselfishness. 

For the worst of it was that, as she knew perfectly well, Laurie wasrather an exceptional person. He was not at all the Young Fool ofFiction. There was a remarkable virility about him, he wastender-hearted to a degree, he had more than his share of brains. Itwas intolerable that such a person should be so silly. 

She wondered what sorrow would do for him. She had come down fromScotland the night before, and down here to Herefordshire thismorning; she had not then yet seen him; and he was now at thefuneral. .. . 

Well, sorrow would be his test. How would he take it?

Mrs. Baxter broke in on her meditations. 

"Maggy, darling . .. Do you think you can do anything? You know I oncehoped. .. . "

The girl looked up suddenly, with so vivid an air that it was aninterruption. The old lady broke off. 

"Well, well, " she said. "But is it quite impossible that--"

"Please, don't. I--I can't talk about that. It's impossible--utterlyimpossible. "

The old lady sighed; then she said suddenly, looking at the clockabove the oak mantelshelf, "It is half-past. I expect--"

She broke off as the front door was heard to open and close beyond thehall, and waited, paling a little, as steps sounded on the flags; butthe steps went up the stairs outside, and there was silence again. 

"He has come back, " she said. "Oh! my dear. "

"How shall you treat him?" asked the girl curiously. 

The old lady bent again over her embroidery. 

"I think I shall just say nothing. I hope he will ride this afternoon. Will you go with him?"

"I think not. He won't want anyone. I know Laurie. "

The other looked up at her sideways in a questioning way, and Maggiewent on with a kind of slow decisiveness. 

"He will be queer at lunch. Then he will probably ride alone and belate for tea. Then tomorrow--"

"Oh! my dear, Mrs. Stapleton is coming to lunch tomorrow. Do you thinkhe'll mind?"

"Who is Mrs. Stapleton?"

The old lady hesitated. 

"She's--she's the wife of Colonel Stapleton. She goes in for what Ithink is called New Thought; at least, so somebody told me last month. I'm afraid she's not a very steady person. She was a vegetarian lastyear; now I believe she's given that up again. "

Maggie smiled slowly, showing a row of very white, strong teeth. 

"I know, auntie, " she said. "No; I shouldn't think Laurie'll mindmuch. Perhaps he'll go back to town in the morning, too. "

"No, my dear, he's staying till Thursday. "

 * * * * *

There fell again one of those pleasant silences that are possible inthe country. Outside the garden, with the meadows beyond the villageroad, lay in that sweet September hush of sunlight and mellow colorthat seemed to embalm the house in peace. From the farm beyond thestable-yard came the crowing of a cock, followed by the liquid chuckleof a pigeon perched somewhere overhead among the twisted chimneys. And within this room all was equally at peace. The sunshine lay ontable and polished floor, barred by the mullions of the windows, andstained here and there by the little Flemish emblems and coats thathung across the glass; while those two figures, so perfectly in placein their serenity and leisure, sat before the open fire-place andcontemplated the very unpeaceful element that had just walked upstairsincarnate in a pale, drawn-eyed young man in black. 

The house, in fact, was one of those that have a personality as markedand as mysterious as of a human character. It affected people in quitean extraordinary way. It took charge of the casual guest, entertainedand soothed and sometimes silenced him; and it cast upon all who livedin it an enchantment at once inexplicable and delightful. Externallyit was nothing remarkable. 

It was a large, square-built house, close indeed to the road, butseparated from it by a high wrought-iron gate in an oak paling, and ashort, straight garden-path; originally even ante-Tudor, but maturedthrough centuries, with a Queen Anne front of mellow red brick, andback premises of tile, oak, and modern rough-cast, with oldbrew-houses that almost enclosed a graveled court behind. Behind thisagain lay a great kitchen garden with box-lined paths dividing it allinto a dozen rectangles, separated from the orchard and yew walk by abroad double hedge down the center of which ran a sheltered path. Round the south of the house and in the narrow strip westwards laybroad lawns surrounded by high trees completely shading it from allview of the houses that formed the tiny hamlet fifty yards away. 

Within, the house had been modernized almost to a commonplace level. Alittle hall gave entrance to the drawing-room on the right where thesetwo women now sat, a large, stately room, paneled from floor toceiling, and to the dining-room on the left; and, again, through tothe back, where a smoking room, an inner hall, and the big kitchensand back premises concluded the ground floor. The two more storiesabove consisted, on the first floor, of a row of large rooms, airy, high, and dignified, and in the attics of a series of low-pitchedchambers, whitewashed, oak-floored, and dormer-windowed, where one ortwo of the servants slept in splendid isolation. A little flight ofirregular steps leading out of the big room on to the first floor, where the housekeeper lived in state, gave access to the further roomsnear the kitchen and sculleries. 

Maggie had fallen in love with the place from the instant that she hadentered it. She had been warned in her French convent of the giddygaieties of the world and its temptations; and yet it seemed to herafter a week in her new home that the world was very much maligned. There was here a sense of peace and sheltered security that she hadhardly known even at school; and little by little she had settled downhere, with the mother and the son, until it had begun to seem to herthat days spent in London or in other friends' houses were no betterthan interruptions and failures compared with the leisurely, tenderlife of this place, where it was so easy to read and pray and possessher soul in peace. This affair of Laurie's was almost the firstreminder of what she had known by hearsay, that Love and Death andPain were the bones on which life was modeled. 

With a sudden movement she leaned forward, took up the bellows, andbegan to blow the smoldering logs into flame. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile, upstairs on a long couch beside the fire in his bigbed-sitting-room lay a young man on his face motionless. 

A week ago he had been one of those men who in almost any companyappear easy and satisfactory, and, above all, are satisfactory tothemselves. His life was a very pleasant one indeed. 

He had come down from Oxford just a year ago, and had determined totake things as they came, to foster acquaintanceships, to travel alittle with a congenial friend, to stay about in other people'shouses, and, in fact, to enjoy himself entirely before settling downto read law. He had done this most successfully, and had crowned all, as has been related, by falling in love on a July evening with onewho, he was quite certain, was the mate designed for him for Time andEternity. His life, in fact, up to three days ago had developed alongexactly those lines along which his temperament traveled with thegreatest ease. He was the only son of a widow, he had an excellentincome, he made friends wherever he went, and he had just secured themost charming rooms close to the Temple. He had plenty of brains, anexceedingly warm heart, and had lately embraced a religion thatsatisfied every instinct of his nature. It was the best of allpossible worlds, and fitted him like his own well-cut clothes. Itconsisted of privileges without responsibilities. 

And now the crash had come, and all was over. 

As the gong sounded for luncheon he turned over and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

It should have been a very attractive face under other circumstances. Beneath his brown curls, just touched with gold, there looked out apair of grey eyes, bright a week ago, now dimmed with tears, andpatched beneath with lines of sorrow. His clean-cut, rather passionatelips were set now, with down-turned corners, in a line of angryself-control piteous to see; and his clear skin seemed stained anddull. He had never dreamt of such misery in all his days. 

As he lay now, with lax hands at his side, tightening at times in anagony of remembrance, he was seeing vision after vision, turning nowand again to the contemplation of a dark future without life or loveor hope. Again he saw Amy, as he had first seen her under the luminousJuly evening, jeweled overhead with peeping stars, amber to thewestwards, where the sun had gone down in glory. She was in hersun-bonnet and print dress, stepping towards him across thefresh-scented meadow grass lately shorn of its flowers and growth, looking at him with that curious awed admiration that delighted himwith its flattery. Her face was to the west, the reflected glory layon it as delicate as the light on a flower, and her blue eyes regardedhim beneath a halo of golden hair. 

He saw her again as she had been one moonlight evening as the twostood together by the sluice of the stream, among the stillness of thewoods below the village, with all fairyland about them and in theirhearts. She had thrown a wrap about her head and stolen down there bydevious ways, according to the appointment, meeting him, as wasarranged, as he came out from dinner with all the glamour of the GreatHouse about him, in his evening dress, buckled shoes, andknee-breeches all complete. How marvelous she had been then--a sweetnymph of flesh and blood, glorified by the moon to an etherealdelicacy, with the living pallor of sun-kissed skin, her eyes lookingat him like stars beneath her shawl. They had said very little; theyhad stood there at the sluice gate, with his arm about her, andherself willingly nestling against him, trembling now and again;looking out at the sheeny surface of the slow flowing stream fromwhich, in the imperceptible night breeze, stole away wraith afterwraith of water mist to float and lose themselves in the sleepingwoods. 

Or, once more, clearer than all else he remembered how he had watchedher, himself unseen, delaying the delight of revealing himself, oneAugust morning, scarcely three weeks ago, as she had come down theroad that ran past the house, again in her sun-bonnet and print dress, with the dew shining about her on grass and hedge, and the haze of asummer morning veiling the intensity of the blue sky above. He hadcalled her then gently by name, and she had turned her face to him, alight with love and fear and sudden wonder. .. . He remembered even nowwith a reflection of memory that was nearly an illusion the smell ofyew and garden flowers. 

This, then, had been the dream; and today the awakening and the end. 

That end was even more terrible than he had conceived possible on thathorrible Friday morning last week, when he had opened the telegramfrom her father. 

He had never before understood the sordidness of her surroundings, aswhen, an hour ago, he had stood at the grave-side, his eyes wanderingfrom that long elm box with the silver plate and the wreath offlowers, to the mourners on the other side--her father in hisbroadcloth, his heavy, smooth face pulled in lines of grotesquesorrow; her mother, with her crimson, tear-stained cheeks, herelaborate black, her intolerable crape, and her jet-hung mantle. Eventhese people had been seen by him up to then through a haze of love;he had thought them simple honest folk, creatures of the soil, yetwholesome, natural, and sturdy. And now that the jewel was lost thesetting was worse than empty. There in the elm box lay the remnants ofthe shattered gem. .. . He had seen her in her bed on the Sunday, herfallen face, her sunken eyes, all framed in the detestable whitenessof linen and waxen flowers, yet as pathetic and as appealing as ever, and as necessary to his life. It was then that the supreme fact hadfirst penetrated to his consciousness, that he had lost her--the factwhich, driven home by the funeral scene this morning, the rustlingcrowd come to see the young Squire, the elm box, the heap offlowers--had now flung him down on this couch, crushed, broken, andhopeless, like young ivy after a thunderstorm. 

His moods alternated with the rapidity of flying clouds. At oneinstant he was furious with pain, at the next broken and lax from thesame cause. At one moment he cursed God and desired to die, defiantand raging; at the next he sank down into himself as weak as atortured child, while tears ran down his cheeks and little moans as ofan animal murmured in his throat. God was a hated adversary, amerciless Judge . .. A Blind Fate . .. There was no God . .. He was aFiend. .. . There was nothing anywhere in the whole universe but Painand Vanity. .. . 

Yet, through it all, like a throbbing pedal note, ran his need of thisgirl. He would do anything, suffer anything, make any sacrifice, momentary or lifelong, if he could but see her again, hold her handfor one instant, look into her eyes mysterious with the secret ofdeath. He had but three or four words to say to her, just to securehimself that she lived and was still his, and then . .. Then he wouldsay good-bye to her, content and happy to wait till death shouldreunite them. Ah! he asked so little, and God would not give it him. 

All, then, was a mockery. It was only this past summer that he hadbegun to fancy himself in love with Maggie Deronnais. It had been anemotion of very quiet growth, developing gently, week by week, feedingon her wholesomeness, her serenity, her quiet power, her cool, capablehands, and the look in her direct eyes; it resembled respect ratherthan passion, and need rather than desire; it was a hunger rather thana thirst. Then had risen up this other, blinding and bewildering; and, he told himself, he now knew the difference. His lips curled intobitter and resentful lines as he contemplated the contrast. And allwas gone, shattered and vanished; and even Maggie was now impossible. 

Again he writhed over, sick with pain and longing; and so lay. 

 * * * * *

It was ten minutes before he moved again, and then he only rousedhimself as he heard a foot on the stairs. Perhaps it was his mother. He slipped off the couch and stood up, his face lined and creased withthe pressure with which he had lain just now, and smoothed his tumbledclothes. Yes, he must go down. 

He stepped to the door and opened it. 

"I am coming immediately, " he said to the servant. 

 * * * * *

He bore himself at lunch with a respectable self-control, though hesaid little or nothing. His mother's attitude he found hard to bear, as he caught her eyes once or twice looking at him with sympathy; andhe allowed himself internally to turn to Maggie with relief in spiteof his meditations just now. She at least respected his sorrow, hetold himself. She bore herself very naturally, though with longsilences, and never once met his eyes with her own. He made hisexcuses as soon as he could and slipped across to the stable yard. Atleast he would be alone this afternoon. Only, as he rode away half anhour later, he caught a sight of the slender little figure of hismother waiting to have one word with him if she could, beyond thehall-door. But he set his lips and would not see her. 

It was one of those perfect September days that fall sometimes as agift from heaven after the bargain of summer has been more or lessconcluded. As he rode all that afternoon through lanes and acrossuplands, his view barred always to the north by the great downs aboveRoyston, grey-blue against the radiant sky, there was scarcely a hintin earth or heaven of any emotion except prevailing peace. Yet thevery serenity tortured him the more by its mockery. The birds babbledin the deep woods, the cheerful noise of children reached him now andagain from a cottage garden, the mellow light smiled unendingbenediction, and yet his subconsciousness let go for never an instantof the long elm box six feet below ground, and of its contents lyingthere in the stifling dark, in the long-grassed churchyard on the hillabove his home. 

He wondered now and again as to the fate of the spirit that hadinformed the body and made it what it was; but his imagination refusedto work. After all, he asked himself, what were all the teachingsof theology but words gabbled to break the appalling silence?Heaven . .. Purgatory . .. Hell. What was known of these things? The verysoul itself--what was that? What was the inconceivable environment, after all, for so inconceivable a thing. .. ?

He did not need these things, he said--certainly not now--nor thoselabels and signposts to a doubtful, unimaginable land. He needed Amyherself, or, at least, some hint or sound or glimpse to show him thatshe indeed was as she had always been; whether in earth or heaven, hedid not care; that there was somewhere something that was herself, some definite personal being of a continuous consciousness with thatwhich he had known, characterized still by those graces which hethought he had recognized and certainly loved. Ah! he did not askmuch. It would be so easy to God! Here out in this lonely lane wherehe rode beneath the branches, his reins loose on his horse's neck, hiseyes, unseeing, roving over copse and meadow across to the eternalhills--a face, seen for an instant, smiling and gone again; a whisperin his ear, with that dear stammer of shyness; a touch on his knee ofthose rippling fingers that he had watched in the moonlight playinggently on the sluice-gate above the moonlit stream. .. . He would tellno one if God wished it to be a secret; he would keep it wholly tohimself. He did not ask now to possess her; only to be certain thatshe lived, and that death was not what it seemed to be. 

 * * * * *

"Is Father Mahon at home?" he asked, as he halted a mile from his ownhouse in the village, where stood the little tin church, not a hundredyards from its elder alienated sister, to which he and Maggie went onSundays. 

The housekeeper turned from her vegetable-gathering beyond thefence, and told him yes. He dismounted, hitched the reins round thegatepost, and went in. 

Ah! what an antipathetic little room this was in which he waited whilethe priest was being fetched from upstairs!

Over the mantelpiece hung a large oleograph of Leo XIII, in cope andtiara, blessing with upraised hand and that eternal, wide-lippedsmile; a couple of jars stood beneath filled with dyed grasses; abriar pipe, redolent and foul, lay between them. The rest of the roomwas in the same key: a bright Brussels carpet, pale and worn by thedoor, covered the floor; cheap lace curtains were pinned across thewindows; and over the littered table a painted deal bookshelf held adozen volumes, devotional, moral, and dogmatic theology; and by theside of that an illuminated address framed in gilt, and so on. 

Laurie looked at it all in dumb dismay. He had seen it before, againand again, but had never realized its horror as he realized it nowfrom the depths of his own misery. Was it really true that hisreligion could emit such results?

There was a step on the stairs--a very heavy one--and Father Mahoncame in, a large, crimson-faced man, who seemed to fill the room witha completely unethereal presence, and held out his hand with a certaingravity. Laurie took it and dropped it. 

"Sit down, my dear boy, " said the priest, and he impelled him gentlyto a horsehair-covered arm-chair. 

Laurie stiffened. 

"Thank you, father; but I mustn't stay. "

He fumbled in his pocket, and fetched out a little paper-coveredpacket. 

"Will you say Mass for my intention, please?" And he laid the packeton the mantelshelf. 

The priest took up the coins and slipped them into his waistcoatpocket. 

"Certainly, " he said. "I think I know--"

Laurie turned away with a little jerk. 

"I must be going, " he said. "I only looked in--"

"Mr. Baxter, " said the other, "I hope you will allow me to say howmuch--"

Laurie drew his breath swiftly, with a hiss as of pain, and glanced atthe priest. 

"You understand, then, what my intention is?"

"Why, surely. It is for her soul, is it not?"

"I suppose so, " said the boy, and went out. 

_Chapter II_

I

"I have told him, " said Mrs. Baxter, as the two women walked beneaththe yews that morning after breakfast. "He said he didn't mind. "

Maggie did not speak. She had come out just as she was, hatless, buthad caught up a spud that stood in the hall, and at that instant hadstopped to destroy a youthful plantain that had established himselfwith infinite pains on the slope of the path. She attacked for a fewseconds, extricated what was possible of the root with her strongfingers, tossed the corpse among the ivy, and then moved on. 

"I don't know whether to say anything to Mrs. Stapleton or not, "pursued the old lady. 

"I think I shouldn't, auntie, " said the girl slowly. 

They spoke of it for a minute or two as they passed up and down, butMaggie only attended with one superficies of her mind. 

She had gone up as usual to Mass that morning, and had been astonishedto find Laurie already in church; they had walked back together, and, to her surprise, he had told her that the Mass had been for his ownintention. 

She had answered as well as she could; but a sentence or two of his asthey came near home had vaguely troubled her. 

It was not that he had said anything he ought not, as a Catholic, tohave said; yet her instinct told her that something was wrong. It washis manner, his air, that troubled her. What strange people theseconverts were! There was so much ardor at one time, so much chillinessat another; there was so little of that steady workaday acceptance ofreligious facts that marked the born Catholic. 

"Mrs. Stapleton is a New Thought kind of person, " she said presently. 

"So I understand, " said the old lady, with a touch of peevishness. "Avegetarian last year. And I believe she was a sort of Buddhist five orsix years ago. And then she nearly became a Christian Scientist alittle while ago. "

Maggie smiled. 

"I wonder what she'll talk about, " she said. 

"I hope she won't be very advanced, " went on the old lady. "And youthink I'd better not tell her about Laurie?"

"I'm sure it's best not, " said the girl, "or she'll tell him aboutDeep Breathing, or saying Om, or something. No; I should let Lauriealone. "

 * * * * *

It was a little before one o'clock that the motor arrived, and thatthere descended from it at the iron gate a tall, slender woman, hoodedand veiled, who walked up the little path, observed by Maggie from herbedroom, with a kind of whisking step. The motor moved on, wheeled inthrough the gates at the left, and sank into silence in thestable-yard. 

"It's too charming of you, dear Mrs. Baxter, " Maggie heard as she cameinto the drawing-room a minute or two later, "to let me come over likethis. I've heard so much about this house. Lady Laura was telling mehow very psychical it all was. "

"My adopted daughter, Miss Deronnais, " observed the old lady. 

Maggie saw a rather pretty, passé face, triangular in shape, withsmall red lips, looking at her, as she made her greetings. 

"Ah! how perfect all this is, " went on the guest presently, lookingabout her, "how suggestive, how full of meaning!"

She threw back her cloak presently, and Maggie observed that she wasbusy with various very beautiful little emblems--a scarab, a snakeswallowing its tail, and so forth--all exquisitely made, and hung upona slender chain of some green enamel-like material. Certainly she wastrue to type. As the full light fell upon her it became plain thatthis other-worldly soul did not disdain to use certain toiletrequisites upon her face; and a curious Eastern odor exhaled from herdress. 

Fortunately, Maggie had a very deep sense of humor, and she hardlyresented all this at all, nor even the tactful hints dropped from timeto time, after the conventional part of the conversation was over, tothe effect that Christianity was, of course, played out, and that aHigher Light had dawned. Mrs. Stapleton did not quite say thisoutright, but it amounted to as much. Even before Laurie camedownstairs it appeared that the lady did not go to church, yet that, such was her broad-mindedness, she did not at all object to do so. Itwas all one, it seemed, in the Deeper Unity. Nothing particular wastrue; but all was very suggestive and significant and symbolical ofsomething else to which Mrs. Stapleton and a few friends had the key. 

Mrs. Baxter made more than one attempt to get back to more mundanesubjects, but it was useless. When even the weather serves as asymbol, the plain man is done for. 

Then Laurie came in. 

He looked very self-contained and rather pinched this morning, andshook hands with the lady without a word. Then they moved acrosspresently to the green-hung dining-room across the hall, and theexquisite symbol of Luncheon made its appearance. 

Lady Laura, it appeared, was one of those who had felt the charm ofStantons; only for her it was psychical rather than physical, and allthis was passed on by her friend. It seemed that the psychicalatmosphere of most modern houses was of a yellow tint, but that thisone emanated a brown-gold radiance which was very peculiar andexceptional. Indeed, it was this singularity that had caused Mrs. Stapleton to apply for an invitation to the house. More than onceduring lunch, in a pause of the conversation, Maggie saw her throwback her head slightly as if to appreciate some odor or color notexperienced by coarser-nerved persons. Once, indeed, she actually putthis into words. 

"Dear Laura was quite right, " cried the lady; "there is something veryunique about this place. How fortunate you are, dear Mrs. Baxter!"

"My dear husband's grandfather bought the place, " observed themistress plaintively. "We have always found it very soothing andpleasant. "

"How right you are! And--and have you had any experiences here?"Mrs. Baxter eyed her in alarm. Maggie had an irrepressible burst ofinternal laughter, which, however, gave no hint of its presence in hersteady features. She glanced at Laurie, who was eating mutton with adepressed air. 

"I was talking to Mr. Vincent, the great spiritualist, " went on theother vivaciously, "only last week. You have heard of him, Mrs. Baxter? I was suggesting to him that any place where great emotionshave been felt is colored and stained by them as objectively as oldwalls are weather-beaten. I had such an interesting conversation, too, with Cardinal Newman on the subject"--she smiled brilliantly atMaggie, as if to reassure her of her own orthodoxy--"scarcely sixweeks ago. "

There was a pregnant silence. Mrs. Baxter's fork sank to her plate. 

"I don't understand, " she said faintly. "Cardinal Newman--surely--"

"Why yes, " said the other gently. "I know it sounds very startling toorthodox ears; but to us of the Higher Thought all these things arequite familiar. Of course, I need hardly say that Cardinal Newman isno longer--but perhaps I had better not go on. "

She glanced archly at Maggie. 

"Oh, please go on, " said Maggie genially. "You were saying thatCardinal Newman--"

"Dear Miss Deronnais, are you sure you will not be offended?"

"I am always glad to receive new light, " said Maggie solemnly. 

The other looked at her doubtfully; but there was no hint of irony inthe girl's face. 

"Well, " she began, "of course on the Other Side they see things verydifferently. I don't mean at all that any religion is exactly untrue. Oh no; they tell us that if we cannot welcome the New Light, then theold lights will do very well for the present. Indeed, when there areCatholics present Cardinal Newman does not scruple to give them aLatin blessing--"

"Is it true that he speaks with an American accent?" asked Maggiegravely. The other laughed with a somewhat shrill geniality. 

"That is too bad, Miss Deronnais. Well, of course, the personality ofthe medium affects the vehicle through which the communications come. That is no difficulty at all when once you understand the principle--"

Mrs. Baxter interrupted. She could bear it no longer. 

"Mrs. Stapleton. Do you mean that Cardinal Newman really speaks toyou?"

"Why yes, " said the other, with a patient indulgence. "That is a veryusual experience, but Mr. Vincent does much more than that. It isquite a common experience not only to hear him, but to see him. I haveshaken hands with him more than once . .. And I have seen a Catholickiss his ring. "

Mrs. Baxter looked helplessly at the girl; and Maggie came to therescue once more. "This sounds rather advanced to us, " she said. "Won't you explain the principles first?"

Mrs. Stapleton laid her knife and fork down, leaned back, and began todiscourse. When a little later her plate was removed, she refusedsweets with a gesture, and continued. 

Altogether she spoke for about ten minutes, uninterrupted, enjoyingherself enormously. The others ate food or refused it in attentivesilence. Then at last she ended. 

". .. I know all this must sound quite mad and fanatical to those whohave not experienced it; and yet to us who have been disciples it isas natural to meet our friends who have crossed over as to meet thosewho have not. .. . Dear Mrs. Baxter, think how all this enlarges life. There is no longer any death to those who understand. All thoselimitations are removed; it is no more than going into anotherroom. All are together in the Hands of the All-Father"--Maggierecognized the jetsam of Christian Science. "'O death!' as Paul says, 'where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?'"

Mrs. Stapleton flashed a radiant look of helpfulness round the faces, lingering for an instant on Laurie's, and leaned back. 

There followed a silence. 

"Shall we go into the drawing-room?" suggested Mrs. Baxter, feeblyrising. The guest rose too, again with a brilliant patient smile, andswept out. Maggie crossed herself and looked at Laurie. The boy had anexpression, half of disgust, half of interest, and his eyelids sank alittle and rose again. Then Maggie went out after the others. 

II

"A dreadful woman, " observed Mrs. Baxter half an hour later, as thetwo strolled back up the garden path, after seeing Mrs. Stapleton wavea delicately gloved hand encouragingly to them over the back of thethrobbing motor. 

"I suppose she thinks she believes it all, " said Maggie. 

"My dear, that woman would believe anything. I hope poor Laurie wasnot too much distressed. "

"Oh! I think Laurie took it all right. "

"It was most unfortunate, all that about death and the rest. .. . Why, here comes Laurie; I thought he would be gone out by now!"

The boy strolled towards them round the corner of the house, tossingaway the fragment of his cigarette. He was still in his dark suit, bareheaded, with no signs of riding about him. 

"So you've not gone out yet, dear boy?" remarked his mother. 

"Not yet, " he said, and hesitated as they went on. 

Mrs. Baxter noticed it. 

"I'll go and get ready, " she said. "The carriage will be round atthree, Maggie. "

When she was gone the two moved out together on to the lawn. 

"What did you think of that woman?" demanded Laurie with a detachedair. 

Maggie glanced at him. His tone was a little too much detached. 

"I thought her quite dreadful, " she said frankly. "Didn't you?" sheadded. 

"Oh yes, I suppose so, " said Laurie. He drew out a cigarette andlighted it. "You know a lot of people think there's something in it, "he said. 

"In what?"

"Spiritualism. "

"I daresay, " said Maggie. 

She perceived out of the corner of her eye that Laurie looked at hersuddenly and sharply. For herself, she loathed what little she knew ofthe subject, so cordially and completely, that she could hardly haveput it into words. Nine-tenths of it she believed to be fraud--amatter of wigs and Indian muslin and cross-lights--and the othertenth, by the most generous estimate, an affair of the dingiest andfoulest of all the backstairs of life. The prophetic outpourings ofMrs. Stapleton had not altered her opinion. 

"Oh! if you feel like that--" went on Laurie. 

She turned on him. 

"Laurie, " she said, "I think it perfectly detestable. I acknowledge Idon't know much about it; but what little I do know is enough, thankyou. "

Laurie smiled in a faintly patronizing way. 

"Well, " he said indulgently, "if you think that, it's not much usediscussing it. "

"Indeed it's not, " said Maggie, with her nose in the air. 

There was not much more to be said; and the sounds of stamping andwhoaing in the stable-yard presently sent the girl indoors in a hurry. 

Mrs. Baxter was still mildly querulous during the drive. It appearedto her, Maggie perceived, a kind of veiled insult that things shouldbe talked about in her house which did not seem to fit in with her ownscheme of the universe. Mrs. Baxter knew perfectly well that everysoul when it left this world went either to what she called Paradise, or in extremely exceptional cases, to a place she did not name; andthat these places, each in its own way, entirely absorbed theattention of its inhabitants. Further, it was established in her viewthat all the members of the spiritual world, apart from the unhappyones, were a kind of Anglicans, with their minds no doubt enlargedconsiderably, but on the original lines. 

Tales like this of Cardinal Newman therefore were extremely tiresomeand upsetting. 

And Maggie had her theology also; to her also it appeared quiteimpossible that Cardinal Newman should frequent the drawing-room ofMr. Vincent in order to exchange impressions with Mrs. Stapleton; butshe was more elementary in her answer. For her the thing was simplyuntrue; and that was the end of it. She found it difficult thereforeto follow her companion's train of thought. 

"What was it she said?" demanded Mrs. Baxter presently. "I didn'tunderstand her ideas about materialism. "

"I think she called it materialization, " explained Maggie patiently. "She said that when things were very favorable, and the medium a verygood one, the soul that wanted to communicate could make a kind ofbody for itself out of what she called the astral matter of the mediumor the sitters. "

"But surely our bodies aren't like that?"

"No; I can't say that I think they are. But that's what she said. "

"My dear, please explain. I want to understand the woman. "

Maggie frowned a little. 

"Well, the first thing she said was that those souls want tocommunicate; and that they begin generally by things liketable-rapping, or making blue lights. Then when you know they'rethere, they can go further. Sometimes they gain control of the mediumwho is in a trance, and speak through him, or write with his hand. Then, if things are favorable, they begin to draw out this matter, andmake it into a kind of body for themselves, very thin and ethereal, sothat you can pass your hand through it. Then, as things get better andbetter, they go further still, and can make this body so solid thatyou can touch it; only this is sometimes rather dangerous, as it isstill, in a sort of way, connected with the medium. I think that's theidea. "

"But what's the good of it all?"

"Well, you see, Mrs. Stapleton thinks that they really are souls fromthe other world, and that they can tell us all kinds of things aboutit all, and what's true, and so on. "

"But you don't believe that?"

Maggie turned her large eyes on the old lady; and a spark of humorrose and glimmered in them. 

"Of course I don't, " she said. 

"Then how do you explain it?"

"I think it's probably all a fraud. But I really don't know. Itdoesn't seem to me to matter much--"

"But if it should be true?"

Maggie raised her eyebrows, smiling. 

"Dear auntie, do put it out of your head. How can it possibly betrue?"

Mrs. Baxter set her lips in as much severity as she could. 

"I shall ask the Vicar, " she said. "We might stop at the Vicarage onthe way back. "

Mrs. Baxter did not often stop at the Vicarage; as she did notaltogether approve of the Vicar's wife. There was a good deal of pridein the old lady, and it seemed to her occasionally as if Mrs. Rymerdid not understand the difference between the Hall and the Parsonage. She envied sometimes, secretly, the Romanist idea of celibacy: it wasso much easier to get on with your spiritual adviser if you did nothave to consider his wife. But here, was a matter which a clergymanmust settle for her once and for all; so she put on a slight air ofdignity which became her very well, and a little after four o'clockthe Victoria turned up the steep little drive that led to theVicarage. 

III

Thee dusk was already fallen before Laurie, strolling vaguely in thegarden, heard the carriage wheels draw up at the gate outside. 

He had ridden again alone, and his mind had run, to a certain extent, as might be expected, upon the recent guest and her very startlingconversation. He was an intelligent young man, and he had not been inthe least taken in by her pseudo-mystical remarks. Yet there had beensomething in her extreme assurance that had affected him, as a man maysmile sourly at a good story in bad taste. His attitude, in fact, wasthat of most Christians under the circumstances. He did not, for aninstant, believe that such things really and literally happened, andyet it was difficult to advance any absolutely conclusive argumentagainst them. Merely, they had not come his way; they appeared toconflict with experience, and they usually found as their advocatessuch persons as Mrs. Stapleton. 

Two things, however, prevailed to keep the matter before his mind. The first was his own sense of loss, his own experience, sore and hotwithin him, of the unapproachable emptiness of death; the second, Maggie's attitude. When a plainly sensible and controlled young womantakes up a position of superiority, she is apt, unless the young manin her company happens to be in love with her--and sometimes even whenhe is--to provoke and irritate him into a camp of opposition. She isstill more apt to do so if her relations to him have once been in theline of even greater tenderness. 

Laurie then was not in the most favorable of moods to receive thedicta of the Vicar. 

They were announced to him immediately after Mrs. Baxter had receivedfrom Maggie's hands her first cup of tea. 

"Mr. Rymer tells me it's all nonsense, " she said. 

Laurie looked up. 

"What?" he said. 

"Mr. Rymer tells me Spiritualism is all nonsense. He told me aboutsomeone called Eglingham, who kept a beard in his portmanteau. "

"Eglinton, I think, auntie, " put in Maggie. 

"I daresay, my dear. Anyhow, it's all the same. I felt sure it must beso. " Laurie took a bun, with a thoughtful air. 

"Does Mr. Rymer know very much about it, do you think, mother?"

"Dear boy, I think he knows all that anyone need know. Besides, if youcome to think of it, how could Cardinal Newman possibly appear in adrawing-room? Particularly when Mrs. Stapleton says he isn't aChristian any longer. "

This had a possible and rather pleasing double interpretation; butLaurie decided it was not worth while to be humorous. 

"What about the Witch of Endor?" he asked innocently, instead. 

"That was in the Old Testament, " answered his mother rapidly. "Mr. Rymer said something about that too. "

"Oh! wasn't it really Samuel who appeared?"

"Mr. Rymer thinks that things were permitted then that are notpermitted now. "

Laurie drank up his cup of tea. It is a humiliating fact that extremegrief often renders the mourner rather cross. There was a distinct airof crossness about Laurie at this moment. His nerves were very nearthe top. 

"Well, that's very convenient, " he said. "Maggie, do you know ifthere's any book on Spiritualism in the house?"

The girl glanced uneasily near the fire-place. 

"I don't know, " she said. "Yes; I think there's something up there. Ibelieve I saw it the other day. "

Laurie rose and stood opposite the shelves. 

"What color is it? (No, no more tea, thanks. )"

"Er . .. Black and red, I think, " said the girl. "I forget. "

She looked up at him, faintly uneasy, as he very deliberately drewdown a book from the shelf and turned the pages. 

"Yes . .. This is it, " he said. "Thanks very much. .. . No, really nomore tea, thanks, mother. "

Then he went to the door, with his easy, rather long steps, anddisappeared. They heard his steps in the inner hall. Then a doorclosed overhead. 

Mrs. Baxter contentedly poured herself out another cup of tea. 

"Poor boy, " she said. "He's thinking of that girl still. I'm glad he'sgot something to occupy his mind. "

The end room, on the first floor, was Laurie's possession. It was abig place, with two windows, and a large open fire, and he hadskillfully masked the fact that it was a bedroom by disposing hisfurniture, with the help of a screen, in such a manner as completelyto hide the bed and the washing arrangements. 

The rest of the room he had furnished in a pleasing male kind offashion, with a big couch drawn across the fire, a writing-table andchairs, a deep easy chair near the door, and a long, high bookcasecovering the wall between the door and the windows. His college oar, too, hung here, and there were pleasant groups and pictures scatteredon the other walls. 

Maggie did not often come in here, except by invitation, but aboutseven o'clock on this evening, half an hour before she had to go anddress, she thought she would look in on him for a few minutes. She wasstill a little uncomfortable; she did not quite know why: it was tooridiculous, she told, herself, that a sensible boy like Laurie couldbe seriously affected by what she considered the wicked nonsense ofSpiritualism. 

Yet she went, telling herself that Laurie's grief was an excuse forshowing him a little marked friendliness. Besides, she would like toask him whether he was really going back to town on Thursday. 

She tapped twice before an answer came; and then it seemed a ratherbreathless voice which spoke. 

The boy was sitting bolt upright on the edge of the sofa, with acouple of candles at his side, and the book in his hands. There was astrained and intensely interested look in his eyes. 

"May I come in for a few minutes? It's nearly dressing time, " shesaid. 

"Oh--er--certainly. "

He got up, rather stiffly, still keeping his place in the book withone finger, while she sat down. Then he too sat again, and there wassilence for a moment. 

"Why, you're not smoking, " she said. 

"I forgot. I will now, if you don't mind!"

She saw his fingers tremble a little as he put out his hand to a boxof cigarettes at his side. But he put the book down, after looking atthe page. 

She could keep her question in no longer. 

"What do you think of that, " she said, nodding at the book. 

He filled his lungs with smoke and exhaled again slowly. 

"I think it's extraordinary, " he said shortly. 

"In what way?"

Again he paused before answering. Then he answered deliberately. 

"If human evidence is worth anything, those things happen, " he said. 

"What things?"

"The dead return. "

Maggie looked at him, aware of his deliberate attempt at dramaticbrevity. He was watching the end of his cigarette with elaborateattention, and his face had that white, rather determined look thatshe had seen on it once or twice before, in the presence of a domesticcrisis. 

"Do you really mean you believe that?" she said, with a touch ofcareful bitterness in her voice. 

"I do, " he said, "or else--"

"Well?"

"Or else human evidence is worth nothing at all. "

Maggie understood him perfectly; but she realized that this was not anoccasion to force issues. She still put the tone of faint irony intoher voice. 

"You really believe that Cardinal Newman comes to Mr. Vincent'sdrawing room and raps on tables?"

"I really believe that it is possible to get into touch with thosewhom we call dead. Each instance, of course, depends on its ownevidence. "

"And Cardinal Newman?"

"I have not studied the evidence for Cardinal Newman, " remarked Lauriein a head-voice. 

"Let's have a look at that book, " said Maggie impulsively. 

He handed it to her; and she began to turn the pages, pausing now andagain to read a particular paragraph, and once for nearly a minutewhile she examined an illustration. Certainly the book seemedinterestingly written, and she read an argument or two that appearedreasonably presented. Yet she was extraordinarily repelled even by thedead paper and ink she had in her hands. It was as if it was somethingobscene. Finally she tossed it back on to the couch. 

Laurie waited; but she said nothing. 

"Well?" he asked at last, still refraining from looking at her. 

"I think it's horrible, " she said. 

Laurie delicately adjusted a little tobacco protruding from hiscigarette. 

"Isn't that a little unreasonable?" he asked. "You've hardly looked atit yet. "

Maggie knew this mood of his only too well. He reserved it foroccasions when he was determined to fight. Argument was a uselessweapon against it. 

"My dear boy, " she said with an effort, "I'm sorry. I daresay it isunreasonable. But that kind of thing does seem to me so disgusting. That's all. .. . I didn't come to talk about that. .. . Tell me--"

"Didn't you?" said Laurie. 

Maggie was silent. 

"Didn't you?"

"Well--yes I did. But I don't want to any more. "

Laurie smiled so that it might be seen. 

"Well, what else did you want to say?" He glanced purposely at thebook. Maggie ignored his glance. 

"I just came to see how you were getting on. "

"How do you mean? With the book?"

"No; in every way. "

He looked up at her swiftly and suddenly, and she saw that his agonyof sorrow was acute beneath all his attempts at superiority, hiscourteous fractiousness, and his set face. She was filled suddenlywith an enormous pity. 

"Oh! Laurie, I'm so sorry, " she cried out. "Can't I do anything?"

"Nothing, thanks; nothing at all, " he said quietly. 

Again pity and misery surged up within her, and she cast all prudenceto the winds. She had not realized how fond she was of this boy tillshe saw once more that look in his eyes. 

"Oh! Laurie, you know I didn't like it; but--but I don't know what todo, I'm so sorry. But don't spoil it all, " she said wildly, hardlyknowing what she feared. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know what I mean. Don't spoil it, by--by fancying things. "

"Maggie, " said the boy quietly, "you must let me alone. You can'thelp. "

"Can't I?"

"You can't help, " he repeated. "I must go my own way. Please don't sayany more. I can't stand it. "

There followed a dead silence. Then Maggie recovered and stood up. Herose with her. 

"Forgive me, Laurie, won't you? I must say this. You'll remember I'llalways do anything I can, won't you?"

Then she was gone. 

IV

The ladies went to bed early at Stantons. At ten o'clock precisely aclinking of bedroom candlesticks was heard in the hall, followed bythe sound of locking doors. This was the signal. Mrs. Baxter laidaside her embroidery with the punctuality of a religious at the soundof a bell, and said two words--

"My dears. "

There were occasionally exclamatory expostulations from the two at thepiquet-table, but in nine cases out of ten the game had been designedwith an eye upon the clock, and hardly any delay followed. Mrs. Baxterkissed her son, and passed her arm through Maggie's. Laurie followed;gave them candles, and generally took one himself. 

But this evening there was no piquet. Laurie had stayed later thanusual in the dining-room, and had wandered rather restlessly aboutwhen he had joined the others. He looked at a London evening paper fora little, paced about, vanished again, and only returned as the ladieswere making ready to depart. Then he gave them their candlesticks, andhimself came back to the drawing room. 

He was, in fact, in a far more perturbed and excited mood than evenMaggie had had any idea of. She had interrupted him half-way throughthe book, but he had read again steadily until five minutes beforedinner, and had, indeed, gone back again to finish it afterwards. Hehad now finished it; and he wanted to think. 

It had had a surprising effect on him, coming as it did upon a stateof mind intensely stirred to its depths by his sorrow. Crossness, as Ihave said, had been the natural psychological result of his emotions;but his emotions were none the less real. The froth of whipped creamis real cream, after all. 

Now Laurie had seen perfectly well the extreme unconvincingness ofMrs. Stapleton, and had been genuine enough in his little shrug ofdisapproval in answer to Maggie's, after lunch; yet that lady'sremarks had been sufficient just to ignite the train of thought. Thistrain had smoldered in the afternoon, had been fanned ever so slightlyby two breezes--the sense of Maggie's superiority and the faintrebellious reaction which had come upon him with regard to hispersonal religion. Certainly he had had Mass said for Amy thismorning; but it had been by almost a superstitious rather than areligious instinct. He was, in fact, in that state of religiousunreality which occasionally comes upon converts within a year or twoof the change of their faith. The impetus of old association isabsent, and the force of novelty has died. 

Underneath all this then, it must be remembered that the one thingthat was intensely real to him was his sense of loss of the one soulin whom his own had been wrapped up. Even this afternoon as yesterday, even this morning as he lay awake, he had been conscious of anirresistible impulse to demand some sign, to catch some glimpse ofthat which was now denied to him. 

It was in this mood that he had read the book; and it is not to bewondered at that he had been excited by it. 

For it opened up to him, beneath all its sham mysticism, itsintolerable affectations, its grotesque parody of spirituality--of allof which he was largely aware--a glimmering avenue of a faintlypossible hope of which he had never dreamed--a hope, at least, of thathalf self-deception which is so tempting to certain characters. 

Here, in this book, written by a living man, whose name and addresswere given, were stories so startling, and theories so apparentlyconsonant with themselves and with other partly known facts--storiesand theories, too, which met so precisely his own overmasteringdesire, that it is little wonder that he was affected by them. 

Naturally, even during his reading, a thousand answers and adversecomments had sprung to his mind--suggestions of fraud, of lying, ofhallucination--but yet, here the possibility remained. Here wereliving men and women who, with the usual complement of senses andreason, declared categorically and in detail, that on this and thatdate, in this place and the other, after having taken all possibleprecautions against fraud, they had received messages from thedead--messages of which the purport was understood by none butthemselves--that they had seen with their eyes, in sufficient light, the actual features of the dead whom they loved, that they had evenclasped their hands, and held for an instant the bodies of those whomthey had seen die with their own eyes, and buried. 

 * * * * *

When the ladies' footsteps had ceased to sound overhead, Laurie wentto the French window, opened it, and passed on to the lawn. 

He was astonished at the warmth of the September night. The littlewind that had been chilly this afternoon had dropped with the comingof the dark, and high overhead he could see the great masses of theleaves motionless against the sky. He passed round the house, andbeneath the yews, and sat down on the garden bench. 

It was darker here than outside on the lawn. Beneath his feet were thesoft needles from the trees, and above him, as he looked out, stillsunk in his thought, he could see the glimmer of a star or two betweenthe branches. 

It was a fragrant, kindly night. From the hamlet of half a dozenhouses beyond the garden came no sound; and the house, too, was stillbehind him. An illuminated window somewhere on the first floor wentout as he looked at it, like a soul leaving a body; once a sleepy birdsomewhere in the shrubbery chirped to its mate and was silent again. 

Then as he still labored in argument, putting this against that, andweighing that against the other, his emotion rose up in anirresistible torrent, and all consideration ceased. One thingremained: he must have Amy, or he must die. 

 * * * * *

It was five or six minutes before he moved again from that attitude ofclenched hands and tensely strung muscles into which his suddenpassion had cast him. 

During those minutes he had willed with his whole power that sheshould come to him now and here, down in this warm and fragrantdarkness, hidden from all eyes--in this sweet silence, round whichsleep kept its guard. Such things had happened before; such thingsmust have happened, for the will and the love of man are the mightiestforces in creation. Surely again and again it had happened; there mustbe somewhere in the world man after man who had so called back thedead--a husband sobbing silently in the dark, a child wailing for hismother; surely that force had before, in the world's history, willedback again from the mysterious dark of space the dear personality thatwas all that even heaven could give, had even compelled into asemblance of life some sort of body to clothe it in. These things musthave happened--only secrets had been well kept. 

So this boy had willed it; yet the dark had remained empty; and noshadow, no faintly outlined face, had even for an instant blotted outthe star on which he stared; no touch on his shoulder, no whisper inhis ear. It had seemed as he strove there, in the silence, that itmust be done; that there was no limit to power concentrated andintense. Yet it had not happened. .. . 

Once he had shuddered a little; and the very shudder of fear had hadin it a touch of delicious, trembling expectation. Yet it had nothappened. 

Laurie relaxed his muscles therefore, let his breath exhale in a longsigh, and once more remembered the book he had read and Mrs. Stapleton's feverish, self-conscious thought. 

Half an hour later his mother, listening in her bed, heard hisfootsteps pass her room. 

_Chapter III_

I

Lady Laura Bethell, spinster, had just returned to her house inQueen's Gate, with her dearest friend, Mrs. Stapleton, for a few daysof psychical orgy. It was in her house, as much as in any in London, that the modern prophets were to be met with--severe-looking women inshapeless dresses, little men and big, with long hair and cloaks; andit was in her drawing-room that tea and Queen cakes were dispensed toinquirers, and papers read and discussed when the revels were over. 

Lady Laura herself was not yet completely emancipated from what herfriends sometimes called the grave-clothes of so-called Revelation. To her it seemed a profound truth that things could be true and untruesimultaneously--that what might be facts on This Side, as she wouldhave expressed it, might be falsehoods on the Other. She wasaccustomed, therefore, to attend All Saints', Carlton Gardens, in themorning, and psychical drawing-rooms or halls in the evening, and todeclare to her friends how beautifully the one aspect illuminated andinterpreted the other. 

For the rest, she was a small, fair-haired woman, with penciled darkeyebrows, a small aquiline nose, gold pince-nez, and an exquisitetaste in dress. 

The two were seated this Tuesday evening, a week afterMrs. Stapleton's visit to the Stantons, in the drawing-room of theQueen's Gate house, over the remnants of what corresponded tofive-o'clock tea. I say "corresponded, " since both of them weresufficiently advanced to have renounced actual tea altogether. Mrs. Stapleton partook of a little hot water out of a copper-jacketed jug;her hostess of boiled milk. They shared their Plasmon biscuitstogether. These things were considered important for those who wouldsuccessfully find the Higher Light. 

At this instant they were discussing Mr. Vincent. 

"Dearest, he seems to me so different from the others, " mewed LadyLaura. "He is such a man, you know. So often those others are notquite like men at all; they wear such funny clothes, and their hairalways is so queer, somehow. "

"Darling, I know what you mean. Yes, there's a great deal of thatabout James Vincent. Even dear Tom was almost polite to him: hecouldn't bear the others: he said that he always thought they weregoing to paw him. "

"And then his powers, " continued Lady Laura--"his powers always seemto me so much greater. The magnetism is so much more evident. "

Mrs. Stapleton finished her hot water. 

"We are going on Sunday?" she said questioningly. 

"Yes; just a small party. And he comes here tomorrow, you remember, just for a talk. I have asked a clergyman I know in to meet him. Itseems to me such a pity that our religious teachers should know solittle of what is going on. "

"Who is he?"

"Oh, Mr. Jamieson . .. Just a young clergyman I met in the summer. Ipromised to let him know the next time Mr. Vincent came to me. "

Mrs. Stapleton murmured her gratification. 

These two had really a great deal in common besides their faith. It istrue that Mrs. Stapleton was forty, and her friend but thirty-one; butthe former did all that was possible to compensate for this by adroittoilette tactics. Both, too, were accustomed to dress in softmaterials, with long chains bearing various emblems; they did theirhair in the same way; they cultivated the same kinds of tones in theirvoices--a purring, mewing manner--suggestive of intuitive kittens. Both alike had a passion for proselytism. But after that thedifferences began. There was a deal more in Mrs. Stapleton besides thekittenish qualities. She was perfectly capable of delivering a speechin public; she had written some really well-expressed articles invarious Higher periodicals; and she had a will-power beyond theordinary. At the point where Lady Laura began to deprecate and soothe, Mrs. Stapleton began to clear decks for action, so to speak, to beincisive, to be fervent, even to be rather eloquent. She kept "dearTom, " the Colonel, not crushed or beaten, for that was beyond thepower of man to do, but at least silently acquiescent in her program:he allowed her even to entertain her prophetical friends at hisexpense, now and then; and, even when among men, refrained from toobitter speech. It was said by the Colonel's friends that Mrs. Colonelhad a tongue of her own. Certainly, she ruled her house well and didher duty; and it was only because of her husband's absence in Scotlandthat during this time she was permitting herself the refreshment of aweek or two among the Illuminated. 

At about six o'clock Lady Laura announced her intention of retiringfor her evening meditation. Opening out of her bedroom was a smalldressing-room that she had fitted up for this purpose with all thebroad suggestiveness that marks the Higher Thought: decked withornaments emblematical of at least three religions, and provided witha faldstool and an exceedingly easy chair. It was here that she wasaccustomed to spend an hour before dinner, with closed eyes, emancipating herself from the fetters of sense; and rising to a dueappreciation of that Nothingness that was All, from which All came andto which it retired. 

"I must go, dearest; it is time. "

A ring at the bell below made her pause. 

"Do you think that can be Mr. Vincent?" she said, pleasantlyapprehensive. "It's not the right day, but one never knows. "

A footman's figure entered. 

"Mr. Baxter, my lady. .. . Is your ladyship at home?"

"Mr. Baxter--"

Mrs. Stapleton rose. 

"Let me see him instead, dearest. .. . You remember . .. From Stantons. "

"I wonder what he wants?" murmured the hostess. "Yes, do see him, Maud; you can always fetch me if it's anything. "

Then she was gone. Mrs. Stapleton sank into a chair again; and in aminute Laurie was shaking hands with her. 

Mrs. Stapleton was accustomed to deal with young men, and through longhabit had learned how to flatter them without appearing to do so. Laurie's type, however, was less familiar to her. She preferred thekind that grow their hair rather long and wear turn-down collars, andhave just found out the hopeless banality of all orthodoxy whatever. She even bore with them when they called themselves unmoral. But sheremembered Laurie, the silent boy at lunch last week, she had evenmentioned him to Lady Laura, and received information about thevillage girl, more or less correct. She was also aware that he was aCatholic. 

She gave him her hand without rising. 

"Lady Laura asked me to excuse her absence to you, Mr. Baxter. To bequite truthful, she is at home, but had just gone upstairs for hermeditation. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes, you know; we think that so important, just as you do. Do sitdown, Mr. Baxter. You have had tea?"

"Yes, thanks. "

"I hope she will be down before you go. I don't think she'll be verylong this evening. Can I give her any message, Mr. Baxter, in case youdon't see her?"

Laurie put his hat and stick down carefully, and crossed his legs. 

"No; I don't think so, thanks, " he said. "The fact is, I came partlyto find out your address, if I might. "

Mrs. Stapleton rustled and rearranged herself. 

"Oh! but that's charming of you, " she said. "Is there anythingparticular?"

"Yes, " said Laurie slowly; "at least it seems rather particular to me. It's what you were talking about the other day. "

"Now how nice of you to say that! Do you know, I was wondering as wetalked. Now do tell me exactly what is in your mind, Mr. Baxter. "

Mrs. Stapleton was conscious of a considerable sense of pleasure. Usually she found this kind of man very imperceptive and gross. Laurieseemed perfectly at his ease, dressed quite in the proper way, and hadan air of presentableness that usually only went with Philistinism. She determined to do her best. 

"May I speak quite freely, please?" he asked, looking straight at her. 

"Please, please, " she said, with that touch of childish intensity thather friends thought so innocent and beautiful. 

"Well, it's like this, " said Laurie. "I've always rather disliked allthat kind of thing, more than I can say. It did seem to meso--well--so feeble, don't you know; and then I'm a Catholic, you see, and so--"

"Yes; yes?"

"Well, I've been reading Mr. Stainton Moses, and one or two otherbooks; and I must say that an awful lot of it seems to me still greatrubbish; and then there are any amount of frauds, aren't there, Mrs. Stapleton, in that line?"

"Alas! Ah, yes!"

"But then I don't know what to make of some of the evidence thatremains. It seems to me that if evidence is worth anything at all, there must be something real at the back of it all. And then, if thatis so, if it really is true that it is possible to get into actualtouch with people who are dead--I mean really and truly, so thatthere's no kind of doubt about it--well, that does seem to me aboutthe most important thing in the world. Do you see?"

She kept her eyes on his face for an instant or two. Plainly he wasreally moved; his face had gone a little white in the lamplight andhis hands were clasped tightly enough over his knee to whiten theknuckles. She remembered Lady Laura's remarks about the village girl, and understood. But she perceived that she must not attempt intimacyjust yet with this young man: he would resent it. Besides, she wasshrewd enough to see by his manner that he did not altogether likeher. 

She nodded pensively once or twice. Then she turned to him with abright smile. "I understand entirely, " she said. "May I too speakquite freely? Yes? Well, I am so glad you have spoken out. Of course, we are quite accustomed to being distrusted and feared. After all, itis the privilege of all truth-seekers to suffer, is it not? Well, Iwill say what is in my heart. 

"First, you are quite right about some of our workers being dishonestsometimes. They are, Mr. Baxter, I have seen more than one, myself, exposed. But that is natural, is it not? Why, there have been badCatholics, too, have there not? And, after all, we are only human; andthere is a great temptation sometimes not to send people awaydisappointed. You have heard those stories, I expect, Mr. Baxter?"

"I have heard of Mr. Eglinton. "

"Ah! Poor Willie. .. . Yes. But he had great powers, for all that. .. . Well, but the point you want to get at is this, is it not? Is itreally true, underneath it all? Is that it?"

Laurie nodded, looking at her steadily. She leaned forward. 

"Mr. Baxter, by all that I hold most sacred, I assure you that it is, that I myself have seen and touched . .. _touched_ . .. My own father, who crossed over twenty years ago. I have received messages from hisown lips . .. And communications in other ways too, concerning mattersonly known to him and to myself. Is that sufficient? No"; (she held upa delicate silencing hand) ". .. No, I will not ask you to take myword. I will ask you to test it for yourself. "

Laurie too leaned forward now in his low chair, his hands claspedbetween his knees. 

"You will--you will let me test it?" he said in a low voice. 

She sat back easily, pushing her draperies straight. She was in somefine silk that fell straight from her high slender waist to hercopper-colored shoes. 

"Listen, Mr. Baxter. Tomorrow there is coming to this house certainlythe greatest medium in London, if not in Europe. (Of course we cannotcompete with the East. We are only children beside them. ) Well, thisman, Mr. Vincent--I think I spoke of him to you last week--he iscoming here just for a talk to one or two friends. There shall be nodifficulty if you wish it. I will speak to Lady Laura before you go. "

Laurie looked at her without moving. 

"I shall be very much obliged, " he said. "You will remember that I amnot yet in the least convinced? I only want to know. "

"That is exactly the right attitude. That is all we have any right toask. We do not ask for blind faith, Mr. Baxter--only for believingafter having seen. "

Laurie nodded slowly. 

"That seems to me reasonable, " he said. 

There was silence for a moment. Then she determined on a bold stroke. 

"There is someone in particular--Mr. Baxter--forgive me forasking--someone who has passed over--?"

She sank her voice to what she had been informed was a sympathetictone, and was scarcely prepared for the sudden tightening of thatface. 

"That is my affair, Mrs. Stapleton. "

Ah well, she had been premature. She would fetch Lady Laura, she said;she thought she might venture for such a purpose. No, she would not beaway three minutes. Then she rustled out. 

Laurie went to the fire to wait, and stood there, mechanically warminghis hands and staring down at that sleeping core of red coal. 

He had taken his courage in both hands in coming at all. In spite ofhis brave words to Maggie, he had been conscious of a curiousrepulsion with regard to the whole matter--a repulsion not only ofcontempt towards the elaborate affectations of the woman he haddetermined to consult. Yet he had come. 

What he had said just now had been perfectly true. He was not yet inthe least convinced, but he was anxious, intensely and passionatelyanxious, goaded too by desire. 

Ah! surely it was absurd and fantastic--here in London, in thiscentury. He turned and faced the lamp-lit room, letting his eyeswander round the picture-hung walls, the blue stamped paper, theEmpire furniture, the general appearance of beautiful comfort and sanemodern life. It was absurd and fantastic; he would be disappointedagain, as he had been disappointed in everything else. These thingsdid not happen--the dead did not return. Step by step those thingsthat for centuries had been deemed evidence of the supernatural, oneby one had been explained and discounted. Hypnotism, water divining, witchcraft, and the rest. All these had once been believed to beindisputable proofs of a life beyond the grave, of strange supernormalpersonalities, and these, one by one, had been either accounted for ordiscredited. It was mad of him to be alarmed or excited. No, he wouldgo through with it, expecting nothing, hoping nothing. But he wouldjust go through with it to satisfy himself. .. . 

The door opened, and the two ladies came in. 

"I am delighted that you called, Mr. Baxter; and on such an errand!"

Lady Laura put out a hand, tremulous with pleasure at welcoming apossible disciple. 

"Mrs. Stapleton has explained--" began Laurie. 

"I understand everything. You come as a skeptic--no, not as a skeptic, but as an inquirer, that is all that we wish. .. . Then tomorrow, atabout half-past four. "

_Chapter IV_

I

It was a mellow October afternoon, glowing towards sunset, as Lauriecame across the south end of the park to his appointment next day; andthe effect of it upon his mind was singularly unsuggestive ofsupernatural mystery. Instead, the warm sky, the lights beginning topeep here and there, though an hour before sunset, turned him ratherin the direction of the natural and the domestic. 

He wondered what his mother and Maggie would say if they knew hiserrand, for he had sufficient self-control not to have told them ofhis intentions. As regards his mother he did not care very much. Ofcourse she would deprecate it and feebly dissuade; but he recognizedthat there was no particular principle behind, beyond a sense ofdiscomfort at the unknown. But it was necessary for him to argue withhimself about Maggie. The angry kind of contempt that he knew shewould feel needed an answer; and he gave it by reminding himself thatshe had been brought up in a convent-school, that she knew nothing ofthe world, and that, lastly, he himself did not take the matterseriously. He was aware, too, that the instinctive repulsion that shefelt so keenly found a certain echo in his own feelings; but heexplained this by the novelty of the thing. 

In fact, the attitude of mind in which he more or less succeeded inarraying himself was that of one who goes to see a serious conjurer. It would be rather fun, he thought, to see a table dancing. But therewas not wholly wanting that inexplicable tendency of some naturesdeliberately to deceive themselves on what lies nearest to theirhearts. 

Mr. Vincent had not yet arrived when he was shown upstairs, eventhough Laurie himself was late. (This was partly deliberate. Hethought it best to show a little nonchalance. ) There was only a youngclergyman in the room with the ladies; and the two were introduced. 

"Mr. Baxter--Mr. Jamieson. "

He seemed a harmless young man, thought Laurie, and plainly a littlenervous at the situation in which he found himself, as might agreyhound carry himself in a kennel of well-bred foxhounds. He wasvery correctly dressed, with Roman collar and stock, and obviously hadnot long left a theological college. He had an engaging kind ofcourtesy, ecclesiastically cut features, and curly black hair. He satbalancing a delicate cup adroitly on his knee. 

"Mr. Jamieson is so anxious to know all that is going on, " explainedLady Laura, with a voluble frankness. "He thinks it so necessary to beabreast of the times, as he said to me the other day. "

Laurie assented, grimly pitying the young man for his indiscreetconfidences. The clergyman looked priggish in his efforts not to doso. 

"He has a class of young men on Sundays, " continued thehostess--"(Another biscuit, Maud darling?)--whom he tries to interestin all modern movements. He thinks it so important. "

Mr. Jamieson cleared his throat in a virile manner. 

"Just so, " he said; "exactly so. "

"And so I told him he must really come and meet Mr. Vincent. .. . Ican't think why he is so late; but he has so many calls upon his time, that I am sure I wonder--"

"Mr. Vincent, " announced the footman. 

A rather fine figure of a man came forward into the room, dressed inmuch better taste than Laurie somehow had expected, and not at alllike the type of an insane dissenting minister in broadcloth which hehad feared. Instead, it was a big man that he saw, stooping a little, inclined to stoutness, with a full curly beard tinged with grey, rather overhung brows, and a high forehead, from which the same kindof curly greyish hair was beginning to retreat. He was in a well-cutfrock-coat and dark trousers, with the collar of the period and a darktie. 

Lady Laura was in a flutter of welcome, pouring out little sentences, leading him to a seat, introducing him, and finally pressingrefreshments into his hands. 

"It is too good of you, " she said; "too good of you, with all yourengagements. .. . These gentlemen are most anxious. .. . Mrs. Stapleton ofcourse you know. .. . And you will just sit and talk to us . .. Likefriends . .. Won't you. .. . No, no! no formal speech at all . .. Just afew words . .. And you will allow us to ask you questions. .. . "

And so on. 

Meanwhile Laurie observed the high-priest carefully and narrowly, andwas quite unable to see any of the unpleasant qualities he hadexpected. He sat easily, without self-consciousness or arrogance orunpleasant humility. He had a pair of pleasant, shrewd, and ratherkind eyes; and his voice, when he said a word or two in answer to LadyLaura's volubility, was of that resonant softness that is always adelight to hear. In fact, his whole bearing and personality was thatof a rather exceptional average man--a publisher, it might be, or aretired lawyer--a family man with a sober round of life and ordinaryduties, who brought to their fulfillment a wholesome, kindly, butdistinctly strong character of his own. Laurie hardly knew whether hewas pleased or disappointed. He would almost have preferred a wildcreature with rolling eyes, in a cloak; yet he would have beensecretly amused and contemptuous at such a man. 

"The sitting is off for Sunday, by the way, Lady Laura, " said thenew-comer. 

"Indeed! How is that?"

"Oh! there was some mistake about the rooms; it's the secretary'sfault; you mustn't blame me. "

Lady Laura cried out her dismay and disappointment, and Mrs. Stapleton played chorus. It was _too_ tiresome, they said, _too_provoking, particularly just now, when "Annie" was so complacent. (Mrs. Stapleton explained kindly to the two young gentlemen that"Annie" was a spirit who had lately made various very interestingrevelations. ) What was to be done? Were there no other rooms?

Mr. Vincent shook his head. It was too late, he said, to makearrangements now. 

While the ladies continued to buzz, and Mr. Jamieson to listen fromthe extreme edge of his chair, Laurie continued to make mentalcomments. He felt distinctly puzzled by the marked difference betweenthe prophet and his disciples. These were so shallow; this soimpressive by the most ordinary of all methods, and the most difficultof imitation, that is, by sheer human personality. He could not graspthe least common multiple of the two sides. Yet this man toleratedthese women, and, indeed, seemed very kind and friendly towards them. He seemed to possess that sort of competence which rises from the factof having well-arranged ideas and complete certitude about them. 

And at last a pause came. Mr. Vincent set down his cup for the secondtime, refused buttered bun, and waited. 

"Yes, do smoke, Mr. Vincent. "

The man drew out his cigarette-case, smiling, offering it to the twomen. Laurie took one; the clergyman refused. 

"And now, Mr. Vincent. "

Again he smiled, in a half-embarrassed way. 

"But no speeches, I think you said, " he remarked. 

"Oh! well, you know what I mean; just like friends, you know. Treatus all like that. "

Mrs. Stapleton rose, came nearer the circle, rustled down again, andsank into an elaborate silence. 

"Well, what is it these gentlemen wish to hear?"

"Everything--everything, " cried Lady Laura. "They claim to knownothing at all. "

Laurie thought it time to explain himself a little. He felt he wouldnot like to take this man at an unfair advantage. 

"I should just like to say this, " he said. "I have told Mrs. Stapletonalready. It is this. I must confess that so far as I am concerned I amnot a believer. But neither am I a skeptic. I am just a real agnosticin this matter. I have read several books; and I have been impressed. But there's a great deal in them that seems to me nonsense; perhaps Ihad better say which I don't understand. This materializing business, for instance. .. . I can understand that the minds of the dead canaffect ours; but I don't see how they can affect matter--intable-rapping, for instance, and still more in appearing, and ourbeing able to touch and see them. .. . I think that's my position, " heended rather lamely. 

The fact was that he was a little disconcerted by the other's eyes. They were, as I have said, kind and shrewd eyes, but they had a gooddeal of power as well. Mr. Vincent sat motionless during this littlespeech, just looking at him, not at all offensively, yet with theeffect of making the young man feel rather like a defiant and naughtylittle boy who is trying to explain. 

Laurie sat back and drew on his cigarette rather hard. 

"I understand perfectly, " said the steady voice. "You are in a veryreasonable position. I wish all were as open-minded. May I say a wordor two?"

"Please. "

"Well, it is materialization that puzzles you, is it?"

"Exactly, " said Laurie. "Our theologians tell us--by the way, I am aCatholic. " (The other bowed a little. ) "Our theologians, I believe, tell us that such a thing cannot be, except under peculiarcircumstances, as in the lives of the saints, and so on. "

"Are you bound to believe all that your theologians say?" asked theother quietly. 

"Well, it would be very rash indeed--" began Laurie. 

"Exactly, I see. But what if you approach it from the other side, andtry to find out instead whether these things actually do happen. I donot wish to be rude, Mr. Baxter; but you remember that yourtheologians--I am not so foolish as to say the Church, for I know thatthat was not so--but your theologians, you know, made a mistake aboutGalileo. "

Laurie winced a little. Mr. Jamieson cleared his throat in gentleapproval. 

"Now I don't ask you to accept anything contrary to your faith, " wenton the other gently; "but if you really wish to look into this matter, you must set aside for the present all other presuppositions. You mustnot begin by assuming that the theologians are always right, nor evenin asking how or why these things should happen. The one point is, _Dothey happen?_"

His last words had a curious little effect as of a sudden flame. Hehad spoken smoothly and quietly; then he had suddenly put anunexpected emphasis into the little sentence at the end. Lauriejumped, internally. Yes, that was the point, he assented internally. 

"Now, " went on the other, again in that slow, reassuring voice, flicking off the ash of his cigarette, "is it possible for you todoubt that these things happen? May I ask you what books you haveread?"

Laurie named three or four. 

"And they have not convinced you?"

"Not altogether. "

"Yet you accept human evidence for a great many much more remarkablethings than these--as a Catholic. "

"That is Divine Revelation, " said Laurie, sure of his ground. 

"Pardon me, " said the other. "I do not in the least say it is notDivine Revelation--that is another question--but you receive thestatement that it is so, on the word of man. Is that not true?"

Laurie was silent. He did not quite know what to say; and he almostfeared the next words. But he was astonished that the other did notpress home the point. 

"Think over that, Mr. Baxter. That is all I ask. And now for the realthing. You sincerely wish to be convinced?"

"I am ready to be convinced. "

The medium paused an instant, looking intently at the fire. Then hetossed the stump of his cigarette away and lighted another. The twoladies sat motionless. 

"You seem fond of _a priori_ arguments, Mr. Baxter, " he began, with akindly smile. "Let us have one or two, then. 

"Consider first the relation of your soul to your body. That isinfinitely mysterious, is it not? An emotion rises in your soul, and aflush of blood marks it. That is the subconscious mechanism of yourbody. But to say that, does not explain it. It is only a label. Youfollow me? Yes? Or still more mysterious is your conscious power. Youwill to raise your hand, and it obeys. Muscular action? Oh yes; butthat is but another label. " He turned his eyes, suddenly somber, uponthe staring, listening young man, and his voice rose a little. "Goright behind all that, Mr. Baxter, down to the mysteries. What is thatlink between soul and body? You do not know! Nor does the wisestscientist in the world. Nor ever will. Yet there the link is!"

Again he paused. 

Laurie was aware of a rising half-excited interest far beyond thepower of the words he heard. Yet the manner of these too was striking. It was not the sham mysticism he had expected. There was a certainreverence in them, an admitting of mysteries, that seemed hard toreconcile with the ideas he had formed of the dogmatism of these folk. 

"Now begin again, " continued the quiet, virile voice. "You believe, asa Christian, in the immortality of the soul, in the survival ofpersonality after death. Thank God for that! All do not, in thesedays. Then I need not labor at that. 

"Now, Mr. Baxter, imagine to yourself some soul that you have lovedpassionately, who has crossed over to the other side. " Laurie drew along, noiseless breath, steadying himself with clenched hands. "Shehas come to the unimaginable glories, according to her measure; she isat an end of doubts and fears and suspicions. She knows because shesees. .. . But do you think that she is absorbed in these things? Youknow nothing of human love, Mr. Baxter" (the voice trembled withgenuine emotion) . .. "if you can think that. .. ! If you can think thather thought turns only to herself and her joys. Why, her life has beenlived in your love by our hypothesis--you were at her bedside when shedied, perhaps; and she clung to you as to God Himself, when the shadowdeepened. Do you think that her first thought, or at least her second, will not be of you. .. ? In all that she sees, she will desire you tosee it also. She will strive, crave, hunger for you--not that she maypossess you, but that you may be one with her in her own possession;she will send out vibration after vibration of sympathy and longing;and you, on this side, will be tuned to her as none other can be--you, on this side, will be empty for her love, for the sight and sound ofher. .. . Is death then so strong?--stronger than love? Can a Christianbelieve that?"

The change in the man was extraordinary. His heavy beard and brows hidhalf his face, but his whole being glowed passionately in his voice, even in his little trembling gestures, and Laurie sat astonished. Every word uttered seemed to fit his own case, to express by an almostperfect vehicle the vague thoughts that had struggled in his own heartduring this last week. It was Amy of whom the man spoke, Amy with hereyes and hair, peering from the glorious gloom to catch some glimpseof her lover in his meaningless light of earthly day. 

Mr. Vincent cleared his throat a little, and at the sound the twomotionless women stirred and rustled a little. The sound of a hansom, the spanking trot and wintry jingle of bells swelled out of thedistance, passed, and went into silence before he spoke again. Then itwas in his usual slow voice that he continued. 

"Conceive such a soul as that, Mr. Baxter. She desires to communicatewith one she loves on earth, with you or me, and it is a human andinnocent desire. Yet she has lost that connection, that machinery ofwhich we have spoken--that connection of which we know nothing, between matter and spirit, except that it exists. What is she to do?Well, at least she will do this, she will bend every power that shepossesses upon that medium--I mean matter--through which alone thecommunication can be made; as a man on an island, beyond the power ofa human voice, will use any instrument, however grotesque, to signalto a passing ship. Would any decent man, Mr. Baxter, mock at thepathos and effort of that, even if it were some grotesque thing, likea flannel shirt on the end of an oar? Yet men mock at the tapping of atable. .. !

"Well, then, this longing soul uses every means at her disposal, concentrates every power she possesses. Is it so very unreasonable, sovery unchristian, so very dishonoring to the love of God, to thinkthat she sometimes succeeds. .. ? that she is able, under comparativelyexceptional circumstances, to re-establish that connection withmaterial things, that was perfectly normal and natural to her duringher earthly life. .. . Tell me, Mr. Baxter. "

Laurie shifted a little in his chair. 

"I cannot say that it is, " he said, in a voice that seemed strange inhis own ears. The medium smiled a little. 

"So much for _a priori_ reasoning, " he said. "There remains only thefact whether such things do happen or not. There I must leave you toyourself, Mr. Baxter. "

Laurie sat forward suddenly. 

"But that is exactly where I need your help, sir, " he said. 

A murmur broke from the ladies' lips simultaneously, resemblingapplause. Mr. Jamieson sat back and swallowed perceptibly in histhroat. 

"You have said so much, sir, " went on Laurie deliberately, "that youhave, so to speak, put yourself in my debt. I must ask you to take mefurther. "

Mr. Vincent smiled full at him. 

"You must take your place with others, " he said. "These ladies--"

"Mr. Vincent, Mr. Vincent, " cried Lady Laura. "He is quite right, youmust help him. You must help us all. "

"Well, Sunday week, " he began deprecatingly. 

Mrs. Stapleton broke in. 

"No, no; now, Mr. Vincent, now. Do something now. Surely thecircumstances are favorable. "

"I must be gone again at six-thirty, " said the man hesitatingly. 

Laurie broke in. He felt desperate. 

"If you can show me anything of this, sir, you can surely show it now. If you do not show it now--"

"Well, Mr. Baxter?" put in the voice, sharp and incisive, as ifexpecting an insult and challenging it. 

Laurie broke down. 

"I can only say, " he cried, "that I beg and entreat of you to do whatyou can--now and here. "

There was a silence. 

"And you, Mr. Jamieson?"

The young clergyman started, as if from a daze. Then he rose abruptly. 

"I--I must be going, Lady Laura, " he said. "I had no idea it was solate. I--I have a confirmation class. "

An instant later he was gone. 

"That is as well, " observed the medium. "And you are sure, Mr. Baxter, that you wish me to try? You must remember that I promise nothing. "

"I wish you to try. "

"And if nothing happens?"

"If nothing happens, I will promise to--to continue my search. I shallknow then that--that it is at least sincere. "

Mr. Vincent rose to his feet. 

"A little table just here, Lady Laura, if you please, and a pencil andpaper. .. . Will you kindly take your seats. .. ? Yes, Mr. Baxter, draw upyour chair . .. Here. Now, please, we must have complete silence, and, so far as possible, silence of thought. "

II

The table, a small, round rosewood one, stood, bare of any cloth, uponthe hearthrug. The two ladies sat, motionless statues once more, uponthe side furthest from the fire, with their hands resting lightly uponthe surface. Laurie sat on one side and the medium on the other. Mr. Vincent had received his paper and pencil almost immediately, and nowsat resting his right hand with the pencil upon the paper as if towrite, his left hand upon his knee as he sat, turned away slightlyfrom the center. 

Laurie looked at him closely. .. . 

And now he began to be aware of a certain quite indefinable change inthe face at which he looked. The eyes were open--no, it was not inthem that the change lay, nor in the lines about the mouth, so far ashe could see them, nor in any detail, anywhere. Neither was it theface of a dreamer or a sleepwalker, or of the dead, when the linesdisappear and life retires. It was a living, conscious face, yet itwas changed. The lips were slightly parted, and the breath came evenlybetween them. It was more like the face of one lost in deep, absorbed, introspective thought. Laurie decided that this was the explanation. 

He looked at the hand on the paper--well shaped, brownish, capable--perfectly motionless, the pencil held lightly between thefinger and thumb. 

Then he glanced up at the two ladies. 

They too were perfectly motionless, but there was no change in them. The eyes of both were downcast, fixed steadily upon the paper. And ashe looked he saw Lady Laura begin to lift her lids slowly as if toglance at him. He looked himself upon the paper and the motionlessfingers. 

He was astonished at the speed with which the situation had developed. Five minutes ago he had been listening to talk, and joining in it. The clergyman had been here; he himself had been sitting a yardfurther back. Now they sat here as if they had sat for an hour. Itseemed that the progress of events had stopped. .. . 

Then he began to listen for the sounds of the world outside, forwithin here it seemed as if a silence of a very strange quality hadsuddenly descended and enveloped them. It was as if a section--thatplace in which he sat--had been cut out of time and space. It wasapart here, it was different altogether. .. . 

He began to be intensely and minutely conscious of the worldoutside--so entirely conscious that he lost all perception of that atwhich he stared; whether it was the paper, or the strong, motionlesshand, or the introspective face, he was afterwards unaware. But heheard all the quiet roar of the London evening, and was able todistinguish even the note of each instrument that helped to make upthat untiring, inconclusive orchestra. Far away to the northwardssounded a great thoroughfare, the rolling of wheels, a myriad hoofs, the pulse of motor vehicles, and the cries of street boys; upon allthese his attention dwelt as they came up through the outward windowsinto that dead silent, lamp-lit room of which he had lostconsciousness. Again a hansom came up the street, with the rap ofhoofs, the swish of a whip, the wintry jingle of bells. .. . 

He began gently to consider these things, to perceive, rather than toform, little inward pictures of what they signified; he saw thelighted omnibus, the little swirl of faces round a news-board. 

Then he began to consider what had brought him here; it seemed that hesaw himself, coming in his dark suit across the park, turning into thethoroughfare and across it. He began to consider Amy; and it seemed tohim that in this intense and living silence he was conscious of herfor the first time without sorrow since ten days ago. He began toconsider. 

 * * * * *

Something brought him back in an instant to the room and hisperception of it, but he had not an idea what this was, whether amovement or a sound. But on considering it afterwards he rememberedthat it was as that sound is that wakes a man at the very instant ofhis falling asleep, a sharp momentary tick, as of a clock. Yet he hadnot been in the least sleepy. 

On the contrary, he perceived now with an extreme and alert attentionthe hand on the paper; he even turned his head slightly to see if thepencil had moved. It was as motionless as at the beginning. He glancedup, with a touch of surprise, at his hostess's face, and caught her inthe very act of turning her eyes from his. There was no impatience inher movement: rather her face was of one absorbed, listening intently, not like the bearded face opposite, introspective and intuitive, buteagerly, though motionlessly, observant of the objective world. Helooked at Mrs. Stapleton. She too bore the same expression of intentregarding thought on her usually rather tiresome face. 

Then once again the silence began to come down, like a long, noiselesshush. 

This time, however, his progress was swifter and more sure. He passedwith the speed of thought through those processes that had beenmeasurable before, faintly conscious of the words spoken before thesitting began--

". .. If possible, the silence of thought. "

He thought he understood now what this signified, and that he wasexperiencing it. No longer did he dwell upon, or consider, with anyvoluntary activity, the images that passed before him. Rather theymoved past him while he simply regarded them without understanding. His perception ran swiftly outwards, as through concentric circles, yet he was not sure whether it were outwards or inwards that he went. The roar of London, with its flight of ocular visions, sank behindhim, and without any further sense of mental travel, he found himselfperceiving his own home, whether in memory, imagination, or fact hedid not know. But he perceived his mother, in the familiar lamp-litroom, over her needlework, and Maggie--Maggie looking at him with astrange, almost terrified expression in her great eyes. Then these toowere gone; and he was out in some warm silence, filled with a singlepresence--that which he desired; and there he stopped. 

 * * * * *

He was not in the least aware of how long this lasted. But he foundhimself at a certain moment in time, looking steadily at the whitepaper on the table, from which the hand had gone, again conscious ofthe sudden passing of some clear sound that left no echo--as sharp asthe crack of a whip. Oh! the paper--that was the important point! Hebent a little closer, and was aware of a sharp disappointment as hesaw it was stainless of writing. Then he was astonished that the handand pencil had gone from it, and looked up quickly. 

Mr. Vincent was looking at him with a strange expression. 

At first he thought he might have interrupted, and wondered withdismay whether this were so. But there was no sign of anger in thoseeyes--nothing but a curious and kindly interest. 

"Nothing happened?" he exclaimed hastily. "You have written nothing?"

He looked at the ladies. 

Lady Laura too was looking at him with the same strange interest asthe medium. Mrs. Stapleton, he noticed, was just folding up, in anunobtrusive manner, several sheets of paper that he had not noticedbefore. 

He felt a little stiff, and moved as if to stand up but, to hisastonishment, the big man was up in an instant, laying his hands onhis shoulders. 

"Just sit still quietly for a few minutes, " said the kindlyvoice. "Just sit still. "

"Why--why--" began Laurie, bewildered. 

"Yes, just sit still quietly, " went on the voice; "you feel a littletired. "

"Just a little, " said Laurie. "But--"

"Yes, yes; just sit still. No; don't speak. "

Then a silence fell again. 

Laurie began to wonder what this was all about. Certainly he felttired, yet strangely elated. But he felt no inclination to move; andsat back, passive, looking at his own hands on his knees. But he wasdisappointed that nothing had happened. 

Then the thought of time came into his mind. He supposed that it wouldbe about ten minutes past six. The sitting had begun a little beforesix. He glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece; but it was one ofthose bulgy-faced Empire gilt affairs that display everything exceptthe hour. He still waited a moment, feeling all this to be veryunusual and unconventional. Why should he sit here like an invalid, and why should these three sit here and watch him so closely?

He shifted a little in his chair, feeling that an effort was due fromhim. The question of the time of day struck him as a suitablyconventional remark with which to break the embarrassing silence. 

"What is the time?" he said. "I am afraid I ought to be--"

"There is plenty of time, " said the grave voice across the table. 

With a sudden movement Laurie was on his feet, peering at the clock, knowing that something was wrong somewhere. Then he turned to thecompany bewildered and suspicious. 

"Why, it is nearly eight, " he cried. 

Mr. Vincent smiled reassuringly. 

"It is about that, " he said. "Please sit down again, Mr. Baxter. "

"But--but--" began Laurie. 

"Please sit down again, Mr. Baxter, " repeated the voice, with a touchof imperiousness that there was no resisting. 

Laurie sat down again; but he was alert, suspicious, and intenselypuzzled. 

"Will you kindly tell me what has happened?" he asked sharply. 

"You feel tired?"

"No; I am all right. Kindly tell me what has happened. "

He saw Lady Laura whisper something in an undertone he could nothear. Mr. Vincent stood up with a nod and leaned himself against themantelpiece, looking down at the rather indignant young man. 

"Certainly, " he said. "You are sure you are not exhausted, Mr. Baxter?"

"Not in the least, " said Laurie. 

"Well, then, you passed into trance about five minutes--"

"_What?_"

"You passed into trance about five minutes past six; you came out ofit five minutes ago. "

"Trance?" gasped Laurie. 

"Certainly. A very deep and satisfactory trance. There is nothing tobe frightened of, Mr. Baxter. It is an unusual gift, that is all. Ihave seldom seen a more satisfactory instance. May I ask you aquestion or two, sir?"

Laurie nodded vaguely. He was still trying hopelessly to take in whathad been said. 

"You nearly passed into trance a little earlier. May I ask whether youheard or saw anything that recalled you?"

Laurie shut his eyes tight in an effort to think. He felt dimly ratherproud of himself. 

"It was quite short. Then you came back and looked at Lady Laura. Tryto remember. "

"I remember thinking I had heard a sound. "

The medium nodded. 

"Just so, " he said. 

"That would be the third, " said Lady Laura, nodding sagely. 

"Third what?" said Laurie rather rudely. 

No one paid any attention to him. 

"Now can you give any account of the last hour and a half?" continuedthe medium tranquilly. 

Laurie considered again. He was still a little confused. 

"I remember thinking about the streets, " he said, "and then of my ownhome, and then. .. " He stopped. 

"Yes; and then?"

"Then of a certain private matter. "

"Ah! We must not pry then. But can you answer one question more? Wasit connected with any person who has crossed over?"

"It was, " said Laurie shortly. 

"Just so, " said the medium. 

Laurie felt suspicious. 

"Why do you ask that?" he said. 

Mr. Vincent looked at him steadily. 

"I think I had better tell you, Mr. Baxter; it is more straightforward, though you will not like it. You will be surprised to hear that youtalked very considerably during this hour and a half; and from all thatyou said I should suppose you were controlled by a spirit recentlycrossed over--a young girl who on being questioned gave the name of AmyNugent--"

Laurie sprang to his feet, furious. 

"You have been spying, sir. How dare you--"

"Sit down, Mr. Baxter, or you shall not hear a word more, " rang outthe imperious, unruffled voice. "Sit down this instant. "

Laurie shot a look at the two ladies. Then he remembered himself. Hesat down. 

"I am not at all angry, Mr. Baxter, " came the voice, suave and kindlyagain. "Your thought was very natural. But I think I can prove to youthat you are mistaken. "

Mr. Vincent glanced at Mrs. Stapleton with an almost imperceptiblefrown, then back at Laurie. 

"Let me see, Mr. Baxter. .. . Is there anyone on earth besides yourselfwho knew that you had sat out, about ten days ago or so, under someyew trees in your garden at home, and thought of this young girl--thatyou--"

Laurie looked at him in dumb dismay; some little sound broke from hismouth. 

"Well, is that enough, Mr. Baxter?"

Lady Laura slid in a sentence here. 

"Dear Mr. Baxter, you need not be in the least alarmed. All that haspassed here is, of course, as sacred as in the confessional. We shouldnot dream, without your leave--"

"One moment, " gasped the boy. 

He drove his face into his hands and sat overwhelmed. 

Presently he looked up. 

"But I knew it, " he said. "I knew it. It was just my own self whichspoke. "

The medium smiled. 

"Yes, " he said, "of course that is the first answer. " He placed onehand on the table, leaning forward, and began to play his fingers asif on a piano. Laurie watched the movement, which seemed vaguelyfamiliar. 

"Can you account for that, Mr. Baxter? You did that several times. Itseemed uncharacteristic of you, somehow. "

Laurie looked at him, mute. He remembered now. He half raised a handin protest. 

"And . .. And do you ever stammer?" went on the man. 

Still Laurie was silent. It was beyond belief or imagination. 

"Now if those things were characteristic--"

"Stop, sir, " cried the boy; and then, "But those too might be unconsciousimitation. "

"They might, " said the other. "But then we had the advantage ofwatching you. And there were other things. "

"I beg your pardon?"

"There was the loud continuous rapping, at the beginning and theend. You were awakened twice by these. "

Laurie remained perfectly motionless without a word. He was stillstriving to marshal this flood of mad ideas. It was incredible, amazing. 

Then he stood up. 

"I must go away, " he said. "I--I don't know what to think. "

"You had better stay a little longer and rest, " said the mediumkindly. 

The boy shook his head. 

"I must go at once, " he said. "I cannot trust myself. "

He went out without a word, followed by the medium. The two ladies sateyeing one another. 

"It has been astonishing . .. Astonishing, " sighed Mrs. Stapleton. "What a find!"

There was no more said. Lady Laura sat as one in trance herself. 

Then Mr. Vincent returned. 

"You must not lose sight of that young man, " he said abruptly. "It isan extraordinary case. "

"I have all the notes here, " remarked Mrs. Stapleton. 

"Yes; you had better keep them. He must not see them at present. "

_Chapter V_

I

As the weeks went by Maggie's faint uneasiness disappeared. She wasone of those fortunate persons who, possessing what are known asnerves, are aware of the possession, and discount their effectsaccordingly. 

That uneasiness had culminated a few days after Laurie's departure oneevening as she sat with the old lady after tea--in a sudden touch ofterror at she knew not what. 

"What is the matter, my dear?" the old lady had said without warning. 

Maggie was reading, but it appeared that Mrs. Baxter had noticed herlower her book suddenly, with an odd expression. 

Maggie had blinked a moment. 

"Nothing, " she said. "I was just thinking of Laurie; I don't knowwhy. "

But since then she had been able to reassure herself. Her fancies werebut fancies, she told herself; and they had ceased to trouble her. Theboy's letters to his mother were ordinary and natural: he was readingfairly hard; his coach was as pleasant a person as he had seemed; hehoped to run down to Stantons for a few days at Christmas. There wasnothing whatever to alarm anyone; plainly his ridiculous attitudeabout Spiritualism had been laid by; and, better still, he wasbeginning to recover himself after his sorrow in September. 

It was an extraordinarily peaceful and uneventful life that the twoled together--the kind of life that strengthens previous proclivitiesand adds no new ones; that brings out the framework of character andmotive as dropping water clears the buried roots of a tree. This wasall very well for Mrs. Baxter, whose character was already fullyformed, it may be hoped; but not so utterly satisfactory for the girl, though the process was pleasant enough. 

After Mass and breakfast she spent the morning as she wished, overseeing little extra details of the house--gardening plans, thepoultry, and so forth--and reading what she cared to. The afternoonwas devoted to the old lady's airing; the evening till dinner toanything she wished; and after dinner again to gentle conversation. Very little happened. The Vicar and his wife dined there occasionally, and still more occasionally Father Mahon. Now and then there werevague entertainments to be patronized in the village schoolroom, in anatmosphere of ink and hair-oil, and a mild amount of rather dreary andstately gaiety connected with the big houses round. Mrs. Baxteroccasionally put in appearances, a dignified and aristocratic oldfigure with her gentle eyes and black lace veil; and Maggie went withher. 

The pleasure of this life grew steadily upon Maggie. She was one ofthat fraction of the world that finds entertainment to lie, like thekingdom of God, within. She did not in the least wish to be "amused"or stimulated and distracted. She was perfectly and serenely contentwith the fowls, the garden, her small selected tasks, her religion, and herself. 

The result was, as it always is in such cases, she began to revolveabout three or four main lines of thought, and to make a very fairprogress in the knowledge of herself. She knew her faults quite well;and she was not unaware of her virtues. She knew perfectly that shewas apt to give way to internal irritation, of a strong thoughinvisible kind, when interruptions happened; that she now and thengave way to an unduly fierce contempt of tiresome people, and saidlittle bitter things that she afterwards regretted. She also knew thatshe was quite courageous, that she had magnificent physical health, and that she could be perfectly content with a life that a good manyother people would find narrow and stifling. 

Her own character then was one thing that she had studied--not in theleast in a morbid way--during her life at Stantons. And another thingshe was beginning to study, rather to her own surprise, was thecharacter of Laurie. She began to become a little astonished at thefrequency with which, during a silent drive, or some mild mechanicallabor in the gardens, the image of that young man would rise beforeher. 

Indeed, as has been said, she had new material to work on. She had notrealized till the _affaire_ Amy that boy's astonishing selfishness;and it became for her a rather pleasant psychological exercise tobuild up his characteristics into a consistent whole. It had notstruck her, till this specimen came before her notice, how generosityand egotism, for example, so far from being mutually exclusive, canvery easily be complements, each of the other. 

So then she passed her days--exteriorly a capable and occupied person, interested in half a dozen simple things; interiorly ratherintrospective, rather scrupulous, and intensely interested in thewatching of two characters--her own and her adopted brother's. Mrs. Baxter's character needed no dissection; it was a consistent whole, clear as crystal and as rigid. 

It was still some five weeks before Christmas that Maggie became awareof what, as a British maiden, she ought, of course, to have known longbefore--namely, that she was thinking just a little too much about ayoung man who, so far as was apparent, thought nothing at all abouther. It was true that once he had passed through a period ofsentimentality in her regard; but the extreme discouragement it hadmet with had been enough. 

Her discovery happened in this way. 

Mrs. Baxter opened a letter one morning, smiling contentedly toherself. 

"From Laurie, " she said. Maggie ceased eating toast for a second, tolisten. 

Then the old lady uttered a small cry of dismay. 

"He thinks he can't come, after all, " she said. 

Maggie had a moment of very acute annoyance. 

"What does he say? Why not?" she asked. 

There was a pause. She watched Mrs. Baxter's lips moving slowly, herglasses in place; saw the page turned, and turned again. She tookanother piece of toast. There are few things more irritating than tohave fragments of a letter doled out piecemeal. 

"He doesn't say. He just says he's very busy indeed, and has a greatdeal of way to make up. " The old lady continued reading tranquilly, and laid the letter down. 

"Nothing more?" asked Maggie, consumed with annoyance. 

"He's been to the theatre once or twice. .. . Dear Laurie! I'm glad he'srecovering his spirits. "

Maggie was very angry indeed. She thought it abominable of the boy totreat his mother like that. And then there was the shooting--not much, indeed, beyond the rabbits, which the man who acted as occasionalkeeper told her wanted thinning, and a dozen or two of wildpheasants--yet this shooting had always been done, she understood, atChristmas, ever since Master Laurie had been old enough to hold a gun. 

She determined to write him a letter. 

When breakfast was over, with a resolved face she went to her room. She would really tell this boy a home-truth or two. It was a--asister's place to do so. The mother, she knew well enough, would do nomore than send a little wail, and would end by telling the dear boythat, of course, he knew best, and that she was very happy to thinkthat he was taking such pains about his studies. Someone must pointout to the boy his overwhelming selfishness, and it seemed that no onewas at hand but herself. Therefore she would do it. 

She did it, therefore, politely enough but unmistakably; and as it wasa fine morning, she thought that she would like to step up to thevillage and post it. She did not want to relent; and once the letterwas in the post-box, the thing would be done. 

It was, indeed, a delicious morning. As she passed out through theiron gate the trees overhead, still with a few brown belated leaves, soared up in filigree of exquisite workmanship into a sky of clearNovember blue, as fresh as a hedge-sparrow's egg. The genial sound ofcock-crowing rose, silver and exultant, from the farm beyond the road, and the tiny street of the hamlet looked as clean as a Dutch picture. 

She noticed on the right, just before she turned up to the village onthe left, the grocer's shop, with the name "Nugent" in capitals asbright and flamboyant as on the depot of a merchant king. Mr. Nugentcould be faintly descried within, in white shirt-sleeves and an apron, busied at a pile of cheeses. Overhead, three pairs of lace curtains, each decked with a blue bow, denoted the bedrooms. One of them musthave been Amy's. She wondered which. .. . 

All up the road to the village, some half-mile in length, she ponderedAmy. She had never seen her, to her knowledge; but she had a tolerablyaccurate mental picture of her from Mrs. Baxter's account. .. . Ah! howcould Laurie? How could he. .. ? Laurie, of all people! It was just onemore example. .. . 

After dropping her letter into the box at the corner, she hesitatedfor an instant. Then, with an odd look on her face, she turned sharplyaside to where the church tower pricked above the leafless trees. 

It was a typical little country church, with that odor of therespectable and rather stuffy sanctity peculiar to the class; she hadwrinkled her nose at it more than once in Laurie's company. But shepassed by the door of it now, and, stepping among the wet grasses, came down the little slope among the headstones to where a very whitemarble angel clasped an equally white marble cross. She passed to thefront of this, and looked, frowning a little over the intolerabletaste of the thing. 

The cross, she perceived, was wreathed with a spray of white marbleivory; the angel was a German female, with a very rounded leg emergingbehind a kind of button; and there, at the foot of the cross, was theinscription, in startling black--

 AMY NUGENT

 THE DEAR AND ONLY DAUGHTER

 OF

 AMOS AND MARIA NUGENT

 OF STANTONS

 DIED SEPTEMBER 21st 1901

 RESPECTED BY ALL

 _"I SHALL SEE HER BUT NOT NOW. "_

Below, as vivid as the inscription, there stood out the maker's name, and of the town where he lived. 

 * * * * *

So she lay there, reflected Maggie. It had ended in that. A mound ofearth, cracking a little, and sunken. She lay there, her nervousfingers motionless and her stammer silent. And could there be a moreeloquent monument of what she was. .. ? Then she remembered herself, andsigned herself with the cross, while her lips moved an instant for therepose of the poor girlish soul. Then she stepped up again on to thepath to go home. 

It was as she came near the church gate that she understood herself, that she perceived why she had come, and was conscious for the firsttime of her real attitude of soul as she had stood there, reading theinscription, and, in a flash, there followed the knowledge of theinevitable meaning of it all. 

In a word it was this. 

She had come there, she told herself, to triumph, to gloat. Oh! shespared herself nothing, as she stood there, crimson with shame, togloat over the grave of a rival. Amy was nothing less than that, andshe herself--she, Margaret Marie Deronnais--had given way to jealousyof this grocer's daughter, because . .. Because . .. She had begun tocare, really to care, for the man to whom she had written that letterthis morning, and this man had scarcely said one word to her, or givenher one glance, beyond such as a brother might give to a sister. Therewas the naked truth. 

Her mind fled back. She understood a hundred things now. She perceivedthat that sudden anger at breakfast had been personal disappointment--notat all that lofty disinterestedness on behalf of the mother that she hadpretended. She understood too, now, the meaning of those long contentedmeditations as she went up and down the garden walks, alert forplantains, the meaning of the zeal she had shown, only a week ago, onbehalf of a certain hazel which the gardener wanted to cut down. 

"You had better wait till Mr. Laurence comes home, " she had said. "Ithink he once said he liked the tree to be just there. "

She understood now why she had been so intuitive, so condemnatory, socritical of the boy--it was that she was passionately interested inhim, that it was a pleasure even to abuse him to herself, to call himselfish and self-centered, that all this lofty disapproval was justthe sop that her subconsciousness had used to quiet her uneasiness. 

Little scenes rose before her--all passed almost in a flash oftime--as she stood with her hand on the medieval-looking latch of thegate, and she saw herself in them all as a proud, unmaidenly, pharisaical prig, in love with a man who was not in love with her. 

She made an effort, unlatched the gate, and moved on, a beautiful, composed figure, with great steady eyes and well-cut profile, a modelof dignity and grace, interiorly a raging, self-contemptuous, abjectwretch. 

It must be remembered that she was convent-bred. 

II

By the time that Laurie's answer came, poor Maggie had arranged heremotions fairly satisfactorily. She came to the conclusion, arrived atafter much heart-searching, that after all she was not yet actually inlove with Laurie, but was in danger of being so, and that thereforenow that she knew the danger, and could guard against it, she need notactually withdraw from her home, and bury herself in a convent or theforeign mission-field. 

She arrived at this astonishing conclusion by the following process ofthought. It may be presented in the form of a syllogism. 

 All girls who are in love regard the beloved as a spotless, reproachless hero. 

 Maggie Deronnais did not regard Laurie Baxter as a spotless, reproachless hero. 

 _Ergo. _ Maggie Deronnais was not in love with Laurie Baxter. 

Strange as it may appear to non-Catholic readers, Maggie did notconfide her complications to the ear of Father Mahon. She mentioned, no doubt, on the following Saturday, that she had given way tothoughts of pride and jealousy, that she had deceived herself withregard to a certain action, done really for selfish motives, intothinking she had done it for altruistic motives, and there she leftit. And, no doubt, Father Mahon left it there too, and gave herabsolution without hesitation. 

Then Laurie's answer arrived, and had to be dealt with, that is, ithad to be treated interiorly with a proper restraint of emotions. 

 "My dear Maggie, " he wrote;

 Why all this fury? What have I done? I said to mother that I didn't know for certain whether I could come or not, as I had a lot to do. I don't think she can have given you the letter to read, or you wouldn't have written all that about my being away from home at the one season of the year, etc. Of course I'll come, if you or anybody feels like that. Does mother feel upset too? Please tell me if she ever feels that, or is in the least unwell, or anything. I'll come instantly. As it is, shall we say the 20th of December, and I'll stay at least a week. Will that do?

 Yours, L. B. 

This was a little overwhelming, and Maggie wrote off a penitentletter, refraining carefully, however, from any expressions that mighthave anything of the least warmth, but saying that she was very gladhe was coming, and that the shooting should be seen to. 

She directed the letter; and then sat for an instant looking atLaurie's--at the neat Oxford-looking hand, the artistic appearance ofthe paragraphs, and all the rest of it. 

She would have liked to keep it--to put it with half a dozen othersshe had from him; but it seemed better not. 

Then as she tore it up into careful strips, her conscience smote heragain, shrewdly; and she drew out the top left-hand drawer of thetable at which she sat. 

There they were, a little pile of them, neat and orderly. She lookedat them an instant; then she took them out, turned them quickly to seeif all were there, and then, gathering up the strips of the one shehad received that morning, went over to the wood fire and dropped themin. 

It was better so, she said to herself. 

 * * * * *

The days went pleasantly enough after that. She would not for aninstant allow to herself that any of their smoothness arose from thefact that this boy would be here again in a few weeks. On thecontrary, it was because she had detected a weakness in his regard, she told herself, and had resolutely stamped on it, that she was in soserene a peace. She arranged about the shooting--that is to say, sheinformed the acting keeper that Master Laurie would be home forChristmas as usual--all in an unemotional manner, and went about hervarious affairs without effort. 

She found Mrs. Baxter just a little trying now and then. That ladyhad come to the conclusion that Laurie was unhappy in hisreligion--certainly references to it had dropped out of hisletters--and that Mr. Rymer must set it right. 

"The Vicar must dine here at least twice while Laurie is here, " sheobserved at breakfast one morning. "He has a great influence withyoung men. "

Maggie reflected upon a remark or two, extremely unjust, made byLaurie with regard to the clergyman. 

"Do you think--do you think he understands Laurie, " she said. 

"He has known him for fifteen years, " remarked Mrs. Baxter. 

"Perhaps it's Laurie that doesn't understand him then, " said Maggietranquilly. 

"I daresay. "

"And--and what do you think Mr. Rymer will be able to do?" asked thegirl. 

"Just settle the boy. .. . I don't think Laurie's very happy. Not that Iwould willingly disturb his mind again; I don't mean that, my dear. Iquite understand that your religion is just the one for certaintemperaments, and Laurie's is one of them; but a few helpful wordssometimes--" Mrs. Baxter left it at an aposiopesis, a form of speechshe was fond of. 

There was a grain of truth, Maggie thought, in the old lady's hints, and she helped herself in silence to marmalade. Laurie's letters, which she usually read, did not refer much to religion, or to theBrompton Oratory, as his custom had been at first. She tried to makeup her mind that this was a healthy sign; that it showed that Lauriewas settling down from that slight feverishness of zeal that seemedthe inevitable atmosphere of most converts. Maggie found converts alittle trying now and then; they would talk so much about facts, certainly undisputed, and for that very reason not to be talkedabout. Laurie had been a marked case, she remembered; he wouldn't letthe thing alone, and his contempt of Anglican clergy, whom Maggieherself regarded with respect, was hard to understand. In fact she hadremonstrated on the subject of the Vicar. .. . 

Maggie perceived that she was letting her thoughts run again ondisputable lines; and she made a remark about the Balkan crisis soabruptly that Mrs. Baxter looked at her in bewilderment. 

"You do jump about so, my dear. We were speaking of Laurie, were wenot?"

"Yes, " said Maggie. 

"It's the twentieth he's coming on, is it not?"

"Yes, " said Maggie. 

"I wonder what train he'll come by?"

"I don't know, " said Maggie. 

 * * * * *

A few days before Laurie's arrival she went to the greenhouse to seethe chrysanthemums. There was an excellent show of them. 

"Mrs. Baxter doesn't like them hairy ones, " said the gardener. 

"Oh! I had forgotten. Well, Ferris, on the nineteenth I shall want abig bunch of them. You'd better take those--those hairy ones. And somemaidenhair. Is there plenty?"

"Yes, miss. "

"Can you make a wreath, Ferris?"

"Yes, miss. "

"Well, will you make a good wreath of them, please, for a grave? Themorning of the twentieth will do. There'll be plenty left for thechurch and house?"

"Oh yes, miss. "

"And for Father Mahon?"

"Oh yes, miss. "

"Very well, then. Will you remember that? A good wreath, with fern, onthe morning of the twentieth. If you'll just leave it here I'll callfor it about twelve o'clock. You needn't send it up to the house. "

_Chapter VI_

I

Laurie was sitting in his room after breakfast, filling his briar pipethoughtfully, and contemplating his journey to Stantons. 

It was more than six weeks now since his experience in Queen's Gate, and he had gone through a variety of emotions. Bewildered terror wasthe first, a nervous interest the next, a truculent skepticism thethird; and lately, to his astonishment, the nervous interest had begunto revive. 

At first he had been filled with unreasoning fear. He had walked backas far as the gate of the park, hardly knowing where he went, conscious only that he must be in the company of his fellows; uponfinding himself on the south side of Hyde Park Corner, where travelerswere few, he had crossed over in nervous haste to where he mightjostle human beings. Then he had dined in a restaurant, knowing that aband would be playing there, and had drunk a bottle of champagne; hehad gone to his rooms, cheered and excited, and had leapt instantlyinto bed for fear that his courage should evaporate. For he wasperfectly aware that fear, and a sickening kind of repulsion, formed avery large element in his emotions. For nearly two hours, unless threepersons had lied consummately, he--his essential being, that sleeplessself that underlies all--had been in strange company, had becomeidentified in some horrible manner with the soul of a dead person. Itwas as if he had been informed some morning that he had slept allnight with a corpse under his bed. He woke half a dozen times thatnight in the pleasant curtained bedroom, and each time with the terrorupon him. What if stories were true, and this Thing still haunted theair? It was remarkable, he considered afterwards, how the sign whichhe had demanded had not had the effect for which he had hoped. He wasnot at all reassured by it. 

Then as the days went by, and he was left in peace, his horror beganto pass. He turned the thing over in his mind a dozen times a day, andfound it absorbing. But he began to reflect that, after all, he hadnothing more than he had had before in the way of evidence. Anhypnotic sleep might explain the whole thing. That little revelationhe had made in his unconsciousness, of his sitting beneath the yews, might easily be accounted for by the fact that he himself knew it, that it had been a deeper element in his experience than he had known, and that he had told it aloud. It was no proof of anything more. Thereremained the rapping and what the medium had called his "appearance"during the sleep; but of all this he had read before in books. Whyshould he be convinced any more now than he had been previously?Besides, it was surely doubtful, was it not, whether the rapping, ifit had really taken place, might not be the normal cracks and soundsof woodwork, intensified in the attention of the listeners? or if itwas more than this, was there any proof that it might not be producedin some way by the intense will-power of some living person present?This was surely conceivable--more conceivable, that is, than any otherhypothesis. .. . Besides, what had it all got to do with Amy?

Within a week of his original experience, skepticism was dominant. These lines of thought did their work by incessant repetition. Thenormal life he lived, the large, businesslike face of the lawyer whomhe faced day by day, a theatre or two, a couple of dinners--even thenoise of London streets and the appearance of workaday persons--allthese gradually reassured him. 

When therefore he received a nervous little note from Lady Laura, reminding him of the _séance_ to be held in Baker Street, and begginghis attendance, he wrote a most proper letter back again, thanking herfor her kindness, but saying that he had come to the conclusion thatthis kind of thing was not good for him or his work, and begging herto make his excuses to Mr. Vincent. 

A week or two passed, and nothing whatever happened. Then he heardagain from Lady Laura, and again he answered by a polite refusal, adding a little more as to his own state of mind; and again silencefell. 

Then at last Mr. Vincent called on him in person one evening afterdinner. 

 * * * * *

Laurie's rooms were in Mitre Court, very convenient to the Temple--tworooms opening into one another, and communicating with the staircase. 

He had played a little on his grand piano, that occupied a third ofhis sitting-room, and had then dropped off to sleep before his fire. He awakened suddenly to see the big man standing almost over him, andsat up confusedly. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Baxter; the porter's boy told me to comestraight up. I found your outer door open. "

Laurie hastened to welcome him, to set him down in a deep chair, tooffer whisky and to supply tobacco. There was something about this manthat commanded deference. 

"You know why I have come, I expect, " said the medium, smiling. 

Laurie smiled back, a little nervously. 

"I have come to see whether you will not reconsider your decision. "

The boy shook his head. 

"I think not, " he said. 

"You found no ill effects, I hope, from what happened at LadyLaura's?"

"Not at all, after the first shock. "

"Doesn't that reassure you at all, Mr. Baxter?"

Laurie hesitated. 

"It's like this, " he said; "I'm not really convinced. I don't seeanything final in what happened. "

"Will you explain, please?"

Laurie set the results of his meditations forth at length. There wasnothing, he said, that could not be accounted for by a very abnormalstate of subjectivity. The fact that this . .. This young person's namewas in his mind . .. And so forth. .. . 

". .. And I find it rather distracting to my work, " he ended. "Pleasedon't think me rude or ungrateful, Mr. Vincent. "

He thought he was being very strong and sensible. 

The medium was silent for a moment. 

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that I myself was able to get no resultsthat night?" he said presently. 

"How? I don't understand. "

"Why, as a rule, I find no difficulty at all in getting some sort ofresponse by automatic handwriting. Are you aware that I could donothing at all that night?"

Laurie considered it. 

"Well, " he said at last, "this may sound very foolish to you; butgranting that I have got unusual gifts that way--they are your ownwords, Mr. Vincent--if that is so, I don't see why my ownconcentration of thought, or hypnotic sleep or trance or whatever itwas--might not have been so intense as to--"

"I quite see, " interrupted the other. "That is, of course, conceivablefrom your point of view. It had occurred to me that you might thinkthat. .. . Then I take it that your theory is that the subconscious selfis sufficient to account for it all--that in this hypnotic sleep, ifyou care to call it so, you simply uttered what was in your heart, andidentified yourself with . .. With your memory of that young girl. "

"I suppose so, " said Laurie shortly. 

"And the rapping, loud, continuous, unmistakable?"

"That doesn't seem to me important. I did not actually hear it, youknow. "

"Then what you need is some unmistakable sign?"

"Yes . .. But I see perfectly that this is impossible. Whatever I saidin my sleep, either I can't identify it as true, in which case it isworthless as evidence, or I can identify it, because I already knowit, and in that case it is worthless again. "

The medium smiled, half closing his eyes. 

"You must think us very childish, Mr. Baxter, " he said. 

He sat up a little in his chair; then, putting his hand into hisbreast pocket, drew out a note-book, holding it still closed on hisknee. 

"May I ask you a rather painful question?" he said gently. 

Laurie nodded. He felt so secure. 

"Would you kindly tell me--first, whether you have seen the grave ofthis young girl since you left the country; secondly, whether anyonehappens to have mentioned it to you?"

Laurie swallowed in his throat. 

"Certainly no one has mentioned it to me. And I have not seen it sinceI left the country. "

"How long ago was that?"

"That was . .. About September the twenty-seventh. "

"Thank you. .. !" He opened the note-book and turned the pages a momentor two. "And will you listen to this, Mr. Baxter?--'Tell Laurie thatthe ground has sunk a little above my grave; and that cracks areshowing at the sides. '"

"What is that book?" said the boy hoarsely. 

The medium closed it and returned it to his pocket. 

"That book, Mr. Baxter, contains a few extracts from some of thethings you said during your trance. The sentence I have read is one ofthem, an answer given to a demand made by me that the control shouldgive some unmistakable proof of her identity. She . .. You hesitatedsome time before giving that answer. "

"Who took the notes?"

"Mrs. Stapleton. You can see the originals if you wish. I thought itmight distress you to know that such notes had been taken; but I havehad to risk that. We must not lose you, Mr. Baxter. "

Laurie sat, dumb and bewildered. 

"Now all you have to do, " continued the medium serenely, "is to findout whether what has been said is correct or not. If it is notcorrect, there will be an end of the matter, if you choose. But if itis correct--"

"Stop; let me think!" cried Laurie. 

He was back again in the confusion from which he thought he hadescaped. Here was a definite test, offered at least in goodfaith--just such a test as had been lacking before; and he had nodoubt whatever that it would be borne out by facts. And if itwere--was there any conceivable hypothesis that would explain itexcept the one offered so confidently by this grave, dignified man whosat and looked at him with something of interested compassion in hisheavy eyes? Coincidence? It was absurd. Certainly graves did sink, sometimes--but . .. Thought-transference from someone who noticed thegrave. .. ? But why that particular thought, so vivid, concise, andpointed. .. ?

If it were true. .. ?

He looked hopelessly at the man, who sat smoking quietly and waiting. 

And then again another thought, previously ignored, pierced him like asword. If it were true; if Amy herself, poor pretty Amy, had indeedbeen there, were indeed near him now, hammering and crying out like achild shut out at night, against his own skeptical heart . .. If itwere indeed true that during those two hours she had had her heart'sdesire, and had been one with his very soul, in a manner to which noearthly union could aspire . .. How had he treated her? Even at thisthought a shudder of repulsion ran through him. .. . It was unnatural, detestable . .. Yet how sweet. .. ! What did the Church say of suchthings. .. ? But what if religion were wrong, and this indeed were thesatiety of the higher nature of which marriage was but the materialexpression. .. ?

The thoughts flew swifter than clouds as he sat there, bewildering, torturing, beckoning. He made a violent effort. He must be sane, andface things. 

"Mr. Vincent, " he cried. 

The kindly face turned to him again. 

"Mr. Vincent. .. . "

"Hush, I quite understand, " said the fatherly voice. "It is a shock, Iknow; but Truth is a little shocking sometimes. Wait. I perfectlyunderstand that you must have time. You must think it all over, andverify this. You must not commit yourself. But I think you had betterhave my address. The ladies are a little too emotional, are they not?I expect you would sooner come to see me without them. "

He laid his card on the little tea-table and stood up. 

"Good-night, Mr. Baxter. "

Laurie took his hand, and looked for a moment into the kind eyes. Then the man was gone. 

II

That was a little while ago, now, and Laurie sitting over breakfasthad had time to think it out, and by an act of sustained will tosuspend his judgment. 

He had come back again to the state I have described--to nervousinterest--no more than that. The terror seemed gone, and certainly theskepticism seemed gone too. Now he had to face Maggie and his mother, and to see the grave. .. . 

Somehow he had become more accustomed to the idea that there might bereal and solid truth under it all, and familiarity had bred ease. Yetthere was nervousness there too at the thought of going home. Therewere moods in which, sitting or walking alone, he passionately desiredit all to be true; other moods in which he was acquiescent; but inboth there was a faint discomfort in the thought of meeting Maggie, and a certain instinct of propitiation towards her. Maggie had begunto stand for him as a kind of embodiment of a view of life which wassane, wholesome, and curiously attractive; there was a largeness abouther, a strength, a sense of fresh air that was delightful. It was thatkind of thing, he thought, that had attracted him to her during thispast summer. The image of Amy, on the other hand, more than ever nowsince those recent associations, stood for something quitecontrary--certainly for attractiveness, but of a feverish and vividkind, extraordinarily unlike the other. To express it in terms oftime, he thought of Maggie in the morning, and of Amy in the evening, particularly after dinner. Maggie was cool and sunny; Amy suitedbetter the evening fever and artificial light. 

And now Maggie had to be faced. 

First he reflected that he had not breathed a hint, either to her orhis mother, as to what had passed. They both would believe that he haddropped all this. There would then be no arguing, that at least was acomfort. But there was a curious sense of isolation and divisionbetween him and the girl. 

Yet, after all, he asked himself indignantly, what affair was it ofhers? She was not his confessor; she was just a convent-bred girl whocouldn't understand. He would be aloof and polite. That was theattitude. And he would manage his own affairs. 

He drew a few brisk draughts of smoke from his pipe and stood up. That was settled. 

 * * * * *

It was in this determined mood then that he stepped out on to theplatform at the close of this wintry day, and saw Maggie, radiant infurs, waiting for him, with her back to the orange sunset. 

These two did not kiss one another. It was thought better not. But hetook her hand with a pleasant sense of welcome and home-coming. 

"Auntie's in the brougham, " she said. "There's lots of room for theluggage on the top. .. . Oh! Laurie, how jolly this is!"

It was a pleasant two-mile drive that they had. Laurie sat with hisback to the horses. His mother patted his knee once or twice under thefur rug, and looked at him with benevolent pleasure. It seemed atfirst a very delightful home-coming. Mrs. Baxter asked after Mr. Morton, Laurie's coach, with proper deference. 

But places have as strong a power of retaining associations aspersons, and even as they turned down into the hamlet Laurie was awarethat this was particularly true just now. He carefully did not glanceout at Mr. Nugent's shop, but it was of no use. The whole place was asfull to him of the memory of Amy--and more than the memory, itseemed--as if she was still alive. They drew up at the very gate wherehe had whispered her name; the end of the yew walk, where he had saton a certain night, showed beyond the house; and half a mile behindlay the meadows, darkling now, where he had first met her face to facein the sunset, and the sluice of the stream where they had stoodtogether silent. And all was like a landscape seen through coloredpaper by a child, it was of the uniform tint of death and sorrow. 

Laurie was rather quiet all that evening. His mother noticed it, andit produced a remark from her that for an instant brought his heartinto his mouth. 

"You look a little peaked, dearest, " she said, as she took her bedroomcandlestick from him. "You haven't been thinking any more about thatSpiritualism?"

He handed a candlestick to Maggie, avoiding her eyes. 

"Oh, for a bit, " he said lightly, "but I haven't touched the thing forover two months. "

He said it so well that even Maggie was reassured. She had justhesitated for a fraction of a second to hear his answer, and she wentto bed well content. 

Her contentment was even deeper next morning when Laurie, calling toher through the cheerful frosty air, made her stop at the turning tothe village on her way to church. 

"I'm coming, " he said virtuously; "I haven't been on a weekday forages. "

They talked of this and that for the half-mile before them. At thechurch door she hesitated again. 

"Laurie, I wish you'd come to the Protestant churchyard with me for amoment afterwards, will you?"

He paled so suddenly that she was startled. 

"Why?" he said shortly. 

"I want you to see something. "

He looked at her still for an instant with an incomprehensibleexpression. Then he nodded with set lips. 

When she came out he was waiting for her. She determined to saysomething of regret. 

"Laurie, I'm dreadfully sorry if I shouldn't have said that. .. . I wasstupid. .. . But perhaps--"

"What is it you want me to see?" he said without the faintestexpression in his voice. 

"Just some flowers, " she said. "You don't mind, do you?"

She saw him trembling a little. 

"Was that all?"

"Why yes. .. . What else could it be?"

They went on a few steps without another word. At the church gate hespoke again. 

"Its awfully good of you, Maggie . .. I . .. I'm rather upset still, youknow; that's all. "

He hurried, a little in front of her, over the frosty grass beyond thechurch; and she saw him looking at the grave very earnestly as shecame up. He said nothing for a moment. 

"I'm afraid the monument's rather . .. Rather awful. .. . Do you like theflowers, Laurie?"

She was noticing that the chrysanthemums were a little blackened bythe frost; and hardly attended to the fact that he did not answer. 

"Do you like the flowers?" she said again presently. 

He started from his prolonged stare downwards. 

"Oh yes, yes, " he said; "they're . .. They're lovely. .. . Maggie, thegrave's all right, isn't it: the mound, I mean?"

At first she hardly understood. 

"Oh yes . .. What do you mean?"

He sighed, whether in relief or not she did not know. 

"Only . .. Only I have heard of mounds sinking sometimes, or crackingat the sides. But this one--"

"Oh yes, " interrupted the girl. "But this was very bad yesterday. .. . What's the matter, Laurie?"

He had turned his face with some suddenness, and there was in it alook of such terror that she herself was frightened. 

"What were you saying, Maggie?"

"It was nothing of any importance, " said the girl hurriedly. "Itwasn't in the least disfigured, if that--"

"Maggie, will you please tell me exactly in what condition this gravewas yesterday? When was it put right?"

"I . .. I noticed it when I brought the chrysanthemums up yesterdaymorning. The ground was sunk a little, and cracks were showing at thesides. I told the sexton to put it right. He seems to have done it. .. . Laurie, why do you look like that?"

He was staring at her with an expression that might have meantanything. She would not have been surprised if he had burst into a fitof laughter. It was horrible and unnatural. 

"Laurie! Laurie! Don't look like that!"

He turned suddenly away and left her. She hurried after him. 

On the way to the house he told her the whole story from beginning toend. 

III

The two were sitting together in the little smoking-room at the backof the house on the last night of Laurie's holidays. He was to go backto town next morning. 

Maggie had passed a thoroughly miserable week. She had had to keep herpromise not to tell Mrs. Baxter--not that that lady would have been ofmuch service, but the very telling would be a relief--and thingsreally were not serious enough to justify her telling Father Mahon. 

To her the misery lay, not in any belief she had that thespiritualistic claim was true, but that the boy could be so horriblyexcited by it. She had gone over the arguments again and again withhim, approving heartily of his suggestions as to the earlier part ofthe story, and suggesting herself what seemed to her the most sensibleexplanation of the final detail. Graves did sink, she said, in twocases out of three, and Laurie was as aware of that as herself. Why inthe world should not this then be attributed to the same subconsciousmind as that which, in the hypnotic sleep--or whatever it was--hadgiven voice to the rest of his imaginations? Laurie had shaken hishead. Now they were at it once more. Mrs. Baxter had gone to bed halfan hour before. 

"It's too wickedly grotesque, " she said indignantly. "You can'tseriously believe that poor Amy's soul entered into your mind for anhour and a half in Lady Laura's drawing-room. Why, what's purgatory, then, or heaven? It's so utterly and ridiculously impossible that Ican't speak of it with patience. "

Laurie smiled at her rather wearily and contemptuously. 

"The point, " he said, "is this: Which is the simplest hypothesis? Youand I both believe that the soul is somewhere; and it's natural, isn'tit, that she should want--oh! dash it all! Maggie, I think you shouldremember that she was in love with me--as well as I with her, " headded. 

Maggie made a tiny mental note. 

"I don't deny for an instant that it's a very odd story, " shesaid. "But this kind of explanation is just--oh, I can't speak ofit. You allowed yourself that up to this last thing you didn't reallybelieve it; and now because of this coincidence the whole thing'sturned upside down. Laurie, I wish you'd be reasonable. "

Laurie glanced at her. 

She was sitting with her back to the curtained and shuttered window, beyond which lay the yew-walk; and the lamplight from the tall standfell full upon her. She was dressed in some rich darkish material, herbreast veiled in filmy white stuff, and her round, strong arms lay, bare to the elbow, along the arms of her chair. She was a verypleasant wholesome sight. But her face was troubled, and her greatserene eyes were not so serene as usual. He was astonished at thepersistence with which she attacked him. Her whole personality seemedthrown into her eyes and gestures and quick words. 

"Maggie, " he said, "please listen. I've told you again and again thatI'm not actually convinced. What you say is just conceivably possible. But it doesn't seem to me to be the most natural explanation. The mostnatural seems to me to be what I have said; and you're quite right insaying that it's this last thing that has made the difference. It'sexactly like the grain that turns the whole bottle into solid salt. Itneeded that. .. . But, as I've said, I can't be actually and finallyconvinced until I've seen more. I'm going to see more. I wrote toMr. Vincent this morning. "

"You did?" cried the girl. 

"Don't be silly, please. .. . Yes, I did. I told him I'd be at hisservice when I came back to London. Not to have done that would havebeen cowardly and absurd. I owe him that. "

"Laurie, I wish you wouldn't, " said the girl pleadingly. 

He sat up a little, disturbed by this very unusual air of hers. 

"But if it's all such nonsense, " he said, "what's there to be afraidof?"

"It's--it's morbid, " said Maggie, "morbid and horrible. Of course it'snonsense; but it's--it's wicked nonsense. "

Laurie flushed a little. 

"You're polite, " he said. 

"I'm sorry, " she said penitently. "But you know, really--"

The boy suddenly blazed up a little. 

"You seem to think I've got no heart, " he cried. "Suppose it wastrue--suppose really and truly Amy was here, and--"

A sudden clear sharp sound like the crack of a whip sounded from thecorner of the room. Even Maggie started and glanced at the boy. He wasdead white on the instant; his lips were trembling. 

"What was that?" he whispered sharp and loud. 

"Just the woodwork, " she said tranquilly; "the thaw has set intonight. "

Laurie looked at her; his lips still moved nervously. 

"But--but--" he began. 

"Dear boy, don't you see the state of nerves--"

Again came the little sharp crack, and she stopped. For an instant shewas disturbed; certain possibilities opened before her, and sheregarded them. Then she crushed them down, impatiently and halftimorously. She stood up abruptly. 

"I'm going to bed, " she said. "This is too ridiculous--"

"No, no; don't leave me . .. Maggie . .. I don't like it. "

She sat down again, wondering at his childishness, and yet consciousthat her own nerves, too, were ever so slightly on edge. She would notlook at him, for fear that the meeting of eyes might hint at more thanshe meant. She threw her head back on her chair and remained lookingat the ceiling. But to think that the souls of the dead--ah, howrepulsive!

Outside the night was very still. 

The hard frost had kept the world iron-bound in a sprinkle of snowduring the last two or three days, but this afternoon the thaw hadbegun. Twice during dinner there had come the thud of masses of snowfalling from the roof on to the lawn outside, and the clear sparkle ofthe candles had seemed a little dim and hazy. "It would be a comfortto get at the garden again, " she had reflected. 

And now that the two sat here in the windless silence the thaw becamemore apparent every instant. The silence was profound, and the littlenoises of the night outside, the drip from the eaves slow anddeliberate, the rustle of released leaves, and even the gentle thud onthe lawn from the yew branches--all these helped to emphasize thestillness. It was not like the murmur of day; it was rather like thegnawing of a mouse in the wainscot of some death chamber. 

It requires almost superhumanly strong nerves to sit at night, after aconversation of this kind, opposite an apparently reasonable personwho is white and twitching with terror, even though one resolutelyrefrains from looking at him, without being slightly affected. One mayargue with oneself to any extent, tap one's foot cheerfully on thefloor, fill the mind most painstakingly with normal thoughts; yet itis something of a conflict, however victorious one may be. 

Even Maggie herself became aware of this. 

It was not that now for one single moment she allowed that the twolittle sudden noises in the room could possibly proceed from any causewhatever except that which she had stated--the relaxation of stiffenedwood under the influence of the thaw. Nor had all Laurie's argumentsprevailed to shake in the smallest degree her resolute conviction thatthere was nothing whatever preternatural in his certainly queer story. 

Yet, as she sat there in the lamplight, with Laurie speechless beforeher, and the great curtained window behind, she became conscious of anuneasiness that she could not entirely repel. It was just physical, she said; it was the result of the change of weather; or, at the most, it was the silence that had now fallen and the proximity of aterrified boy. 

She looked across at him again. 

He was lying back in the old green arm-chair, his eyes rather shadowedfrom the lamp overhead, quite still and quiet, his hands stillclasping the lion bosses of his chair-arms. Beside him, on the littletable, lay his still smoldering cigarette-end in the silver tray. .. . 

Maggie suddenly sprang to her feet, slipped round the table, andcaught him by the arm. 

"Laurie, Laurie, wake up. .. . What's the matter?"

A long shudder passed through him. He sat up, with a bewildered look. 

"Eh? What is it?" he said. "Was I asleep?"

He rubbed his hands over his eyes and looked round. 

"What is it, Maggie? Was I asleep?"

Was the boy acting? Surely it was good acting! Maggie threw herselfdown on her knees by the chair. 

"Laurie! Laurie! I beg you not to go to see Mr. Vincent. It's bad foryou. .. . I do wish you wouldn't. "

He still blinked at her a moment. 

"I don't understand. What do you mean, Maggie?"

She stood up, ashamed of her impulsiveness. 

"Only I wish you wouldn't go and see that man. Laurie, please don't. "

He stood up too, stretching. Every sign of nervousness seemed gone. 

"Not see Mr. Vincent? Nonsense; of course I shall. You don'tunderstand, Maggie. "

_Chapter VII_

I

"What a relief, " sighed Mrs. Stapleton. "I thought we had lost him. "

The three were sitting once again in Lady Laura's drawing-room soonafter lunch. Mr. Vincent had just looked in with Laurie's note to givethe news. It was a heavy fog outside, woolly in texture and orange incolor, and the tall windows seemed opaque in the lamplight; the room, by contrast, appeared a safe and pleasant refuge from the reek andstinging vapor of the street. 

Mrs. Stapleton had been lunching with her friend. The Colonel hadreturned for Christmas, so his wife's duties had recalled her for thepresent from those spiritual conversations which she had enjoyed inthe autumn. It was such a refreshment, she had said with a patientsmile, to slip away sometimes into the purer atmosphere. 

Mr. Vincent folded the letter and restored it to his pocket. 

"We must be careful with him, " he said. "He is extraordinarilysensitive. I almost wish he were not so developed. Temperaments likehis are apt to be thrown off their balance. "

Lady Laura was silent. 

For herself she was not perfectly happy. She had lately come acrossone or two rather deplorable cases. A very promising girl, daughter ofa publican in the suburbs, had developed the same kind of powers, andthe end of it all had been rather a dreadful scene in Baker Street. She was now in an asylum. A friend of her own, too, had lately takento lecturing against Christianity in rather painful terms. Lady Laurawondered why people could not be as well balanced as herself. 

"I think he had better not come to the public _séances_ at present, "went on the medium. "That, no doubt, will come later; but I was goingto ask a great favor from you, Lady Laura. "

She looked up. 

"That bother about the rooms is not yet settled, and the Sunday_séances_ will have to cease for the present. I wonder if you wouldlet us come here, just a few of us only, for three or four Sundays, atany rate. "

She brightened up. 

"Why, it would be the greatest pleasure, " she said. "But what aboutthe cabinet?"

"If necessary, I would send one across. Will you allow me to makearrangements?"

Mrs. Stapleton beamed. 

"What a privilege!" she said. "Dearest, I quite envy you. I am afraiddear Tom would never consent--"

"There are just one or two things on my mind, " went on Mr. Vincent sopleasantly that the interruption seemed almost a compliment, "and thefirst is this. I want him to see for himself. Of course, forourselves, his trance is the point; but hardly for him. He istremendously impressed; I can see that; though he pretends not tobe. But I should like him to see something unmistakable as soon aspossible. We must prevent his going into trance, if possible. .. . Andthe next thing is his religion. "

"Catholics are supposed not to come, " observed Mrs. Stapleton. 

"Just so. .. . Mr. Baxter is a convert, isn't he. .. ? I thought so. "

He mused for a moment or two. 

The ladies had never seen him so interested in an amateur. Usually hismanner was remarkable for its detachment and severe assurance; but itseemed that this case excited even him. Lady Laura was filled againwith sudden compunction. 

"Mr. Vincent, " she said, "do you really think there is no danger forthis boy?"

He glanced up at her. 

"There is always danger, " he said. "We know that well enough. We canbut take precautions. But pioneers always have to risk something. "

She was not reassured. 

"But I mean special danger. He is extraordinarily sensitive, you know. There was that girl from Surbiton. .. . "

"Oh! she was exceptionally hysterical. Mr. Baxter's not like that. Ido not see that he runs any greater risk than we run ourselves. "

"You are sure of that?"

He smiled deprecatingly. 

"I am sure of nothing, " he said. "But if you feel you would soonernot--"

Mrs. Stapleton rustled excitedly, and Lady Laura grabbed at herretreating opportunity. 

"No, no, " she cried. "I didn't mean that for one moment. Please, please come here. I only wondered whether there was any particularprecaution--"

"I will think about it, " said the medium. "But I am sure we must becareful not to shock him. Of course, we don't all take the same viewabout religion; but we can leave that for the present. The point isthat Mr. Baxter should, if possible, see something unmistakable. Therest can take care of itself. .. . Then, if you consent, Lady Laura, wemight have a little sitting here next Sunday night. Would nine o'clocksuit you?"

He glanced at the two ladies. 

"That will do very well, " said the mistress of the house. "And, aboutpreparations--"

"I will look in on Saturday afternoon. Is there anyone particular youthink of asking?"

"Mr. Jamieson came to see me again a few days ago, " suggested LadyLaura tentatively. 

"That will do very well. Then we three and those two. That will bequite enough for the present. "

He stood up--a big, dominating figure--a reassuring man to look at, with his kindly face, his bushy, square beard, and his appearance ofphysical strength. Lady Laura sat vaguely comforted. 

"And about my notes, " asked Maud Stapleton. 

"I think they will not be necessary. .. . Good-day. .. . Saturdayafternoon. "

The two sat on silently for a minute or two after he was gone. 

"What is the matter, dearest?"

Lady Laura's little anxious face did not move. She was staringthoughtfully at the fire. Mrs. Stapleton laid a sympathetic hand onthe other's knee. 

"Dearest--" she began. 

"No; it is nothing, darling, " said Lady Laura. 

 * * * * *

Meanwhile the medium was picking his way through the foggy streets. Figures loomed up, sudden and enormous, and vanished again. Smokyflares of flame shone like spots of painted fire, bright andunpenetrating, from windows overhead; and sounds came to him throughthe woolly atmosphere, dulled and sonorous. It would, so to speak, have been a suitably dramatic setting for his thoughts if he had beenthinking in character, vaguely suggestive of presences and hints andpeeps into the unknown. 

But he was a very practical man. His spiritualistic faith was areality to him, as unexciting as Christianity to the normal Christian;he entertained no manner of doubt as to its truth. 

Beyond all the fraud, the self-deception, the amazing feats of thesubconscious self, there remained certain facts beyond doubting--factswhich required, he believed, an objective explanation, which none butthe spiritualistic thesis offered. He had far more evidence, heconsidered sincerely enough, for his spiritualism than most Christiansfor their Christianity. 

He had no very definite theory as to the spiritual world beyondthinking that it was rather like this world. For him it was peopledwith individualities of various characters and temperaments, ofvarious grades and achievements; and of these a certain number had thepower of communicating under great difficulties with persons on thisside who were capable of receiving such communications. That therewere dangers connected with this process, he was well aware; he hadseen often enough the moral sense vanish and the mental powers decay. But these were to him no more than the honorable wounds to which allwho struggle are liable. The point for him was that here lay the onecertain means of getting into touch with reality. Certainly thatreality was sometimes of a disconcerting nature, and seldom of anilluminating one; he hated, as much as anyone, the tambourinebusiness, except so far as it was essential; and he deplored the factthat, as he believed, it was often the most degraded and the leastsatisfactory of the inhabitants of the other world that most easilygot into touch with the inhabitants of this. Yet, for him, the maintenets of spiritualism were as the bones of the universe; it was theonly religion which seemed to him in the least worthy of seriousattention. 

He had not practiced as a medium for longer than ten or a dozen years. He had discovered, by chance as he thought, that he possessedmediumistic powers in an unusual degree, and had begun then to take upthe life as a profession. He had suffered, so far as he was aware, noill effects from this life, though he had seen others suffer; and, ashis fame grew, his income grew with it. 

It is necessary, then, to understand that he was not a consciouscharlatan; he loathed mechanical tricks such as he occasionally cameacross; he was perfectly and serenely convinced that the powers whichhe possessed were genuine, and that the personages he seemed to comeacross in his mediumistic efforts were what they professed to be; thatthey were not hallucinatory, that they were not the products of fraud, that they were not necessarily evil. He regarded this religion as heregarded science; both were progressive, both liable to error, bothcapable of abuse. Yet as a scientist did not shrink from experimentfor fear of risk, neither must the spiritualist. 

As he picked his way to his lodgings on the north of the park, he wasthinking about Laurie Baxter. That this boy possessed in an unusualdegree what he would have called "occult powers" was very evident tohim. That these powers involved a certain risk was evident too. Heproposed, therefore, to take all reasonable precautions. All thecatastrophes he had witnessed in the past were due, he thought, to atoo rapid development of those powers, or to inexperience. Hedetermined, therefore, to go slowly. 

First, the boy must be convinced; next, he must be attached to thecause; thirdly, his religion must be knocked out of him; fourthly, hemust be trained and developed. But for the present he must not beallowed to go into trance if it could be prevented. It was plain, hethought, that Laurie had a very strong "affinity, " as he would havesaid, with the disembodied spirit of a certain "Amy Nugent. " Hiscommunication with her had been of a very startling nature in itsrapidity and perfection. Real progress might be made, then, throughthis channel. 

 * * * * *

Yes; I am aware that this sounds grotesque nonsense. 

II

Laurie came back to town in a condition of interior quietness thatrather astonished him. He had said to Maggie that he was notconvinced; and that was true so far as he knew. Intellectually, thespiritualistic theory was at present only the hypothesis that seemedthe most reasonable; yet morally he was as convinced of its truth asof anything in the world. And this showed itself by the quietness inwhich he found his soul plunged. 

Moral conviction--that conviction on which a man acts--does not alwayscoincide with the intellectual process. Occasionally it outruns it;occasionally lags behind; and the first sign of its arrival is thecessation of strain. The intellect may still be busy, arranging, sorting, and classifying; but the thing itself is done, and the soulleans back. 

A certain amount of excitement made itself felt when he found Mr. Vincent's letter waiting for his arrival to congratulate him on hisdecision, and to beg him to be at Queen's Gate not later thanhalf-past eight o'clock on the following Sunday; but it was not morethan momentary. He knew the thing to be inevitably true now; the timeand place at which it manifested itself was not supremely important. 

Yes, he wrote in answer; he would certainly keep the appointmentsuggested. 

He dined out at a restaurant, returned to his rooms, and sat down toarrange his ideas. 

 * * * * *

These, to be frank, were not very many, nor very profound. 

He had already, in the days that had passed since his shock, nolighter because expected, when he had learned from Maggie that thetest was fulfilled, and that a fact known to no one present, not evenhimself, in Queen's Gate, had been communicated through hislips--since that time the idea had become familiar that the veilbetween this world and the next was a very thin one. After all, alarge number of persons in the world believe that, as it is; and theyare not, in consequence, in a continuous state of exaltation. Lauriehad learned this, he thought, experimentally. Very well, then, thatwas so; there was no more to be said. 

Next, the excitement of the thought of communicating with Amy inparticular had to a large extent burned itself out. It was nearly fourmonths since her death; and in his very heart of hearts he wasbeginning to be aware that she had not been so entirely his twin-soulas he would still have maintained. He had reflected a little, in themeantime, upon the grocer's shop, the dissenting tea-parties, the odorof cheeses. Certainly these things could not destroy an "affinity" ifthe affinity were robust; but it would need to be. .. . 

He was still very tender towards the thought of her; she had gainedtoo, inevitably, by dying, a dignity she had lacked while living, andit might well be that intercourse with her in the manner proposedwould be an extraordinarily sweet experience. But he was no longerexcited--passionately and overwhelmingly--by the prospect. It would bedelightful? Yes. But. .. . 

 * * * * *

Then Laurie began to look at his religion, and at that view he stoppeddead. He had no ideas at all on the subject; he had not a notion wherehe stood. All he knew was that it had become uninteresting. True? Oh, yes, he supposed so. He retained it still as many retain faith in thesupernatural--a reserve that could be drawn upon in extremities. 

He had not yet missed hearing Mass on Sunday; in fact, he proposed togo even next Sunday. "A man must have a religion, " he said to himself;and, intellectually, there was at present no other possible religionfor him except the Catholic. Yet as he looked into the future he wasdoubtful. 

He drew himself up in his chair and began to fill his pipe. .. . Inthree days he would be seated in a room with three or four persons, hesupposed. Of these, two--and certainly the two strongestcharacters--had no religion except that supplied by spiritualism, andhe had read enough to know this was, at any rate in the long run, non-Christian. And these three or four persons, moreover, believedwith their whole hearts that they were in relations with the invisibleworld, far more evident and sensible than those claimed by any otherbelievers on the face of the earth. And, after all, Laurie reflected, there seemed to be justice in their claim. He would be seated in thatroom, he repeated to himself, and it might be that before he left ithe would have seen with his own eyes, and possibly handled, livingpersons who had, in the common phrase, "died" and been buried. Almostcertainly, at the very least, he would have received from suchintelligences unmistakable messages. .. . 

He was astonished that he was not more excited. He asked himself againwhether he really believed it; he compared his belief in it with hisbelief in the existence of New Zealand. Yes, if that were belief, hehad it. But the excitement of doubt was gone, as no doubt it was gonewhen New Zealand became a geographical expression. 

He was astonished at its naturalness--at the extraordinary manner inwhich, when once the evidence had been seen and the point of viewgrasped, the whole thing fell into place. It seemed to him as if hemust have known it all his life; yet, he knew, six months ago he hadhardly known more than that there were upon the face of the earthpersons called Spiritualists, who believed, or pretended to believe, what he then was quite sure was fantastic nonsense. And now he was, toall intents, one of them. .. . 

He was being drawn forward, it seemed, by a process as inevitable asthat of spring or autumn; and, once he had yielded to it, the conflictand the excitement were over. Certainly this made very few demands. Christianity said that those were blessed who had not seen and yetbelieved; Spiritualism said that the only reasonable belief was thatwhich followed seeing. 

So then Laurie sat and meditated. 

Once or twice that evening he looked round him tranquilly without atouch of that terror that had seized him in the smoking-room at home. 

If all this were true--and he repeated to himself that he knew it wastrue--these presences were about him now, so why was it that he was nolonger frightened?

He looked carefully into the dark corner behind him, beyond the lowjutting bookshelf, in the angle between the curtained windows, at hispiano, glossy and mysterious in the gloom, at the door half-open intohis bedroom. All was quiet here, shut off from the hum of FleetStreet; circumstances were propitious. Why was he not frightened. .. ?Why, what was there to frighten him? These presences were natural andnormal; even as a Catholic he believed in them. And if they manifestedthemselves, what was there to fear in that?

He looked steadily and serenely; and as he looked, like the kindlingof a fire, there rose within him a sense of strange exaltation. 

"Amy, " he whispered. 

But there was no movement or hint. 

Laurie smiled a little, wearily. He felt tired; he would sleep alittle. He beat out his pipe, crossed his feet before the fire, andclosed his eyes. 

III

There followed that smooth rush into gulfs of sleep that providesperhaps the most exquisite physical sensation known to man, as theveils fall thicker and softer every instant, and the consciousnessgathers itself inwards from hands and feet and limbs, like a dogcurling himself up for rest; yet retains itself in continuous being, and is able to regard its own comfort. All this he rememberedperfectly half an hour later; but there followed in his memory thatinevitable gap in which self loses itself before emerging into thephantom land of dreams, or returning to reality. 

But that into which he emerged, he remembered afterwards, was adifferent realm altogether from that which is usual--from that countryof grotesque fancy and jumbled thoughts, of thin shadows of truth andechoes from the common world where most of us find ourselves in sleep. 

His dream was as follows:--

He was still in his room, he thought, but no longer in his chair. Instead, he stood in the very center of the floor, or at least poisedsomewhere above it, for he could see at a glance, without turning, allthat the room contained. He directed his attention--for it was this, rather than sight, through which he perceived--to the piano, thechiffonier, the chairs, the two doors, the curtained windows; andfinally, with scarcely even a touch of surprise, to himself still sunkin the chair before the fire. He regarded himself with pleasedinterest, remembering even in that instant that he had never beforeseen himself with closed eyes. .. . 

All in the room was extraordinarily vivid and clear-cut. It was truethat the firelight still wavered and sank again in billows of softcolor about the shadowed walls, but the changing light was no more aninterruption to the action of that steady medium through which heperceived than the movement of summer clouds across the full sunlight. It was at that moment that he understood that he saw no longer witheyes, but with that faculty of perception to which sight is onlyanalogous--that faculty which underlies and is common to all thesenses alike. 

His reasoning powers, too, at this moment, seemed to have gone fromhim like a husk. He did not argue or deduce; simply he understood. And, in a flash, simultaneous with the whole vision, he perceived thathe was behind all the slow processes of the world, by which this isadded to that, and a conclusion drawn; by which light travels, andsounds resolve themselves and emotions run their course. He hadreached, he thought, the ultimate secret. .. . It was This that laybehind everything. 

Now it is impossible to set down, except progressively, all this sumof experiences that occupied for him one interminable instant. Neitherdid he remember afterwards the order in which they presentedthemselves; for it seemed to him that there was no order; all wassimultaneous. 

But he understood plainly by intuition that all was open to him. Space no longer existed for him; nothing, to his perception, separatedthis from that. He was able, he saw, without stirring from hisattitude to see in an instant any place or person towards which hechose to exercise his attention. It seemed a marvelously simple point, this--that space was little more than an illusion; that it was, afterall, nothing else but a translation into rather coarse terms of whatmay be called "differences. " "Here" and "There" were but relativeterms; certainly they corresponded to facts, but they were not thosefacts themselves. .. . And since he now stood behind them he saw them ontheir inner side, as a man standing in the interior of a globe may besaid to be equally present to every point upon its surface. 

The fascination of the thought was enormous; and, like a child whobegins to take notice and to learn the laws of extension and distance, so he began to learn their reverse. He saw, he thought (as he had seenonce before, only, this time, without the sense of movement), theinterior of the lighted drawing room at home, and his mother noddingin her chair; he directed his attention to Maggie, and perceived herpassing across the landing toward the head of the stairs with a candlein her hand. It was this sight that brought him to a furtherdiscovery, to the effect that time also was of very nearly noimportance either; for he perceived that by bending his attention uponher he could restrain her, so to speak, in her movement. There shestood, one foot outstretched, the candle flame leaning motionlessbackward; and he knew too that it was not she who was thus restrained, but that it was the intensity and directness of his thought thatfixed, so to say, in terms of eternity, that instant of time. .. . 

So it went on; or, rather, so it was with him. He pleased himself bycontemplating the London streets outside, the darkness of the gardenin some square, the interior of the Oratory where a few figureskneeled--all seen beyond the movements of light and shadow in thisclear invisible radiance that was to his perception as common light tocommon eyes. The world of which he had had experience--for he foundhimself unable to see that which he had never experienced--lay beforehis will like a movable map: this or that person or place had but tobe desired, and it was present. 

And then came the return; and the Horror. .. . 

He began in this way. 

He understood that he wished to awake, or, rather, to be reunited withthe body that lay there in deep sleep before the fire. He observed itfor a moment or two, interested and pleased, the face sunk a little onthe hand, the feet lightly crossed on the fender. He looked at his ownprofile, the straight nose, the parted lips through which the breathcame evenly. He attempted even to touch the face, wondering withgentle pleasure what would be the result. .. . 

Then, suddenly, an impulse came to him to enter the body, and with theimpulse the process, it seemed, began. 

That process was not unlike that of falling asleep. In an instantperception was gone; the lighted room was gone, and that obedientworld which he had contemplated just now. Yet self-consciousness for awhile remained; he still had the power of perceiving his ownpersonality, though this dwindled every moment down to that same gulfof nothingness through which he had found his way. 

But at the very instant in which consciousness was passing there methim an emotion so fierce and overwhelming that he recoiled in terrorback from the body once more and earth-perceptions; and a panic seizedhim. 

It was such a panic as seizes a child who, fearfully courageous, hasstolen at night from his room, and turning in half-simulated terrorfinds the door fast against him, or is aware of a malignant presencecome suddenly into being, standing between himself and the safety ofhis own bed. 

On the one side his fear drove him onwards; on the other a Horrorfaced him. He dared not recoil, for he understood where security lay;he longed, like the child screaming in the dark and beating his hands, to get back to the warmth and safety of bed; yet there stood beforehim a Presence, or at the least an Emotion of some kind, so hostile, so terrible, that he dared not penetrate it. It was not that an actualrestraint lay upon him: he knew, that is, that the door was open; yetit needed an effort of the will of which his paralysis of terrorrendered him incapable. .. . 

The tension became intolerable. 

"O God . .. God . .. God. .. . " he cried. 

And in an instant the threshold was vacated; the swift rush asserteditself, and the space was passed. 

 * * * * *

Laurie sat up abruptly in his chair. 

IV

Mr. Vincent was beginning to think about going to bed. He had come inan hour before, had written half a dozen letters, and was smokingpeacefully before the fire. 

His rooms were not remarkable in any way, except for half a dozenobjects standing on the second shelf of his bookcase, and theselection of literature ranged below them. For the rest, all wascommonplace enough; a mahogany knee-hold table, a couple of easychairs, much worn, and a long, extremely comfortable sofa standing byitself against the wall with evident signs, in its tumbled cushionsand rubbed fabric, of continual and frequent use. A second door gaveentrance to his bedroom. 

He beat out his pipe slowly, yawned, and stood up. 

It was at this instant that he heard the sudden tinkle of the electricbell in the lobby outside, and, wondering at the interruption at thishour, went quickly out and opened the door on to the stairs. 

"Mr. Baxter! Come in, come in; I'm delighted to see you. "

Laurie came in without a word, went straight up to the fire-place, andfaced about. 

"I'm not going to apologize, " he said, "for coming at this time. Youtold me to come and see you at any time, and I've taken you at yourword. "

The young man had an odd embarrassed manner, thought the other; an airof having come in spite of uneasiness; he was almost shamefaced. 

The medium impelled him gently into a chair. 

"First a cigarette, " he said; "next a little whisky, and then I shallbe delighted to listen. .. . No; please do as I say. "

Laurie permitted himself to be managed; there was a strong, almostpaternal air in the other's manner that was difficult to resist. Helit his cigarette, he sipped his whisky; but his movements werenervously quick. 

"Well, then. .. . " and he interrupted himself. "What are those things, Mr. Vincent?" He nodded towards the second shelf in the bookcase. 

Mr. Vincent turned on the hearthrug. 

"Those? Oh! those are a few rather elementary instruments for mywork. "

He lifted down a crystal ball on a small black polished wooden standand handed it over. 

"You have heard of crystal-gazing? Well, that is the article. "

"Is that crystal?"

"Oh no: common glass. Price three shillings and sixpence. "

Laurie turned it over, letting the shining globe run on to his hand. 

"And this is--" he began. 

"And this, " said the medium, setting a curious windmill-shaped affair, its sails lined with looking-glass, on the little table by the fire, "this is a French toy. Very elementary. "

"What's that?"

"Look. "

Mr. Vincent wound a small handle at the back of the windmill to asound of clockwork, set it down again, and released it. Instantly thesails began to revolve, noiseless and swift, producing the effect of arapidly flashing circle of light across which span lines, waxing andwaning with extraordinary speed. 

"What the--"

"It's a little machine for inducing sleep. Oh! I haven't used that formonths. But it's useful sometimes. The hypnotic subject just stares atthat steadily. .. . Why, you're looking dazed yourself, already, Mr. Baxter, " smiled the medium. 

He stopped the mechanism and pushed it on one side. 

"And what's the other?" asked Laurie, looking again at the shelf. 

"Ah!"

The medium, with quite a different air, took down and set before himan object resembling a tiny heart-shaped table on three wheeled legs, perhaps four or five inches across. Through the center ran a pencilperpendicularly of which the point just touched the tablecloth onwhich the thing rested. Laurie looked at it, and glanced up. 

"Yes, that's Planchette, " said the medium. 

"For . .. For automatic writing?"

The other nodded. 

"Yes, " he said. "The experimenter puts his fingers lightly upon that, and there's a sheet of paper beneath. That is all. "

Laurie looked at him, half curiously. Then with a sudden movement hestood up. 

"Yes, " he said. "Thank you. But--"

"Please sit down, Mr. Baxter. .. . I know you haven't come about thatkind of thing. Will you kindly tell me what you have come about?"

He, too, sat down, and, without looking at the other, began slowly tofill his pipe again, with his strong capable fingers. Laurie stared atthe process, unseeing. 

"Just tell me simply, " said the medium again, still without looking athim. 

Laurie threw himself back. 

"Well, I will, " he said. "I know it's absurdly childish; but I'm alittle frightened. It's about a dream. "

"That's not necessarily childish. "

"It's a dream I had tonight--in my chair after dinner. "

"Well?"

 * * * * *

Then Laurie began. 

For about ten minutes he talked without ceasing. Mr. Vincent smokedtranquilly, putting what seemed to Laurie quite unimportant questionsnow and again, and nodding gently from time to time. 

"And I'm frightened, " ended Laurie; "and I want you to tell me what itall means. "

The other drew a long inhalation through his pipe, expelled it, andleaned back. 

"Oh, it's comparatively common, " he said; "common, that is, withpeople of your temperament, Mr. Baxter--and mine. .. . You tell me thatit was prayer that enabled you to get through at the end? That isinteresting. "

"But--but--was it more than fancy--more, I mean, than an ordinarydream?"

"Oh, yes; it was objective. It was a real experience. "

"You mean--"

"Mr. Baxter, just listen to me for a minute or two. You can ask anyquestions you like at the end. First, you are a Catholic, you told me;you believe, that is to say, among other things, that the spiritualworld is a real thing, always present more or less. Well, of course, Iagree with you; though I do not agree with you altogether as to thegeography and--and other details of that world. But you believe, Itake it, that this world is continually with us--that this room, so tospeak, is a great deal more than that of which our senses tell us thatthere are with us, now and always, a multitude of influences, good, bad, and indifferent, really present to our spirits?"

"I suppose so, " said Laurie. 

"Now begin again. There are two kinds of dreams. I am just stating myown belief, Mr. Baxter. You can make what comments you likeafterwards. The one kind of dream is entirely unimportant; it ismerely a hash, a _réchauffée_, of our own thoughts, in which littlethings that we have experienced reappear in a hopeless sort ofconfusion. It is the kind of dream that we forget altogether, generally, five minutes after waking, if not before. But there isanother kind of dream that we do not forget. It leaves as vivid animpression upon us as if it were a waking experience--an actualincident. And that is exactly what it is. "

"I don't understand. "

"Have you ever heard of the subliminal consciousness, Mr. Baxter?"

"No. "

The medium smiled. 

"That is fortunate, " he said. "It's being run to death justnow. .. . Well, I'll put it in an untechnical way. There is a part ofus, is there not, that lies below our ordinary waking thoughts--thatpart of us in which our dreams reside, our habits take shape, ourinstincts, intuitions, and all the rest, are generated. Well, inordinary dreams, when we are asleep, it is this part that is active. The pot boils, so to speak, all by itself, uncontrolled by reason. Amadman is a man in whom this part is supreme in his waking life aswell. Well, it is through this part of us that we communicate with thespiritual world. There are, let us say, two doors in it--that whichleads up to our senses, through which come down our waking experiencesto be stored up; and--and the other door. .. . "

"Yes?"

The medium hesitated. 

"Well, " he said, "in some natures--yours, for instance, Mr. Baxter--this door opens rather easily. It was through that door thatyou went, I think, in what you call your 'dream. ' You yourself said itwas quite unlike ordinary dreams. "

"Yes. "

"And I am the more sure that this is so, since your experience isexactly that of so many others under the same circumstances. "

Laurie moved uncomfortably in his chair. 

"I don't quite understand, " he said sharply. "You mean it was not adream?"

"Certainly not. At least, not a dream in the ordinary sense. It was anactual experience. "

"But--but I was asleep. "

"Certainly. That is one of the usual conditions--an almostindispensable condition, in fact. The objective self--I mean theordinary workaday faculties--was lulled; and your subjectiveself--call it what you like--but it is your real self, the essentialself that survives death--this self, simply went through the innerdoor, and--and saw what was to be seen. "

Laurie looked at him intently. But there was a touch of apprehensionin his face, too. 

"You mean, " he said slowly, "that--that all I saw--the limitations ofspace, and so forth--that these were facts and not fancies?"

"Certainly. Doesn't your theology hint at something of the kind?"

Laurie was silent. He had no idea of what his theology told him on thepoint. 

"But why should I--I of all people--have such an experience?" he askedsuddenly. 

The medium smiled. 

"Who can tell that?" he said. "Why should one man be an artist, andanother not? It is a matter of temperament. You see you've begun todevelop that temperament at last; and it's a very marked one to beginwith. As for--"

Laurie interrupted him. 

"Yes, yes, " he said. "But there's another point. What about that fearI had when I tried to--to awaken?"

There passed over the medium's face a shade of gravity. It was no morethan a shade, but it was there. He reached out rather quickly for hispipe which he had laid aside, and blew through it carefully beforeanswering. 

"That?" he said, with what seemed to the boy an affected carelessness. "That? Oh, that's a common experience. Don't think about that toomuch, Mr. Baxter. It's never very healthy--"

"I am sorry, " said Laurie deliberately. "But I must ask you to tell mewhat you think. I must know what I'm doing. "

The medium filled his pipe again. Twice he began to speak, and checkedhimself; and in the long silence Laurie felt his fears gather upon himtenfold. 

"Please tell me at once, Mr. Vincent, " he said. "Unless I knoweverything that is to be known, I will not go another step along thisroad. I really mean that. "

The medium paused in his pipe-filling. 

"And what if I do tell you?" he said in his slow virile voice. "Areyou sure you will not be turned back?"

"If it is a well-known danger, and can be avoided with prudence, Icertainly shall not turn back. "

"Very well, Mr. Baxter, I will take you at your word. .. . Have you everheard the phrase, 'The Watcher on the Threshold'?"

Laurie shook his head. 

"No, " he said. "At least I don't think so. "

"Well, " said the medium quietly, "that is what we call the Fear youspoke of. .. . No; don't interrupt. I'll tell you all we know. It's notvery much. "

He paused again, stretched his hand for the matches, and took oneout. Laurie watched him as if fascinated by the action. 

Outside roared Oxford Street in one long rolling sound as of the sea;but within here was that quiet retired silence which the boy hadnoticed before in the same company. Was that fancy, too, hewondered. .. ?

The medium lit his pipe and leaned back. 

"I'll tell you all we know, " he said again quietly. "It's not verymuch. Really the phrase I used just now sums it up pretty well. Wewho have tried to get beyond this world of sense have become aware ofcertain facts of which the world generally knows nothing at all. Oneof these facts is that the door between this life and the other isguarded by a certain being of whom we know really nothing at all, except that his presence causes the most appalling fear in those whoexperience it. He is set there--God only knows why--and his mainbusiness seems to be to restrain, if possible, from re-entering thebody those who have left it. Just occasionally his presence isperceived by those on this side, but not often. But I have beenpresent at death-beds where he has been seen--"

"Seen?"

"Oh! yes. Seen by the dying person. It is usually only a glimpse; itmight be said to be a mistake. For myself I believe that thatappalling terror that now and then shows itself, even in people who donot fear death itself, who are perfectly resigned, who have nothing ontheir conscience, --well, personally, I believe the fear comes from asight of this--this Personage. "

Laurie licked his dry lips. He told himself that he did not believeone word of it. 

"And . .. And he is evil?" he asked. 

The other shrugged his shoulders. 

"Isn't that a relative term?" he said. "From one point of view, certainly; but not necessarily from all. "

"And . .. And what's the good of it?"

The medium smiled a little. 

"That's a question we soon cease to ask. You must remember that wehardly know anything at all yet. But one thing seems more and morecertain the more we investigate, and that is that our point of view isnot the only one, nor even the principal one. Christianity, I fancy, says the same thing, does it not? The 'glory of God, ' whatever thatmay be, comes before even the 'salvation of souls. '"

Laurie wrenched his attention once more to a focus. 

"Then I was in danger?" he said. 

"Certainly. We are always in danger--"

"You mean, if I hadn't prayed--"

"Ah! that is another question. .. . But, in short, if you hadn'tsucceeded in getting past--well, you'd have failed. "

Again there fell a silence. 

It seemed to Laurie as if his world were falling about him. Yet he wasfar from sure whether it were not all an illusion. But the extremequietness and confidence of this man in enunciating these startlingtheories had their effect. It was practically impossible for the boyto sit here, still nervous from his experience, and hear, unmoved, this apparently reasonable and connected account of things that werecertainly incomprehensible on any other hypothesis. His remembrance ofthe very startling uniqueness of his dream was still vivid. .. . Surelyit all fitted in . .. Yet. .. . 

"But there is one thing, " broke in the medium's quiet voice. "Shouldyou ever experience this kind of thing again, I should recommend younot to pray. Just exercise your own individuality; assert yourself;don't lean on another. You are quite strong enough. "

"You mean--"

"I mean exactly what I say. What is called Prayer is really animaginative concession to weakness. Take the short cut, rather. Assertyour own--your own individuality. "

Laurie changed his attitude. He uncrossed his feet and sat up alittle. 

"Oh! pray if you want to, " said the medium. "But you must remember, Mr. Baxter, that you are quite an exceptional person. I assure youthat you have no conception of your own powers. I must say that I hopeyou will take the strong line. " He paused. "These _séances_, forinstance. Now that you know a little more of the dangers, are yougoing to turn back?"

His overhung kindly eyes looked out keenly for an instant at the boy'srestless face. 

"I don't know, " said Laurie; "I must think. .. . "

He got up. 

"Look here, Mr. Vincent, " he said, "it seems to me you'reextraordinarily--er--extraordinarily plausible. But I'm even now notquite sure whether I'm not going mad. It's like a perfectly maddream--all these things one on the top of the other. "

He paused, looking sharply at the elder man, and away again. 

"Yes?"

Laurie began to finger a pencil that lay on the chimney-shelf. 

"You see what I mean, don't you?" he said. "I'm notdisputing--er--your point of view, nor your sincerity. But I do wishyou would give me another proof or two. "

"You haven't had enough?"

"Oh! I suppose I have--if I were reasonable. But, you know, it allseems to me as if you suddenly demonstrated to me that twice two madefive. "

"But then, surely no proof--"

"Yes; I know. I quite see that. Yet I want one--something quiteabsolutely ordinary. If you can do all these things--spirits and allthe rest--can't you do something ever so much simpler, that's beyondmistake?"

"Oh, I daresay. But wouldn't you ask yet another after that?"

"I don't know. "

"Or wouldn't you think you'd been hypnotized?"

Laurie shook his head. 

"I'm not a fool, " he said. 

"Then give me that pencil, " said the medium, suddenly extending hishand. 

Laurie stared a moment. Then he handed over the pencil. 

On the little table by the arm-chair, a couple of feet from Laurie, stood the whisky apparatus and a box of cigarettes. These the medium, without moving from his chair, lifted off and set on the floor besidehim, leaving the woven-grass surface of the table entirely bare. Hethen laid the pencil gently in the center--all without a word. Lauriewatched him carefully. 

"Now kindly do not speak one word or make one movement, " said the manperemptorily. "Wait! You're perfectly sure you're not hypnotized, orany other nonsense?"

"Certainly not. "

"Just go round the room, look out of the window, poke thefire--anything you like. "

"I'm satisfied, " said the boy. 

"Very good. Then kindly watch that pencil. "

The medium leaned a little forward in his chair, bending his eyessteadily upon the little wooden cylinder lying, like any other pencil, on the top of the table. Laurie glanced once at him, then backagain. There it lay, common and ordinary. 

For at least a minute nothing happened at all, except that from theintentness of the elder man there seemed once more to radiate out thatcurious air of silence that Laurie was beginning to know so well--thatsilence that seemed impenetrable to the common sounds of the world andto exist altogether independent of them. Once and again he glancedround at the ordinary-looking room, the curtained windows, the dullfurniture; and the second time he looked back at the pencil he wasalmost certain that some movement had just taken place with it. Heresolutely fixed his eyes upon it, bending every faculty he possessedinto one tense attitude of attention. And a moment later he could notresist a sudden movement and a swift indrawing of breath; for there, before his very eyes, the pencil tilted, very hesitatingly andquiveringly, as if pulled by a spider's thread. He heard, too, thetiny tap of its fall. 

He glanced at the medium, who jerked his head impatiently, as if forsilence. Then once more the silence came down. 

A minute later there was no longer the possibility of a doubt. 

There before the boy's eyes, as he stared, white-faced, with partedlips, the pencil rose, hesitated, quivered; but, instead of fallingback again, hung so for a moment on its point, forming with itself anacute angle with the plane of the table in an entirely impossibleposition; then, once more rising higher, swung on its point in aquarter circle, and after one more pause and quiver, rose to its fullheight, remained poised one instant, then fell with a sudden movement, rolled across the table and dropped on the carpet. 

The medium leaned back, drawing a long breath. 

"There, " he said; and smiled at the bewildered young man. 

"But--but--" began the other. 

"Yes, I know, " said the man. "It's startling, isn't it? and indeedit's not as easy as it looks. I wasn't at all sure--"

"But, good Lord, I saw--"

"Of course you did; but how do you know you weren't hypnotized?"

Laurie sat down suddenly, unconscious that he had done so. The mediumput out his hand for his pipe once more. 

"Now, I'm going to be quite honest, " he said. "I have quite a quantityof comments to make on that. First, it doesn't prove anythingwhatever, even if it really happened--"

"Even if it--!"

"Certainly. .. . Oh, yes; I saw it too; and there's the pencil on thefloor"--he stooped and picked it up. 

"But what if we were both hypnotized--both acted upon byself-suggestion? We can't prove we weren't. "

Laurie was dumb. 

"Secondly, it doesn't prove anything, in any case, as regards theother matters we were speaking of. It only shows--if it reallyhappened, as I say--that the mind has extraordinary control overmatter. It hasn't anything to do with immortality, or--orspiritualism. "

"Then why did you do it?" gasped the boy. 

"Merely fireworks . .. Only to show off. People are convinced by suchqueer things. "

Laurie sat regarding, still with an unusual pallor in his face andbrightness in his eyes. He could not in the last degree put into wordswhy it was that the tiny incident of the pencil affected him soprofoundly. Vaguely, only, he perceived that it was all connectedsomehow with the ordinariness of the accessories, and more impressivetherefore than all the paraphernalia of planchette, spinning mirrors, or even his own dreams. 

He stood up again suddenly. 

"It's no good, Mr. Vincent, " he said, putting out his hand, "I'mknocked over. I can't imagine why. It's no use talking now. I mustthink. Good night. "

"Good night, Mr. Baxter, " said the medium serenely. 

_Chapter VIII_

I

"Her ladyship told me to show you in here, sir, " said the footman athalf-past eight on Sunday evening. 

Laurie put down his hat, slipped off his coat, and went into thedining room. 

The table was still littered with dessert-plates and napkins. Twopeople had dined there he observed. He went round to the fire, wondering vaguely as to why he had not been shown upstairs, and stood, warming his hands behind him, and looking at the pleasant gloom of thehigh picture-hung walls. 

In spite of himself he felt slightly more excited than he had thoughthe would be; it was one thing to be philosophical at a prospect ofthree days' distance; and another when the gates of death actuallyrise in sight. He wondered in what mood he would see his own roomsagain. Then he yawned slightly--and was a little pleased that it wasnatural to yawn. 

There was a rustle outside; the door opened, and Lady Laura slippedin. 

"Forgive me, Mr. Baxter, " she said. "I wanted to have just a word withyou first. Please sit down a moment. "

She seemed a little anxious and upset, thought Laurie, as he sat downand looked at her in her evening dress with the emblematic chain moreapparent than ever. Her frizzed hair sat as usual on the top of herhead, and her pince-nez glimmered at him across the hearthrug like theeyes of a cat. 

"It is this, " she said hurriedly. "I felt I must just speak to you. Iwasn't sure whether you quite realized the . .. The dangers of allthis. I didn't want you to . .. To run any risks in my house. I shouldfeel responsible, you know. "

She laughed nervously. 

"Risks? Would you mind explaining?" said Laurie. 

"There . .. There are always risks, you know. "

"What sort?"

"Oh . .. You know . .. Nerves, and so on. I . .. I have seen people verymuch upset at _séances_, more than once. "

Laurie smiled. 

"I don't think you need be afraid, Lady Laura. It's awfully kind ofyou; but, do you know, I'm ashamed to say that, if anything, I'mrather bored. "

The pince-nez gleamed. 

"But--but don't you believe it? I thought Mr. Vincent said--"

"Oh yes, I believe it; but, you know, it seems to me so natural now. Even if nothing happens tonight, I don't think I shall believe it anythe less. "

She was silent an instant. 

"You know there are other risks, " she said suddenly. 

"What? Are things thrown about?"

"Please don't laugh at it, Mr. Baxter. I am quite serious. "

"Well--what kind do you mean?"

Again she paused. 

"It's very awful, " she said; "but, you know, people's nerves do breakdown entirely sometimes, even though they're not in the leastafraid. I saw a case once--"

She stopped. 

"Yes?"

"It--it was a very awful case. A girl--a sensitive--broke downaltogether under the strain. She's in an asylum. "

"I don't think that's likely for me, " said Laurie, with a touch ofhumor in his voice. "And, after all, you run these risks, don'tyou--and Mrs. Stapleton?"

"Yes; but you see we're not sensitives. And even I--"

"Yes?"

"Well, even I feel sometimes rather overcome. .. . Mr. Baxter, do youquite realize what it all means?"

"I think so. To tell the truth--"

He stopped. 

"Yes; but the thing itself is really overwhelming. .. . There's--there'san extraordinary power sometimes. You know I was with Maud Stapletonwhen she saw her father--"

She stopped again. 

"Yes?"

"I saw him too, you know. .. . Oh! there was no possibility of fraud. It was with Mr. Vincent. It--it was rather terrible. "

"Yes?"

"Maud fainted. .. . Please don't tell her I told you, Mr. Baxter; shewouldn't like you to know that. And then other things happen sometimeswhich aren't nice. Do you think me a great coward? I--I think I've gota fit of nerves tonight. "

Laurie could see that she was trembling. 

"I think you're very kind, " he said, "to take the trouble to tell meall this. But indeed I was quite ready to be startled. I quiteunderstand what you mean--but--"

"Mr. Baxter, you can't understand unless you've experienced it. And, you know, the other day here you knew nothing at all: you were notconscious. Now tonight you're to keep awake; Mr. Vincent's going toarrange to do what he can about that. And--and I don't quite like it. "

"Why, what on earth can happen?" asked Laurie, bewildered. 

"Mr. Baxter, I suppose you realize that it's you that they--whoeverthey are--are interested in? There's no kind of doubt that you'll bethe center tonight. And I did just want you to understand fully thatthere are risks. I shouldn't like to think--"

Laurie stood up. 

"I understand perfectly, " he said. "Certainly, I always knew therewere risks. I hold myself responsible, and no one else. Is that quiteclear?"

The wire of the front-door bell suddenly twitched in the hall, and apeal came up the stairs. 

"He's come, " said the other. "Come upstairs, Mr. Baxter. Please don'tsay a word of what I've said. "

She hurried out, and he after her, as the footman came up from thelower regions. 

 * * * * *

The drawing-room presented an unusual appearance to Laurie as he camein. All the small furniture had been moved away to the side where thewindows looked into the street, and formed there what looked like anamateur barricade. In the center of the room, immediately below theelectric light, stood a solid small round table with four chairs setround it as if for Bridge. There was on the side further from thestreet a kind of ante-room communicating with the main room by a high, wide archway nearly as large as the room to which it gave access; andwithin this, full in sight, stood a curious erection, not unlike aconfessional, seated within for one, roofed, walled, and floored withthin wood. The front of this was open, but screened partly by twocurtains that seemed to hang from a rod within. The rest of the littleextra room was entirely empty except for the piano that stood closedin the corner. 

There were two persons standing rather disconsolately on the vacanthearthrug--Mrs. Stapleton and the clergyman whom Laurie had met on hislast visit here. Mr. Jamieson wore an expression usually associatedwith funerals, and Mrs. Stapleton's face was full of suppressedexcitement. 

"Dearest, what a time you've been! Was that Mr. Vincent?"

"I think so, " said Lady Laura. 

The two men nodded to one another, and an instant later the mediumcame in. 

He was in evening clothes; and, more than ever, Laurie thought howaverage and conventional he looked. His manner was not in the leastpontifical, and he shook hands cordially and naturally, but gave onequick glance of approval at Laurie. 

"It struck me as extraordinarily cold, " he said. "I see you have anexcellent fire. " And he stooped, rubbing his hands together to warmthem. 

"We must screen that presently, " he said. 

Then he stood up again. 

"There's no use in wasting time. May I say a word first, Lady Laura?"

She nodded, looking at him almost apprehensively. 

"First, I must ask you gentlemen to give me your word on a certainpoint. I have not an idea how things will go, or whether we shall getany results; but we are going to attempt materialization. Probably, inany case, this will not go very far; we may not be able to do morethan to see some figure or face. But in any case, I want you twogentlemen to give me your word that you will attempt no violence. Anything in the nature of seizing the figure may have very disastrousresults indeed to myself. You understand that what you will see, ifyou see anything, will not be actual flesh or blood; it will be formedof a certain matter of which we understand very little at present, butwhich is at any rate intimately connected with myself or with someonepresent. Really we know no more of it than that. We are all of usinquirers equally. Now will you gentlemen give me your words of honorthat you will obey me in this; and that in all other matters you willfollow the directions of . .. " (he glanced at the two ladies)--"of Mrs. Stapleton, and do nothing without her consent?"

He spoke in a brisk, matter-of-fact way, and looked keenly from faceto face of the two men as he ended. 

"I give you my word, " said Laurie. 

"Yes; just so, " said Mr. Jamieson. 

"Now there is one matter more, " went on the medium. "Mr. Baxter, youare aware that you are a sensitive of a very high order. Now I do notwish you to pass into trance tonight. Kindly keep your attention fixedupon me steadily. Watch me closely: you will be able to see me quitewell enough, as I shall explain presently. Mrs. Stapleton will sitwith her back to the fire. Lady Laura opposite, Mr. Jamieson with hisback to the cabinet, and you, Mr. Baxter, facing it. (Yes, Mr. Jamieson, you may turn round freely, so long as you keep yourhands upon the table. ) Now, if you feel anything resembling sleep orunconsciousness coming upon you irresistibly, Mr. Baxter, I wish youjust lightly to tap Mrs. Stapleton's hand. She will then, ifnecessary, break up the circle. Give the signal directly you feel thesensation is really coming on, or if you find it very difficult tokeep your attention fixed. You will do this?"

"I will do it, " said Laurie. 

"Then that is really all. "

He moved a step away from the fire. Then he paused. 

"By the way, I may as well just tell you our methods. I shall take myplace within the cabinet, drawing the curtains partly across at thetop so as to shade my face. But you will be able to see the whole ofmy body, and probably even my face as well. You four will please tosit at the table in the order I have indicated, with your handsresting upon it. You will not speak unless you are spoken to, or untilMrs. Stapleton gives the signal. That is all. You then wait. Now itmay be ten minutes, half an hour, an hour--anything up to two hoursbefore anything happens. If there is no result, Mrs. Stapleton willbreak up the circle at eleven o'clock, and awaken me if necessary. "

He broke off. 

"Kindly just examine the cabinet and the whole room first, gentlemen. We mediums must protect ourselves. "

He smiled genially and nodded to the two. 

Laurie went straight across the open floor to the cabinet. It wasraised on four feet, about twelve inches from the ground. Heavy greencurtains hung from a bar within. Laurie took these, and ran them toand fro; then he went into the cabinet. It was entirely empty exceptfor a single board that formed the seat. As he came out he encounteredthe awestruck face of the clergyman who had followed him in deadsilence, and now went into the cabinet after him. Laurie passed roundbehind: the little room was empty except for the piano at the back, and two low bookshelves on either side of the fireless hearth. Thewindow looking presumably into the garden was shuttered from top tobottom, and barred, and the curtains were drawn back so that it couldbe seen. A cat could not have hidden in the place. It was allperfectly satisfactory. 

He came back to where the others were standing silent, and theclergyman followed him. 

"You are satisfied, gentlemen?" said the medium, smiling. 

"Perfectly, " said Laurie, and the clergyman bowed. 

"Well, then, " said the other, "it is close upon nine. "

He indicated the chairs, and himself went past towards the cabinet, his heavy step making the room vibrate as he went. As he came near thedoor, he fumbled with the button, and all the lights but one went out. 

The four sat down. Laurie watched Mr. Vincent step up into thecabinet, jerk the curtains this way and that, and at last sit easilyback, in such a way that his face could be seen in a kind of twilight, and the rest of his body perfectly visible. 

Then silence came down upon the room. 

II

The cat of the next house decided to go a-walking after an excellentsupper of herring-heads. He had an appointment with a friend. So hecleaned himself carefully on the landing outside the pantry, evaded acouple of caresses from the young footman lately come from thecountry, and finally leapt on the window-sill, and sat there regardingthe back garden, the smoky wall beyond seen in the light of the pantrywindow, and the chimney-pots high and forbidding against the luminousnight sky. His tail moved with a soft ominous sinuousness as helooked. 

Presently he climbed cautiously out beneath the sash, gathered himselffor a spring, and the next instant was seated on the boundary wallbetween his own house and that of Lady Laura's. 

Here again he paused. That which served him for a mind, thatmysterious bundle of intuitions and instincts by which he reckonedtime, exchanged confidences, and arranged experiences, informed himthat the night was yet young, and that his friend would not yet bearrived. He sat there so still and so long, that if it had not beenfor his resolute head and the blunt spires of his ears, he would haveappeared to an onlooker below as no more than a humpy finial on anotherwise regularly built wall. Now and again the last inch of histail twitched slightly, like an independent member, as he contemplatedhis thoughts. 

Overhead the last glimmer of day was utterly gone, and in the place ofit the mysterious glow of night over a city hung high and luminous. He, a town-bred cat, descended from generations of town-bred cats, listened passively to the gentle roar of traffic that stood, to him, for the running of brooks and the sighing of forest trees. It was tohim the auditory background of adventure, romance, and bitter war. 

The energy of life ran strong in his veins and sinews. Once and againas that, which was for him imaginative vision and anticipation, asserted itself, he crisped his strong claws into the crumblingmortar, shooting them, by an unconscious muscular action, from thepadded sheaths in which they lay. Once a furious yapping sounded froma lighted window far beneath; but he scorned to do more than turn aslow head in the direction of it: then once more he resumed his watch. 

The time came at last, conveyed to him as surely as by a punctualclock, and he rose noiselessly to his feet. Then again he paused, andstretched first one strong foreleg and then the other to its furthestreach, shooting again his claws, conscious with a faint sense ofwell-being of those tightly-strung muscles rippling beneath his loosestriped skin. They would be in action presently. And, as he did so, there looked over the parapet six feet above him, at the top of thetrellis up which presently he would ascend, another resolute littlehead and blunt-spired cars, and a soft indescribable voice spoke agentle insult. It was his friend . .. And, he knew well enough, on somehigh ridge in the background squatted a young female beauty, withflattened ears and waving tail, awaiting the caresses of the victor. 

As he saw the head above him, to human eyes a shapeless silhouette, tohis eyes a grey-penciled picture perfect in all its details, he pausedin his stretching. Then he sat back, arranged his tail, and lifted hishead to answer. The cry that came from him, not yet _fortissimo_, sounded in human ears beneath no more than a soft broken-hearted wail, but to him who sat above it surpassed in insolence even his owncarefully modulated offensiveness. 

Again the other answered, this time lifting himself to his fullheight, sending a message along the nerves of his back that prickledhis own skin and passed out along the tail with an exquisite ripple ofmovement. And once more came the answer from below. 

So the preliminary challenge went on. Already in the voice of eachthere had begun to show itself that faint note of hysteria thatculminates presently in a scream of anger and a torrent of spits, leading again in their turn to an ominous silence and the first fierceclawing blows at eyes and ears. In another instant the watcher abovewould recoil for a moment as the swift rush was made up the trellis, and then the battle would be joined: but that instant never came. There fell a sudden silence; and he, peering down into the grey gloom, chin on paws, and tail twitching eighteen inches behind, saw anastonishing sight. His adversary had broken off in the midst of a longcrescendo cry, and was himself crouched flat upon the narrow wallstaring now not upwards, but downwards, diagonally, at a certaincurtained window eight feet below. 

This was all very unusual and contrary to precedent. A dog, a humanhand armed with a missile, a furious minatory face--these things werenot present to account for the breach of etiquette. Vaguely heperceived this, conscious only of inexplicability; but he himself alsoceased, and watched for developments. 

Very slowly they came at first. That crouching body beneath wasmotionless now; even the tail had ceased to twitch and hung limplybehind, dripping over the edge of the narrow wall into theunfathomable pit of the garden; and as the watcher stared, he felthimself some communication of the horror so apparent in the other'sattitude. Along his own spine, from neck to flank, ran the paralyzingnervous movement; his own tail ceased to move; his own ears drew backinstinctively, flattening themselves at the sides of the square stronghead. There was a movement near by, and he turned quick eyes to seethe lithe young love of his heart stepping softly into her placebeside him. When he turned again his adversary had vanished. 

 * * * * *

Yet he still watched. Still there was no sound from the window atwhich the other had stared just now: no oblong of light shone out intothe darkness to explain that sudden withdrawal from the fray. 

All was as silent as it had been just now; on all sides windows wereclosed; now and then came a human voice, just a word or two, spokenand answered from one of those pits beneath, and the steady rumble oftraffic went on far away across the roofs; but here, in the immediateneighborhood, all was at peace. He knew well enough the window inquestion; he had leapt himself upon the sill once and again and seenthe foodless waste of floor and carpet and furniture within. 

Yet as he watched and waited his own horror grew. That for which inmen we have as yet no term was strong within him, as in every beastthat lives by perception rather than reason; and he too by thisstrange faculty knew well enough that something was abroad, raying outfrom that silent curtained unseen window--something of an utterlydifferent order from that of dog or flung shoe and furiousvituperation--something that affected certain nerves within his bodyin a new and awful manner. Once or twice in his life he had beenconscious of it before, once in an empty room, once in a room tenantedby a mere outline beneath a sheet and closed by a locked door. 

His heart too seemed melted within him; his tail too hung limplybehind the stucco parapet, and he made no answering movement to thetiny crooning note that sounded once in his ears. 

And still the horror grew. .. . 

Presently he withdrew one claw from the crumbling edge, raising hishead delicately; and then the other. For an instant longer he waited, feeling his back heave uncontrollably. Then, dropping noiselessly onto the lead, he fled beneath the sheltering parapet, a noiselessshadow in the gloom; and his mate fled with him. 

_Chapter IX_

I

Laurie turned slowly over in bed, drew a long breath, expelled it, and, releasing his arms from the bed-clothes, sat up. He switched onthe light by his bed, glanced at his watch, switched off the light, and sank down again into the sheets. He need not get up just yet. 

Then he remembered. 

When an event of an entirely new order comes into experience, it takesa little time to be assimilated. It is as when a large piece offurniture is brought into a room; all the rest of the furniture takesupon itself a different value. A picture that did very well up to thenover the fire-place must perhaps be moved. Values, relations, andbalance all require readjustment. 

Now up to last night Laurie had indeed been convinced, in one sense, of spiritualistic phenomena; but they had not yet for him reached thepoint of significance when they affected everything else. The newsideboard, so to speak, had been brought into the room, but it hadbeen put temporarily against the wall in a vacant space to be lookedat; the owner of the room had not yet realized the necessity ofrearranging the whole. But last night something had happened thatchanged all this. He was now beginning to perceive the need of acomplete review of everything. 

As he lay there, quiet indeed, but startlingly alert, he firstreviewed the single fact. 

 * * * * *

About an hour or so had passed away before anything particularhappened. They had sat there, those four, in complete silence, theirhands upon the table, occasionally shifting a little, hearing thesound of one another's breathing or the faint rustle of one of theladies' dresses, in sufficient light from the screened fire and thesingle heavily shaded electric burner to recognize faces, and even, after the first few minutes, to distinguish small objects, or to readlarge print. 

For the most part Laurie had kept his eyes upon the medium in thecabinet. There the man had leaned back, plainly visible for the mostpart, with even the paleness of his face and the dark blot of hisbeard clearly discernible in the twilight. Now and then the boy's eyeshad wandered to the other faces, to the young clergyman's oppositedowncast and motionless, with a sort of apprehensive look and adetermination not to give way--to the three-quarter profiles of thetwo women, and the gleam of the pince-nez below Lady Laura's frizzedhair. 

So he had sat, the thoughts at first racing through his brain, then, as time went on, moving more and more slowly, with his own brainbecoming ever more passive, until at last he had been compelled tomake a little effort against the drowsiness that had begun to envelophim. He had had to do this altogether three or four times, and hadeven begun to wonder whether he should be able to resist much longer, when a sudden trembling of the table had awakened him, alert andconscious in a moment, and he had sat with every faculty violentlyattentive to what should follow. 

That trembling was a curious sensation beneath his hands. At first itwas no more than might be caused by the passing of a heavy van in thestreet; only there was no van. But it had increased, with spasms andrecoils, till it resembled a continuous shudder as of a living rigidbody. It began also to tilt slightly this way and that. 

Now all this, Laurie knew well, meant nothing at all--or rather, itneed not. And when the movement passed again through all the reversemotions, sinking at last into complete stillness, he was conscious ofdisappointment. A moment later, however, as he glanced up again at themedium in the cabinet, he drew his breath sharply, and Mr. Jamieson, at the sound, wheeled his head swiftly to look. 

There, in the cabinet, somewhere overhead behind the curtain, a faintbut perfectly distinct radiance was visible. It was no more than adiffused glimmer, but it was unmistakable, and it shone out faintlyand clearly upon the medium's face. By its light Laurie could make outevery line and every feature, the drooping clipped moustache, thestrong jutting nose, the lines from nostril to mouth, and the closedeyes. As he watched the light deepened in intensity, seeming toconcentrate itself in the hidden corner at the top. Then, with asmooth, steady motion it emerged into full sight, in appearance like asoftly luminous globe of a pale bluish color, undefined at the edges, floating steadily forward with a motion like that of an air balloon, out into the room. Once outside the cabinet it seemed to hesitate, hanging at about the height of a man's head--then, after an instant, it retired once more, re-entered the cabinet, disappeared in thedirection from which it had come, and once more died out. 

Well, there it had been; there was no doubt about it. .. . And Lauriewas unacquainted with any mechanism that could produce it. 

The clergyman too had seemed affected. He had watched, withturned-back head, the phenomenon from beginning to end, and at theclose, with a long indrawing of breath, had looked once at Laurie, licked his dry lips with a motion that was audible in that profoundsilence, and once more dropped his eyes. The ladies had been silent, and all but motionless throughout. 

Well, the rest had happened comparatively quickly. 

Once more, after the lapse of a few minutes, the radiance had begun toreform; but this time it had emerged almost immediately, diffused andmisty like a nebula; had hung again before the cabinet, and then, witha strange, gently whirling motion, had seemed to arrange itself inlines and curves. 

Gradually, as he stared at it, it had begun to take the shape andsemblance of a head, swathed in drapery, with that same drapery, hanging, as it appeared in folds, dripping downwards to the ground, where it lost itself in vagueness. Then, as he still stared, consciousof nothing but the amazing fact, features appeared to beforming--first blots and lines as of shadow, finally eyes, nose, mouth, and chin as of a young girl. .. . 

A moment later there was no longer a doubt. It was the face of AmyNugent that was looking at him, grave and steady--as when he had seenit in the moonlight above the sluice--and behind, seen half throughthe strange drapery, and half apart from it, a couple of feet behind, the face of the sleeping medium. 

At that sight he had not moved nor spoken, it was enough that the factwas there. Every power he possessed was concentrated in the one effortof observation. .. . 

He heard from somewhere a gasping sigh, and there rose up between himand the face the figure of the clergyman, with his head turned backstaring at the apparition, and one hand only on the table, yet withthat hand so heavy upon it that the whole table shuddered with hisshudder. 

There was a movement on the left, and he heard a fierce femininewhisper--

"Sit down, sir; sit down this instant. .. . "

When the clergyman had again sunk down into his seat with that samestrong shudder, the luminous face was already incoherent; the featureshad relapsed again into blots and shadows, the drapery was absorbingitself upwards into the center from which it came. Once more thenebula trembled, moved backwards, and disappeared. The next instantthe radiance went out, as if turned off by a switch. The mediumgroaned gently and awoke. 

Well, that had ended it. Laurie scarcely remembered the talking thatfollowed, the explanations, the apologies, the hardly concealed terrorof the young clergyman. The medium had come out presently, dazed andconfused. They had talked . .. And so forth. Then Laurie had come home, still trying to assimilate the amazing fact, of which he said that itcould make no difference--that he had seen with his own eyes the faceof Amy Nugent four months after her death. 

Now here he was in bed on the following morning, trying to assimilateit once more. 

 * * * * *

It seemed to him as if sleep had done its work--that the subconsciousintelligence had been able to take the fact in--and that henceforth itwas an established thing in his experience. He was not excited now, but he was intensely and overwhelmingly interested. There the thingwas. Now what difference did it make?

First, he understood that it made an enormous difference to the valueof the most ordinary things. It really was true--as true as tables andchairs--that there was a life after this, and that personalitysurvived. Never again could he doubt that for one instant, even in thegloomiest mood. So long as a man walks by faith, by the acceptance ofauthority, human or Divine, there is always psychologically possiblethe assertion of self, the instinct that what one has not personallyexperienced may just conceivably be untrue. But when one has seen--solong as memory does not disappear--this agnostic instinct is animpossibility. Every single act therefore has a new significance. There is no venture about it any more; there is, indeed, very littleopportunity for heroism. Once it is certain, by the evidence of thesenses, that death is just an interlude, this life becomes merely partof a long process. .. . 

Now as to the conduct of that life--what of religion? And here, for amoment or two, Laurie was genuinely dismayed. For, as he looked at theCatholic religion, he perceived that the whole thing had changed. Itno longer seemed august and dominant. As he contemplated himself as hehad been at Mass on the previous morning, he seemed to have beenrather absurd. Why all this trouble, all this energy, all theseinnumerable acts and efforts of faith? It was not that his religionseemed necessarily untrue; it was certainly possible for a man to holdsimultaneously Catholic and spiritualistic beliefs; there had not beena hint last night against Christianity, and yet, in the face of thisevidence of the senses, Catholicism seemed a very shadowy thing. Itmight well be true, as any philosophy may be true, but--did it mattervery much? To be enthusiastic about it was the frenzy of an artist, who loves the portrait more than the original--and possibly a verymisleading and inadequate portrait. Laurie had seen for himself theoriginal last night; he had seen a disembodied soul in a garb assumedfor the purpose of identification. .. . Did he need, then, a "religion?"Was not his experience all-sufficing. .. . ?

Then suddenly all speculation fled away in the presence of thepersonal element. 

Three days ago he had contemplated the thought of Amy with comparativeindifference. She had been to him lately little more than a "testcase" of the spiritual world, clothed about with the memory ofsentiment. Now once more she sprang into vivid vital life as a person. She was not lost; his relations with her were not just incidents ofthe past; they were as much bound up with the present as courtship hasa continuity with married life. She existed--her very self--andcommunication was possible between them. .. . 

Laurie rolled over on to his back. The thought was violentlyoverwhelming; there was a furious, absorbing fascination in it. Thegulf had been bridged; it could be bridged again. Even if tales weretrue, it could be bridged far more securely yet. It was possible thatthe phantom he had seen could be brought yet more forward into theworld of sense, that he could touch again with his very hand atabernacle enclosing her soul. So far spiritualism had not failed him;why should he suspect it of failure in the future? It had been donebefore; it could, and should, be done again. Besides, there was thepencil incident. .. . 

He threw off the clothes and sprang out of bed. It was time to get up;time to begin again this fascinating, absorbingly interesting earthlylife, which now had such enormous possibilities. 

II

The rooms of Mr. James Morton were conveniently situated up fourflights of stairs in one of those blocks of buildings, so mysteriousto the layman, that lie not a very long way from Charing Cross. Thereis a silence always here as of college life, and the place isfrequented by the same curious selections from the human race as hauntUniversity courts. Here are to be seen cooks, aged and dignified men, errand-boys, and rather shabby old women. 

The interior of the rooms, too, is not unlike that of an ordinaryrather second-rate college; and Mr. James Morton's taste did notredeem the chambers in which he sat. From roof to floor the particularapartment in which he sat was lined with bookshelves filled withunprepossessing volumes and large black tin boxes. A large table stoodin the middle of the room, littered with papers, with bulwarks of thesame kind of tin boxes rising at either end. 

Mr. Morton himself was a square-built man of some forty years, clean-shaven, and rather pale and stout, with strongly markedfeatures, a good loud voice, and the pleasant, brusque manners thatbefit a University and public school man who has taken seriously tobusiness. 

Laurie and he got on excellently together. The younger man had anadmiration for the older, whose reputation as a rather distinguishedbarrister certainly deserved it, and was sufficiently in awe of him topay attention to his directions in all matters connected with law. Butthey did not meet much on other planes. Laurie had asked the otherdown to Stantons once, and had dined with him three or four times inreturn. And there their acquaintance found its limitations. 

This morning, however, the boy's interested air, with its hints ofsuppressed excitement and his marked inattention to the books andpapers which were his business, at last caused the older man to make aremark. It was in his best manner. 

"What's the matter, eh?" he suddenly shot at him, without prelude ofany kind. 

Laurie's attention came back with a jump, and he flushed a little. 

"Oh!--er--nothing particular, " he murmured. And he set himself down tohis books again in silence, conscious of the watchful roving eye onthe other side of the table. 

About half-past twelve Mr. Morton shut his own book with a slap, leaned back, and began to fill his pipe. 

"Nothing seems very important, " he said. 

As the last uttered word had been spoken an hour previously, Lauriewas bewildered, and looked it. 

"It won't do, Baxter, " went on the other. "You haven't turned a pagean hour this morning. "

Laurie smiled doubtfully, and leaned back too. Then he had a spasm ofconfidence. 

"Yes. I'm rather upset this morning, " he said. "The fact is, lastnight. .. "

Mr. Morton waited. 

"Well?" he said. "Oh! don't tell if me you don't want to. "

Laurie looked at him. 

"I wonder what you'd say, " he said at last. 

The other got up with an abrupt movement, pushed his books together, selected a hat, and put it on. 

"I'm going to lunch, " he said. "Got to be in the Courts at two;and. .. . "

"Oh! wait a minute, " said Laurie. "I think I want to tell you. "

"Well, make haste. " He stood, in attitude to go. 

"What do you think of spiritualism?"

"Blasted rot, " said Mr. Morton. "Anything more I can do for you?"

"Do you know anything about it?"

"No. Don't want to. Is that all?"

"Well, look here;" said Laurie. .. . "Oh! sit down for two minutes. "

 * * * * *

Then he began. He described carefully his experiences of the nightbefore, explaining so much as was necessary of antecedent events. Theother during the course of it tilted his hat back, and half leaned, half sat against a side-table, watching the boy at first with a genialcontempt, and finally with the same curious interest that one gives toa man with a new disease. 

"Now, what d'you make of that?" ended Laurie, flushed and superb. 

"D'you want to know?" came after a short silence. 

Laurie nodded. 

"What I said at the beginning, then. "

"What?"

"Blasted rot, " said Mr. Morton again. 

Laurie frowned sharply, and affected to put his books together. 

"Of course, if you take it like that, " he said. "But I don't know whatrespect you can possibly have for any evidence, if. .. . "

"My dear chap, that isn't evidence. No evidence in the world couldmake me believe that the earth was upside down. These things don'thappen. "

"Then how do you explain. .. ?"

"I don't explain, " said Mr. Morton. "The thing's simply not worthlooking into. If you really saw that, you're either mad or else therewas a trick. .. . Now come along to lunch. "

"But I'm not the only one, " cried Laurie hotly. 

"No, indeed you're not. .. . Look here, Baxter, that sort of thing playsthe devil with nerves. Just drop it once and for all. I knew a chaponce who went in for all that. Well, the end was what everybody knewwould happen. .. . "

"Yes?" said Laurie. 

"Went off his chump, " said the other briefly. "Nasty mess all over thefloor. Now come to lunch. "

"Wait a second. You can't argue from particulars to universals. Was hethe only one you ever knew?"

The other paused a moment. 

"No, " he said. "As it happens, he wasn't. I knew another chap--he's asolicitor. .. . Oh! by the way, he's one of your people--a Catholic, Imean. "

"Well, what about him?" "Oh! he's all right, " admitted Mr. Morton, with a grudging air. "But he gave it up and took to religion instead. "

"Yes? What's his name?"

"Cathcart. "

He glanced up at the clock. 

"Good Lord, " he said, "ten to one. "

Then he was gone. 

 * * * * *

Laurie was far too exalted to be much depressed by this counsel'sopinion; and had, indeed, several minutes of delightful meditation onthe crass complacency of a clever man when taken off his ground. Itwas deplorable, he said to himself, that men should be so content withtheir limitations. But it was always the way, he reflected. To be aspecialist in one point involved the pruning of all growth on everyother. Here was Morton, almost in the front rank of his particularsubject, and, besides, very far from being a bookworm; yet, when takenan inch out of his rut, he could do nothing but flounder. He wonderedwhat Morton would make of these things if he saw them himself. 

In the course of the afternoon Morton himself turned up again. Thecase had ended unexpectedly soon. Laurie waited till the closing ofthe shutters offered an opportunity for a break in the work, and oncemore returned to the charge. 

"Morton, " he said, "I wish you'd come with me one day. "

The other looked up. 

"Eh?"

"To see for yourself what I told you. "

Mr. Morton snorted abruptly. 

"Lord!" he said, "I thought we'd done with that. No, thank you:Egyptian Hall's all I need. "

Laurie sighed elaborately. 

"Oh! of course, if you won't face facts, one can't expect. .. . "

"Look here, Baxter, " said the other almost kindly, "I advise you togive this up. It plays the very devil with nerves, as I told you. Why, you're as jumpy as a cat yourself. And it isn't worth it. If there wasanything in it, why it would be another thing; but. .. . "

"I . .. I wouldn't give it up for all the world, " stammered Laurie inhis zeal. "You simply don't know what you're talking about. Why . .. Why, I'm not a fool . .. I know that. And do you think I'm ass enoughto be taken in by a trick? And as if a trick could be played like thatin a drawing-room! I tell you I examined every inch. .. . "

"Look here, " said Morton, looking curiously at the boy--for there wassomething rather impressive about Laurie's manner--"look here; you'dbetter see old Cathcart. Know him. .. ? Well, I'll introduce you anytime. He'll tell you another tale. Of course, I don't believe all therot he talks; but, at any rate, he's sensible enough to have given itall up. Says he wouldn't touch it with a pole. And he was rather a bigbug at it in his time, I believe. "

Laurie sneered audibly. 

"Got frightened, I suppose, " he said. "Of course, I know well enoughthat it's rather startling--"

"My dear man, he was in the thick of it for ten years. I'llacknowledge his stories are hair-raising, if one believed them; butthen, you see--"

"What's his address?"

Morton jerked his head towards the directories in the bookshelf. 

"Find him there, " he said. "I'll give you an introduction if you wantit. Though, mind you, I think he talks as much rot as anyone--"

"What does he say?"

"Lord!--I don't know. Some theory or other. But, at any rate, he'sgiven it up. "

Laurie pursed his lips. 

"I daresay I'll ask you some time, " he said. "Meanwhile--"

"Meanwhile, for the Lord's sake, get on with that business you've gotthere. "

 * * * * *

Mr. Morton was indeed, as Laurie had reflected, extraordinarilyuninterested in things outside his beat; and his beat was not a veryextended one. He was a quite admirable barrister, competent, alert, merciless and kindly at the proper times, and, while at his business, thought of hardly anything else at all. And when he was not at hisbusiness, he threw himself with equal zest into two or three otheroccupations--golf, dining out, and the collection of a particular kindof chairs. Beyond these things there was for him really nothing ofvalue. 

But, owing to circumstances, his beat had been further extended toinclude Laurie Baxter, whom he was beginning to like extremely. Therewas an air of romance about Laurie, a pleasant enthusiasm, excellentmanners, and a rather delightful faculty of hero-worship. Mr. Mortonhimself, too, while possessing nothing even resembling a religion, was, like many other people, not altogether unattracted towards thosewho had, though he thought religiousness to be a sign of a slightlyincompetent character; and he rather liked Laurie's Catholicism, suchas it was. It must be rather pleasant, he considered (when heconsidered it at all), to believe "all that, " as he would have said. 

So this new phase of Laurie's interested him far more than he wouldhave allowed, so soon as he became aware that it was not merelysuperficial; and, indeed, Laurie's constant return to the subject, aswell as his air of enthusiastic conviction, soon convinced him thatthis was so. 

Further, after a week or two, he became aware that the young man'swork was suffering; and he heard from his lips the expression ofcertain views that seemed to the elder man extremely unhealthy. 

For example, on a Friday evening, not much afterwards, as Laurie wasputting his books together, Mr. Morton asked him where he was going tospend the week-end. 

"Stopping in town, " said the boy briefly. 

"Oh! I'm going to my brother's cottage. Care to come? Afraid there'sno Catholic church near. "

Laurie smiled. 

"That wouldn't deter me, " he said. "I've made up my mind--"

"Yes?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter, " said Laurie. "No--thanks awfully, but I'vegot to stop in town. "

"Lady Laura's again?"

"Yes. "

"Same old game?"

Laurie sat down. 

"Look here, " he said, "I know you don't mean anything; but I wishyou'd understand. "

"Well?"

The boy's face flushed with sudden nervous enthusiasm. 

"Do you understand, " he said, "that this is just everything to me? Doyou know it's beginning to seem to me just the only thing thatmatters? I'm quite aware that you think it all the most utter bunkum;but, you see, I know it's true. And the whole thing is just likeheaven opening. .. . Look here . .. I didn't tell you half the otherday. The fact is, that I was just as much in love with this girlas--as a man could be. She died; and now--"

"Look here, what were you up to last Sunday?"

Laurie quieted a little. 

"You wouldn't understand, " he said. 

"Have you done any more of that business?"

"What business?"

"Well--thinking you saw her--All right, seeing her, if you like. "

The boy shook his head. 

"No. Vincent's away in Ireland. We've been going on other lines. "

"Tell me; I swear I won't laugh. "

"All right; I don't care if you do. .. . Well, automatic handwriting. "

"What's that?"

Laurie hesitated. 

"Well, I go into trance, you see, and--"

"Good Lord, what next?"

"And then this girl writes through my hand, " said Laurie deliberately, "when I'm unconscious. See?"

"I see you're a damned young fool, " said Morton seriously. 

"But if it's all rot, as you think?"

"Of course it's all rot! Do you think I believe for one instant--" Hebroke off. "And so's a nervous breakdown all rot, isn't it, and D. T. ?They aren't real snakes, you know. "

Laurie smiled in a superior manner. 

"And you're getting yourself absorbed in all this--"

Laurie looked at him with a sudden flash of fanaticism. 

"I tell you, " he said, "that it's all the world to me. And so would itbe to you, if--"

"Oh, Lord! don't become Salvation Army. .. . Seen Cathcart yet?"

"No. I haven't the least wish to see Cathcart. "

Morton rose, put his pens in the drawer, locked it; slid half a dozenpapers into a black tin box, locked that too, and went towards hiscoat and hat, all in silence. 

As he went out he turned on the threshold. 

"When's that man coming back from Ireland?" he said. 

"Who? Vincent? Oh! another month yet. We're going to have another trywhen he comes. "

"Try? What at?"

"Materialization, " said Laurie. "That's to say--"

"I don't want to know what the foul thing means. "

He still paused, looking hard at the boy. Then he sniffed. 

"A young fool, " he said. "I repeat it. .. . Lock up when you come. .. . Good night. "

_Chapter X_

I

Mrs. Baxter possessed one of the two secrets of serenity. The otherneed not be specified; but hers arose from the most pleasant and mosthuman form of narrow-mindedness. As has been said before, when thingsdid not fit with her own scheme, either they were not things, but onlyfancies of somebody inconsiderable, or else she resolutely disregardedthem. She had an opportunity of testing her serenity on one day earlyin February. 

She rose as usual at a fixed hour--eight o'clock--and when she wasready knelt down at her _prie-Dieu_. This was quite an elaboratestructure, far more elaborate than the devotions offered there. It wasa very beautiful inlaid Florentine affair, and had a little shelfabove it filled with a number of the little leather-bound books inwhich her soul delighted. She did not use these books very much; butshe liked to see them there. It would not be decent to enter thesanctuary of Mrs. Baxter's prayers; it is enough to say that they werenot very long. Then she rose from her knees, left her largecomfortable bedroom, redolent with soap and hot water, and camedownstairs, a beautiful slender little figure in black lace veil andrich dress, through the sunlight of the staircase, into thedining-room. 

There she took up her letters and packets. They were not exciting. There was an unimportant note from a friend, a couple of bills, and a_Bon Marché_ catalogue; and she scrutinized these through herspectacles, sitting by the fire. When she had done she noticed aletter lying by Maggie's place, directed in a masculine hand. Aninstant later Maggie came in herself, in her hat and furs, a charmingpicture, fresh from the winter sunlight and air, and kissed her. 

While Mrs. Baxter poured out tea she addressed a remark or two to thegirl, but only got back those vague inattentive murmurs that are thesign of a distracted mind; and, looking up presently with a sense ofinjury, noticed that Maggie was reading her letter with extraordinarydiligence. 

"My dear, I am speaking to you, " said Mrs. Baxter, with an air ofslightly humorous dignity. 

"Er--I am sorry, " murmured Maggie, and continued reading. 

Mrs. Baxter put out her hand for the _Bon Marché_ catalogue in orderto drive home her sense of injury, and met Maggie's eyes, suddenlyraised to meet her own, with a curious strained look in them. 

"Darling, what is the matter?"

Maggie still stared at her a moment, as if questioning both herselfand the other, and finally handed the letter across with an abruptmovement. 

"Read it, " she said. 

It was rather a business to read it. It involved spectacles, a pushingaside of a plate, and a slight turning to catch the light. Mrs. Baxterread it, and handed it back, making three or four times the soundwritten as "Tut. "

"The tiresome boy!" she said querulously, but without alarm. 

"What are we to do? You see, Mr. Morton thinks we ought to dosomething. He mentions a Mr. Cathcart. "

Mrs. Baxter reached out for the toast-rack. 

"My dear, there's nothing to be done. You know what Laurie is. It'llonly make him worse. "

Maggie looked at her uneasily. 

"I wish we could do something, " she said. 

"My dear, he'd have written to me--Mr. Morton, I mean--if Laurie hadbeen really unwell. You see he only says he doesn't attend to his workas he ought. "

Maggie took up the letter, put it carefully back into the envelope, and went on with breakfast. There was nothing more to be said justthen. 

But she was uneasy, and after breakfast went out into the garden, spudin hand, to think it all over, with the letter in her pocket. 

Certainly the letter was not alarming _per se_, but _peraccidens_--that is to say, taking into account who it was that hadwritten, she was not so sure. She had met Mr. Morton but once, and hadformed of him the kind of impression that a girl would form of such aman in the hours of a week-end--a brusque, ordinary kind of barristerwithout much imagination and a good deal of shrewd force. It wassurely rather an extreme step for a man like this to write to a girlin such a condition of things, asking her to use her influence todissuade Laurie from his present course of life. Plainly the man meantwhat he said; he had not written to Mrs. Baxter, as he explained inthe letter, for fear of alarming her unduly, and, as he expresslysaid, there was nothing to be alarmed about. Yet he had written. 

Maggie stopped at the lower end of the orchard path, took out theletter, and read the last three or four sentences again:

 Please forgive me if you think it was unnecessary to write. Of course I have no doubt whatever that the whole thing is nothing but nonsense; but even nonsense can have a bad effect, and Mr. Baxter seems to me to be far too much wrapped up in it. I enclose the address of a friend of mine in case you would care to write to him on the subject. He was once a Spiritualist, and is now a devout Catholic. He takes a view of it that I do not take; but at any rate his advice could do no harm. You can trust him to be absolutely discreet. 

 Believe me, Yours sincerely, James Morton

It really was very odd and unconventional; and Mr. Morton had notseemed at all an odd or unconventional person. He mentioned, too, aparticular date, February 25, as the date by which the medium wouldhave returned, and some sort of further effort was going to be made;but he did not attempt to explain this, nor did Maggie understand it. It only seemed to her rather sinister and unpleasant. 

She turned over the page, and there was the address he hadmentioned--a Mr. Cathcart. Surely he did not expect her to write tothis stranger. .. . 

She walked up and down with her spud for another half-hour before shecould come to any conclusion. Certainly she agreed with Mr. JamesMorton that the whole thing was nonsense; yet, further, that thisnonsense was capable of doing a good deal of harm to an excitableperson. Besides, Laurie obviously had a bad conscience about it, or hewould have mentioned it. 

She caught sight of Mrs. Baxter presently through the thick hedge, walking with her dainty, dignified step along the paths of the kitchengarden; and a certain impatience seized her at the sight. This boy'smother was so annoyingly serene. Surely it was her business, ratherthan Maggie's own, to look after Laurie; yet the girl knew perfectlywell that if Laurie was left to his mother nothing at all would bedone. Mrs. Baxter would deplore it all, of course, gently andtranquilly, in Laurie's absence, and would, perhaps, if she were hardpressed, utter a feeble protest even in his presence; and that wasabsolutely all. .. . 

"Maggie! Maggie!" came the gentle old voice, calling presently; andthen to some unseen person, "Have you seen Miss Deronnais anywhere?"

Maggie put the letter in her pocket and hurried through from theorchard. 

"Yes?" she said, with a half hope. 

"Come in, my dear, and tell me what you think of those new teacups inthe _Bon Marché_ catalogue, " said the old lady. "There seem somebeautiful new designs, and we want another set. "

Maggie bowed to the inevitable. But as they passed up the garden herresolution was precipitated. 

"Can you let me go by twelve, " she said. "I rather want to see FatherMahon about something. "

"My dear, I shall not keep you three minutes, " protested the old lady. 

And they went in to talk for an hour and three-quarters. 

II

Father Mahon was a conscientious priest. He said his mass at eighto'clock; he breakfasted at nine; he performed certain devotions tillhalf-past ten; read the paper till eleven, and theology till twelve. Then he considered himself at liberty to do what he liked till hisdinner at one. (The rest of his day does not concern us just now. )

He, too, was looking round his garden this morning--a fine, solidfigure of a man, in rather baggy trousers, short coat, and expansivewaistcoat, with every button doing its duty. He too, like Mr. JamesMorton, had his beat, an even narrower one than the barrister's, andeven better trodden, for he never strayed off it at all, except forfour short weeks in the summer, when he hurried across to Ireland andgot up late, and went on picnics with other ecclesiastics in strawhats, and joined in cheerful songs in the evening. He was a priest, with perfectly defined duties, and of admirable punctuality andconscientiousness in doing them. He disliked the English quiteextraordinarily; but his sense of duty was such that they neversuspected it; and his flock of Saxons adored him as people only canadore a brisk, businesslike man with a large heart and peremptoryways, who is their guide and father, and is perfectly aware of it. Hissermons consisted of cold-cut blocks of dogma taken perseveringly fromsermon outlines and served up Sunday by Sunday with a sauce of aslight and delightful brogue. He could never have kindled the Thames, nor indeed any river at all, but he could bridge them with solidstones; and this is, perhaps, even more desirable. 

Maggie had begun by disliking him. She had thought him rather coarseand stupid; but she had changed her mind. He was not what may becalled subtle; he had no patience at all with such things as scruples, _nuances_, and shades of tone and meaning; but if you put a plainquestion to him plainly, he gave you a plain answer, if he knew it; ifnot, he looked it up then and there; and that is always a relief inthis intricate world. Maggie therefore did not bother him much; shewent to him only on plain issues; and he respected and liked heraccordingly. 

"Good morning, my child, " he said in his loud, breezy voice, as hecame in to find her in his hideous little sitting-room. "I hope youdon't mind the smell of tobacco-smoke. "

The room indeed reeked; he had started a cigar, according to rule, asthe clock struck twelve, and had left it just now upon a stump outsidewhen his housekeeper had come to announce a visitor. 

"Not in the least, thanks, father. .. . May I sit down? It's rather along business, I'm afraid. "

The priest pulled out an arm-chair covered with horsehair and anantimacassar. 

"Sit down, my child. "

Then he sat down himself, opposite her, in his trousers at once tightand baggy, with his rather large boots cocked one over the other, andhis genial red face smiling at her. 

"Now then, " he said. 

"It's not about myself, father, " she began rather hurriedly. "It'sabout Laurie Baxter. May I begin at the beginning?"

He nodded. He was not sorry to hear something about this boy, whom hedidn't like at all, but for whom he knew himself at least partlyresponsible. The English were bad enough, but English converts wereindescribably trying; and Laurie had been on his mind lately, hescarcely knew why. 

Then Maggie began at the beginning, and told the whole thing, fromAmy's death down to Mr. Morton's letter. He put a question or two toher during her story, looking at her with pressed lips, and finallyput out his hand for the letter itself. 

"Mrs. Baxter doesn't know what I've come about, " said the girl. "Youwon't give her a hint, will you, father?"

He nodded reassuringly to her, absorbed in the letter, and presentlyhanded it back, with a large smile. 

"He seems a sensible fellow, " he said. 

"Ah! that's what I wanted to ask you, father. I don't know anything atall about spiritualism. Is it--is it really all nonsense? Is therenothing in it at all?"

He laughed aloud. 

"I don't think you need be afraid, " he said. "Of course we know thatsouls don't come back like that. They're somewhere else. "

"Then it's all fraud?"

"It's practically all fraud, " he said, "but it's very superstitious, and is forbidden by the Church. "

This was straight enough. It was at least a clear issue to begin toattack Laurie upon. 

"Then--then that's the evil of it?" she said. "There's no real powerunderneath? That's what Mr. Rymer said to Mrs. Baxter; and it's whatI've always thought myself. "

The priest's face became theological. 

"Let's see what Sabetti says, " he said. "I fancy--"

He turned in his chair and fetched out a volume behind him. 

"Here we are. .. . "

He ran his finger down the heavy paragraphs, turned a page or two, andbegan a running comment and translation: "'_Necromantia ex_'. .. . 'Necromancy arising from invocation of the dead'. .. . Let's see . .. Yes, 'Spiritism, or the consulting of spirits in order to know hiddenthings, especially that pertain to the future life, certainly isdivination properly so called, and is . .. Is full of even more impietythan is magnetism, or the use of turning tables. The reason is, as theBaltimore fathers testify, that such knowledge must necessarily beascribed to Satanic intervention, since in no other manner can it beexplained. '"

"Then--" began Maggie. 

"One moment, my child. .. . Yes . .. Just so. 'Express divination'. .. . No, no. Ah! here we are, 'Tacit divination, . .. Even if it is openlyprotested that no commerce with the Demon is intended, is _per se_grave sin; but it can sometimes be excused from mortal sin, on accountof simplicity or ignorance or a lack of certain faith. ' You see, mychild--" he set the book back in its place "--so far as it's not fraudit's diabolical. And that's an end of it. "

"But do you think it's not all fraud, then?" asked the girl, paling alittle. 

He laughed again, with a resonance that warmed her heart. 

"I should pay just no attention to it all. Tell him, if you like, whatI've said, and that it's grave sin for him to play with it; but don'tget thinking that the devil's in everything. "

Maggie was puzzled. 

"Then it's not the devil?" she asked--"at least not in this case, youthink?"

He smiled again reassuringly. 

"I should suspect it was a clever trick, " he said. "I don't thinkMaster Laurie's likely to get mixed up with the devil in that way. There's plenty of easier ways than that. "

"Do you think I should write to Mr. Cathcart?"

"Just as you like. He's a convert, isn't he? I believe I've heard hisname. "

"I think so. "

"Well, it wouldn't do any harm; though I should suspect not muchgood. "

Maggie was silent. 

"Just tell Master Laurie not to play tricks, " said the priest. "He'sgot a good, sensible friend in Mr. Morton. I can see that. And don'ttrouble your head too much about it, my child. "

 * * * * *

When Maggie was gone, he went out to finish his cigar, and found tohis pleasure that it was still alight, and after a puff or two it wentvery well. 

He thought about his interview for a few minutes as he walked up anddown, taking the bright winter air. It explained a good deal. He hadbegun to be a little anxious about this boy. It was not that Lauriehad actually neglected his religion while at Stantons; he was alwaysin his place at mass on Sundays, and even, very occasionally, onweekdays as well. And he had had a mass said for Amy Nugent. But evenas far back as the beginning of the previous year, there had been anair about him not altogether reassuring. 

Well, this at any rate was a small commentary on the presentsituation. .. . (The priest stopped to look at some bulbs that werecoming up in the bed beside him, and stooped, breathing heavily, tosmooth the earth round one of them with a large finger. ). .. And as forthis Spiritualistic nonsense--of course the whole thing was a trick. Things did not happen like that. Of course the devil could doextraordinary things: or at any rate had been able to do them in thepast; but as for Master Laurie Baxter--whose home was down there inthe hamlet, and who had been at Oxford and was now reading law--as forthe thought that this rather superior Saxon young man was in directcommunication with Satan at the present time--well, that needed nocomment but loud laughter. 

Yet it was very unwholesome and unhealthy. That was the worst of theseconverts; they could not be content with the sober workaday facts ofthe Catholic creed. They must be always running after some novelty orother. .. . And it was mortal sin anyhow, if the sinner had the faintestidea--

A large dinner-bell pealed from the back door; and the priest went into roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, apple dumplings, and a singleglass of port-wine to end up with. 

III

It was strange how Maggie felt steadied and encouraged in the presenceof something at least resembling danger. So long as Laurie was merelytiresome and foolish, she distrusted herself, she made little rulesand resolutions, and deliberately kept herself interiorly detachedfrom him. But now that there was something definite to look to, hersensitiveness vanished. 

As to what that something was, she did not trust herself to decide. Father Mahon had given her a point to work at--the fact that thething, as a serious pursuit, was forbidden; as to what the realitybehind was, whether indeed there were any reality at all, she did notallow herself to consider. Laurie was in a state of nervessufficiently troublesome to bring a letter from his friend and guide;and he was in that state through playing tricks on forbidden ground;that was enough. 

Her interview with Father Mahon precipitated her half-formedresolution; and after tea she went upstairs to write to Mr. Cathcart. 

It was an unconventional thing to do, but she was sufficientlyperturbed to disregard that drawback, and she wrote a very sensibleletter, explaining first who she was; then, without any names beingmentioned, she described her adopted brother's position, and indicatedhis experiences: she occupied the last page in asking two or threequestions, and begging for general advice. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Baxter displayed some symptoms after dinner which the girlrecognized well enough. They comprised a resolute avoidance ofLaurie's name, a funny stiff little air of dignity, and a touch ofpatronage. And the interpretation of these things was that the oldlady did not wish the subject to be mentioned again, and that, interiorly, she was doing her best ignore and forget it. Maggie felt, again, vaguely comforted; it left her a freer hand. 

 * * * * *

She lay awake a long time that night. 

Her room was a little square one on the top of the stairs, above thesmoking-room where she had that odd scene with Laurie a month or sobefore, and looking out upon the yew walk that led to the orchard. Itwas a cheerful little place enough, papered in brown, hung all overwith water colors, with her bed in one corner; and it looked areassuring familiar kind of place in the firelight, as she layopen-eyed and thinking. 

It was not that she was at all frightened; it was no more than alittle natural anxiety; and half a dozen times in the hour or two thatshe lay thinking, she turned resolutely over in bed, dismissed thelittle pictures that her mind formed in spite of herself, and began tothink of pleasant, sane subjects. 

But the images recurred. They were no more than littlevignettes--Laurie talking to a severe-looking tall man with a sardonicsmile; Laurie having tea with Mrs. Stapleton; Laurie in an empty room, looking at a closed door. .. . 

It was this last picture that recurred three or four times at the veryinstant that the girl was drowsing off into sleep; and it hadtherefore that particular vividness that characterizes the thoughtswhen the conscious attention is dormant. It had too a strangelyperturbing effect upon her; and she could not imagine why. 

After the third return of it her sense of humor came to the rescue: itwas too ridiculous, she said, to be alarmed at an empty room andLaurie's back. Once more she turned on her side, away from thefirelight, and resolved, if it recurred again, to examine the detailsclosely. 

Again the moments passed: thought followed thought, in those quietwaves that lull the mind towards sleep; finally once more the picturewas there, clear and distinct. 

Yes; she would look at it this time. 

It was a bare room, wainscoted round the walls a few inches up, papered beyond in some common palish pattern. Laurie stood in thecenter of the uncarpeted boards, with his back turned to her, looking, it seemed, with an intense expectation at the very dull door in thewall opposite him. He was in his evening dress, she saw, knee-breechesand buckles all complete; and his hands were clenched, as they hungheld out a little from his sides, as he himself, crouching a little, stared at the door. 

She, too, looked at the door, at its conventional panels and its brasshandle; and it appeared to her as if both he and she were expectant ofsome visitor. The door would open presently, she perceived; and thereason why Laurie was so intent upon the entrance, was that he, nomore than she, had any idea as to the character of the person who wasto come in. She became quite interested as she watched--it was amethod she followed sometimes when wooing sleep--and she began, in herfancy, to go past Laurie as if to open the door. But as she passed himshe was aware that he put out a hand to check her, as if to hold herback from some danger; and she stopped, hesitating, still looking, notat Laurie, but at the door. 

She began then, with the irresponsibility of deepening sleep, toimagine instead what lay beyond the door--to perceive by intuitivevision the character of the house. She got so far as understandingthat it was all as unfurnished as this room, that the house stoodsolitary among trees, and that even these, and the tangled garden thatshe determined must surround the house, were as listening and asexpectant as herself and the waiting figure of the boy. Once more, asif to verify her semi-passive imaginative excursion, she moved to thedoor. .. . 

Ah! what nonsense it was. Here she was, wide awake again, in her ownfamiliar room, with the firelight on the walls. 

. .. Well, well; sleep was a curious thing; and so was imagination. .. . 

. .. At any rate she had written to Mr. Cathcart. 

_Chapter XI_

I

The "Cock Inn" is situated in Fleet Street, not twenty yards fromMitre Court and scarcely fifty from the passage that leads down to thecourt where Mr. James Morton still has his chambers. 

It was a convenient place, therefore, for Laurie to lunch in, and hegenerally made his appearance there a few minutes before one o'clockto partake of a small rump steak and a pewter mug of beer. Sometimeshe came alone, sometimes in company; and by a carefully thought outsystem of tips he usually managed to have reserved for him at leastuntil one o'clock a particular seat in a particular partition in thatrow of stable-like shelters that run the length of the room oppositethe door on the first floor. 

On the twenty-third of February, however--it was a Friday, by the way, and boiled plaice would have to be eaten instead of rump steak--he wasa little annoyed to find his seat already occupied by a small, brisk-looking man with a grey beard and spectacles, who, with anewspaper propped in front of him, was also engaged in the consumptionof boiled plaice. 

The little man looked up at him sharply, like a bird disturbed in ameal, and then down again upon the paper. Laurie noticed that his hatand stick were laid upon the adjoining chair as if to retain it. Hehesitated an instant; then he slid in on the other side, opposite thestranger, tapped his glass with his knife, and sat down. 

When the waiter came, a familiarly deferential man with whiskers, Laurie, with a slight look of peevishness, gave his order, and glancedreproachfully at the occupied seat. The waiter gave the ghost of ashrug with his shoulders, significant of apologetic helplessness, andwent away. 

A minute later Mr. Morton entered, glanced this way and that, noddingimperceptibly to Laurie, and was just moving off to a less occupiedtable when the stranger looked up. 

"Mr. Morton, " he cried, "Mr. Morton!" in an odd voice that seemed onthe point of cracking into falsetto. Certainly he was very like aportly bird, thought Laurie. 

The other turned round, nodded with short geniality, and slid into thechair from which the old man moved his hat and stick with zealoushaste. 

"And what are you doing here?" said Mr. Morton. 

"Just taking a bite like yourself, " said the other. "Friday--worseluck. "

Laurie was conscious of a touch of interest. This man was a Catholic, then, he supposed. 

"Oh, by the way, " said Mr. Morton, "have you--er--" and he indicatedLaurie. "No. .. ? Baxter, let me introduce Mr. Cathcart. "

For a moment the name meant nothing to Laurie; then he remembered; buthis rising suspicions were quelled instantly by his friend's nextremark. 

"By the way, Cathcart, we were talking of you a week or two ago. "

"Indeed! I am flattered, " said the old man perkily. Yes, "perky" wasthe word, thought Laurie. 

"Mr. Baxter here is interested in Spiritualism--rump steak, waiter, and pint of bitter--and I told him you were the man for him. "

Laurie interiorly drew in his horns. 

"A--er--an experimenter?" asked the old man, with courteous interest, his eyes giving a quick gleam beneath his glasses. 

"A little. "

"Yes. Most dangerous--most dangerous. .. . And any success, Mr. Baxter?"

Laurie felt his annoyance deepen. 

"Very considerable success, " he said shortly. 

"Ah, yes--you must forgive me, sir; but I have had a good deal ofexperience, and I must say--You are a Catholic, I see, " he said, interrupting himself. "Or a High Churchman. "

"I am a Catholic, " said Laurie. 

"So'm I. But I gave up spiritualism as soon as I became one. Veryinteresting experiences, too; but--well, I value my soul too much, Mr. Baxter. "

Mr. Morton put a large piece of potato into his mouth with a detachedair. 

It was really rather trying, thought Laurie, to be catechized in thisway; so he determined to show superiority. 

"And you think it all superstition and nonsense?" he asked. 

"Indeed, no, " said the old man shortly. 

Laurie pushed his plate on one side, and drew the cheese towards him. This was a little more interesting, he thought, but he was still farfrom feeling communicative. 

"What then?" he asked. 

"Oh, very real indeed, " said the old man. "That is just the danger. "

"The danger?"

"Yes, Mr. Baxter. Of course there's plenty of fraud and trickery; weall know that. But it's the part that's not fraud that's--May I askwhat medium you go to?"

"I know Mr. Vincent. And I've been to some public _séances_, too. "

The old man looked at him with sudden interest, but said nothing. 

"You think he's not honest?" said Laurie, with cool offensiveness. 

"Oh, yes; he's perfectly honest, " said the other deliberately. "I'lltrouble you for the sugar, Mr. Morton. "

Laurie was determined not to begin the subject again. He felt that hewas being patronized and lectured, and did not like it. And once againthe suspicion crossed his mind that this was an arranged meeting. Itwas so very neat--two days before the _séance_--the entry ofMorton--his own seat occupied. Yet he did not feel quite courageousenough to challenge either of them. He ate his cheese deliberately andwaited, listening to the talk between the two on quite irrelevantsubjects, and presently determined on a bit of bravado. 

"May I look at the _Daily Mirror_, Mr. Cathcart?" he asked. 

"There is no doubt of his guilt, " the old man said, as he handed thepaper across (the two were deep in a law case now). "I said so toMarkham a dozen times--" and so on. 

But there was no more word of spiritualism. Laurie propped the paperbefore him as he finished his cheese, and waited for coffee, and readwith unseeing eyes. He was resenting as hard as he could theabruptness of the opening and closing of the subject, and the completedisregard now shown to him. He drank his coffee, still leisurely, andlit a cigarette; and still the two talked. 

He stood up at last and reached down his hat and stick. The old manlooked up. 

"You are going, Mr. Baxter. .. ? Good day. .. . Well then; and as I waswaiting in court--"

Laurie passed out indignantly, and went down the stairs. 

So that was Mr. Cathcart. Well, he was thankful he hadn't written tohim, after all. He was not his kind in the least. 

II

The moment he passed out of the door the old man stopped his fluenttalking and waited, looking after the boy. Then he turned again to hisfriend. 

"I'm a blundering idiot, " he said. 

Mr. Morton sniffed. 

"I've put him against me now--Lord knows how; but I've done it; and hewon't listen to me. "

"Gad!" said Mr. Morton; "what funny people you all are! And you reallymeant what you said?"

"Every word, " said the old man cheerfully. .. . "Well; our little plot'sover. "

"Why don't you ask him to come and see you?"

"First, " said the old man, with the same unruffled cheerfulness, "hewouldn't have come. We've muddled it. We'd much better have beenstraightforward. Secondly, he thinks me an old fool--as you do, onlymore so. No; we must set to work some other way now. .. . Tell me aboutMiss Deronnais: I showed you her letter?"

The other nodded, helping himself to cheese. 

"I told her that I was at her service, of course; and I haven't heardagain. Sensible girl?"

"Very sensible, I should say. "

"Sort of girl that wouldn't scream or faint in a crisis?"

"Exactly the opposite, I should say. But I've hardly seen her, youknow. "

"Well, well. .. . And the mother?"

"No good at all, " said Mr. Morton. 

"Then the girl's the sheet anchor. .. . In love with him, do you know?"

"Lord! How d'you expect me to know that?"

The old man pondered in silence, seeming to assimilate the situation. 

"He's in a devil of a mess, " he said, with abrupt cheerfulness. "Thatman Vincent--"

"Well?"

"He's the most dangerous of the lot. Just because he's honest. "

"Good God!" broke in the other again suddenly. "Do all Catholicsbelieve this rubbish?"

"My dear friend, of course they don't. Not one in a thousand. I wishthey did. That's what's the matter. But they laugh at it--laugh atit!". .. His voice cracked into shrill falsetto. .. . "Laugh athell-fire. .. . Is Sunday the day, did you say?"

"He told me the twenty-fifth. "

"And at that woman's in Queen's Gate, I suppose?"

"Expect so. He didn't say. Or I forget. "

"I heard they were at their games there again, " said Mr. Cathcart withmeditative geniality. "I'd like to blow up the stinking hole. "

Mr. Morton chuckled audibly. 

"You're the youngest man of your years I've ever come across, " hesaid. "No wonder you believe all that stuff. When are you going togrow up, Cathcart?"

The old man paid no attention at all. 

"Well--that plot's over, " he said again. "Now for Miss Deronnais. Butwe can't stop this Sunday affair; that's certain. Did he tell youanything about it? Materialization? Automatic--"

"Lord, I don't know all that jargon. .. . "

"My dear Morton, for a lawyer, you're the worst witness I'veever--Well, I'm off. No more to be done today. "

 * * * * *

The other sat on a few minutes over his pipe. 

It seemed to him quite amazing that a sensible man like Cathcart couldtake such rubbish seriously. In every other department of life thesolicitor was an eminently shrewd and sane man, with, moreover, ayouthful kind of brisk humor that is perhaps the surest symptom ofsanity that it is possible to have. 

He had seen him in court for years past under every sort ofcircumstance, and if it had been required of him to select a characterwith which superstition and morbid humbug could have had nothing incommon, he would have laid his hand upon the senior partner ofCathcart and Cathcart. Yet here was this sane man, taking thisfantastic nonsense as if there were really something in it. He hadfirst heard him speak of the subject at a small bachelor dinner partyof four in the rooms of a mutual friend; and, as he had listened, hehad had the same sensation as one would have upon hearing a CabinetMinister, let us say, discussing stump-cricket with enthusiasm. Cathcart had said all kinds of things when once he was started--allwith that air of businesslike briskness that was so characteristic ofhim and so disconcerting in such a connection. If he had apologizedfor it as an amiable weakness, if he had been in the least shamefacedor deprecatory, it would have been another matter; one would haveforgiven it as one forgives any little exceptional eccentricity. Butto hear him speak of materialization as of a process as normal (thoughunusual) as the production of radium, and of planchette as of wirelesstelegraphy--as established, indubitable facts, though out of the rangeof common experience--this had amazed this very practical man. Cathcart had hinted too of other things--things which he would notamplify--of a still more disconcertingly impossible nature--matterswhich Morton had scarcely thought had been credible even to thedarkest medievalists; and all this with that same sharp, sane humorthat lent an air of reality to all that he said. 

For romantic young asses like Laurie Baxter such things were not sohopelessly incongruous, though obviously they were bad for him; theywere all part of the wild credulousness of a religious youth; but forCathcart, aged sixty-two, a solicitor in good practice, with a wifeand two grown-up daughters, and a reputation for exceptionally soundshrewdness--! But it must be remembered he was a Catholic!

So Mr. James Morton sat in the "Cock" and pondered. He was not sorryhe had tried to take steps to choke off this young fool, and he wasjust a little sorry that so far they had failed. He had written toMiss Deronnais in an impulse, after an unusually feverish outburstfrom the boy; and she, he had learnt later, had written to Mr. Cathcart. The rest had been of the other's devising. 

Well, it had failed so far. Perhaps next week things would be better. 

He paid his bill, left two pence for the waiter, and went out. He hada case that afternoon. 

III

Laurie left chambers as it was growing dark that afternoon, and wentback to his rooms for tea. He had passed, as was usual now, anextremely distracted couple of hours, sitting over his books withspasmodic efforts only to attend to them. He was beginning, in fact, to be not quite sure whether Law after all was his vocation. .. . 

His kettle was singing pleasantly on the hob, and a tray glimmered inthe firelight on the little table, as the woman had left it; and itwas not until he had poured himself out a cup of tea that he saw onthe white cloth an envelope, directed to him, inscribed "By hand, " inthe usual handwriting of persons engaged in business. Even then he didnot open it at once; it was probably only some note connected with hischief's affairs. 

For half an hour more he sat on, smoking after tea, pondering thatwhich was always in his mind now, and dwelling with a vague pleasantexpectancy on what Sunday night should bring forth. Mr. Vincent, heknew, was returning to town that afternoon. Perhaps, even, he mightlook in for a few minutes, if there were any last instructions to begiven. 

The effect of the medium on the young man's mind had increasedenormously during these past weeks. That air of virile masterfulness, all the more impressive because of its extreme quiet assurance, hadproved even more deep than had at first appeared. 

It is very hard to analyze the elements of a boy's adoration for asolid middle-aged gentleman with a "personality"; yet the thing is anenormously potent fact, and plays at least as big a part in thesub-currents that run about the world as any more normal humanemotions. Psychologists of the materialistic school would probably saythat it was a survival of the tribe-and-war instinct. At any rate, there it is. 

Added to all this was the peculiar relation in which the medium stoodto the boy; it was he who had first opened the door towards thatstrange other world that so persistently haunts the imaginations ofcertain temperaments; it was through him that Laurie had had broughtbefore the evidence of his senses, as he thought, the actuality of thethings of which he had dreamed--an actuality which his religion hadsomehow succeeded in evading. It was not that Laurie had beeninsincere in his religion; there had been moments, and there stillwere, occasionally, when the world that the Catholic religion preachedby word and symbol and sacrament, became apparent; but the whole thingwas upon a different plane. Religion bade him approach in one way, spiritualism in the other. The senses had nothing to do with one; theywere the only ultimate channels of the other. And it isextraordinarily easy for human beings to regard as more fundamentallyreal the evidence of the senses than the evidence of faith. .. . 

Here then were the two choices--a world of spirit, to be taken largelyon trust, to be discerned only in shadow and outline upon rare andunusual occasions of exaltation, of a particular quality which hadalmost lost its appeal; and a world of spirit that took shape and formand practical intelligibility, in ordinary rooms and under very nearlyordinary circumstances--a world, in short, not of a transcendent Godand the spirits of just men made perfect, of vast dogmas and theories, but of a familiar atmosphere, impregnated with experience, inhabitedby known souls who in this method or that made themselves apparent tothose senses which, Laurie believed, could not lie. .. . And the pointof contact was Amy Nugent herself. .. . 

As regards his exact attitude to this girl it is more difficult towrite. On the one side the human element--those associations directlyconnected with the senses--her actual face and hands, physicalatmosphere and surroundings--those had disappeared; they weredispersed, or they lay underground; and it had been with a certainshock of surprise, in spite of the explanations given to him, that hehad seen what he believed to be her face in the drawing-room inQueen's Gate. But he had tried to arrange all this in hisimagination, and it had fallen into shape and proportion again. Inshort, he thought he understood now that it is character which givesunity to the transient qualities of a person on earth, and that, whenthose qualities disappear, it is as unimportant as the wasting oftissue: when, according to the spiritualists' gospel that charactermanifests itself from the other side, it naturally reconstitutes theform by which it had been recognized on earth. 

Yet, in spite of this sense of familiarity with what he had seen, there had fallen between Amy and himself that august shadow that iscalled Death. .. . And in spite of the assurances he had received, evenat the hands of his own senses, that this was indeed the same girlthat he had known on earth, there was a strange awe mingled with hisold rather shallow passion. There were moments, as he sat alone in hisrooms at night, when it rose almost to terror; just as there wereother moments when awe vanished for a while, and his whole being wasflooded with an extraordinary ecstatic semi-earthly happiness at thethought that he and she could yet speak with one another. .. . Imagine, if you please, a child who on returning home finds that his mother hasbecome Queen, and meets her in the glory of ermine and diadem. .. . 

But the real deciding point--which, somehow, he knew must come--themoment at which these conflicting notes should become a chord, wasfixed for Sunday evening next. Up to now he had had evidence of herpresence, he had received intelligible messages, though fragmentaryand half stammered through the mysterious veil, he had for an instantor two looked upon her face; but the real point, he hoped, would comein two days. The public _séances_ had not impressed him. He had beento three or four of these in a certain road off Baker Street, and hadbeen astonished and disappointed. The kind of people that he had metthere--sentimental bourgeois with less power of sifting evidence thanthe average child, with a credulity that was almost supernatural--themedium, a stout woman who rolled her eyes and had damp fat fingers;the hymn-singing, the wheezy harmonium, the amazing pseudo-mysticaloracular messages that revealed nothing which a religiose fool couldnot invent--in fact the whole affair, from the sham stained-glasslamp-shade to the ghostly tambourines overhead, the puerility of thetricks played on the inquirers, and all the rest of it--this seemed aslittle connected with what he had experienced with Mr. Vincent as adervish dance with High Mass. He had reflected with almost ludicroushorror upon the impression it would make on Maggie, and the remarks itwould elicit. 

But this other engagement was a very different matter. 

They were going to attempt a further advance. It had, indeed, beenexplained to him that these attempts were but tentative andexperimental; it was impossible to dictate exactly what should fall;but the object on Sunday night was to go a step further, and to bringabout, if possible, the materialization process to such a point thatthe figure could be handled, and could speak. And it seemed to Laurieas if this would be final indeed. .. . 

 * * * * *

So he sat this evening, within forty-eight hours of the crisis, thinking steadily. Half a dozen times, perhaps, the thought of Maggierecurred to him; but he was learning how to get rid of that. 

Then he took up the note and opened it. It was filled with four pagesof writing. He turned to the end and read the signature. Then heturned back and read the whole letter. 

 * * * * *

It was very quiet as he sat there thinking over what he had read. Thenoise of Fleet Street came up here only as the soothing murmur of thesea upon a beach; and he himself sat motionless, the firelight fallingupwards upon his young face, his eyes, and his curly hair. About himstood his familiar furniture, the grand piano a pool of glimmeringdark wood in the background, the tall curtained windows suggestive ofshelter and warmth and protection. 

Yet, if he had but known it, he was making an enormous choice. Theletter was from the man he had met at midday, and he was deciding howto answer it. He was soothed and quieted by his loneliness, and hisirritation had disappeared: he regarded the letter from a youthfullyphilosophical standpoint, pleased with his moderation, as the work ofa fanatic; he was considering only whether he would yield, forpoliteness' sake, to the importunity, or answer shortly anddecisively. It seemed to him remarkable that a mature and experiencedman could write such a letter. 

At last he got up, went to his writing-table, and sat down. Still hehesitated for a minute; then he dipped his pen and wrote. 

When he had finished and directed it, he went back to the fire. He hadan hour yet in which to think and think before he need dress. He hadpromised to dine with Mrs. Stapleton at half-past seven. He had atouch of headache, and perhaps might sleep it off. 

_Chapter XII_

I

Lady Laura crossed the road by Knightsbridge Barracks and turned againhomewards through the Park. 

It was one of those days that occasionally fall in late February whichalmost cheer the beholder into a belief that spring has really begun. Overhead the sky was a clear pale blue, flecked with summer-lookingclouds, gauzy and white; beneath, the whole earth was waking drowsilyfrom a frost so slight as only to emphasize the essential softness ofthe day that followed: the crocuses were alight in the grass, and anindescribable tint lay over all that had life, like the flush in theface of an awakening child. But these days are too good to last, andLady Laura, who had looked at the forecast of a Sunday paper, haddetermined to take her exercise immediately after church. 

She had come out not long before from All Saints'; she had listened toan excellent though unexciting sermon and some extremely beautifulsinging; and even now, saturated with that atmosphere and with thesoothing physical air in which she walked, her anxieties seemed lessacute. There were enough of her acquaintances, too, in groups here andthere--she had to bow and smile sufficiently often--to prevent theseanxieties from reasserting themselves too forcibly. And it may besupposed that not a creature who observed her, in her exceedinglygraceful hat and mantle, with her fair head a little on one side, andher gold-rimmed pince-nez delicately gleaming in the sunlight, had thevery faintest suspicion that she had any anxieties at all. 

Yet she felt strangely unwilling even to go home. 

The men were to set about clearing the drawing-room while she was atchurch; and somehow the thought that it would be done when she gothome, that the temple would, so to speak, be cleared for sacrifice, was a distasteful one. 

She did not quite know when the change had begun; in fact, she wasscarcely yet aware that there was a change at all. Upon one point onlyher attention fixed itself, and that was the increasing desire shefelt that Laurie Baxter should go no further in his researches underher auspices. 

Up to within a few weeks ago she had been all ardor. It had seemed toher, as has been said, that the apparent results of spiritualism wereall to the good, that they were in no point contrary to the religionshe happened to believe--in fact, that they made real, as does anactual tree in the foreground of a panorama, the rather misty sky andhills of Christianity. She had even called them very "teaching. "

It was about eighteen months since she had first taken this up underthe onslaught of Mrs. Stapleton's enthusiasm; but things had not beenas satisfactory as she wished, until Mr. Vincent had appeared. Thenindeed matters had moved forward; she had seen extraordinary things, and the effect of them had been doubled by the medium's obvioushonesty and his strong personality. He was to her as a resolute priestto a timid penitent; he had led her forward, supported by his ownconviction and his extremely steady will, until she had begun to feelat home in this amazing new world, and eager to make proselytes. 

Then Laurie had appeared, and almost immediately a dread had seizedher that she could neither explain nor understand. She had attempted alittle tentative conversation on the point with dearest Maud, butdearest Maud had appeared so entirely incapable of understanding herscruples that she had said no more. But her inexplicable anxiety hadalready reached such a point that she had determined to say a word toLaurie on the subject. This had been done, without avail; and now anew step forward was to be made. 

 * * * * *

As to of what this step consisted she was perfectly aware. 

The "controls, " she believed--the spirits that desired tocommunicate--had a series of graduated steps by which thecommunications could be made, from mere incoherent noises (as a manmay rap a message from one room to another), through appearances, alsoincoherent and intangible, right up to the final point of assumingvisible tangible form, and of speaking in an audible voice. Thisprocess, she believed, consisted first in a mere connection betweenspirit and matter, and finally passed into an actual assumption ofmatter, molded into the form of the body once worn by the spirit onearth. For nearly all of this process she had had the evidence of herown senses; she had received messages, inexplicable to her except onthe hypothesis put forward, from departed relations of her own; shehad seen lights, and faces, and even figures formed before her eyes, in her own drawing-room; but she had not as yet, though dearest Maudhad been more fortunate, been able to handle and grasp such figures, to satisfy the sense of touch, as well as of sight, in proof of thereality of the phenomenon. 

Yes; she was satisfied even with what she had seen; she had no mannerof doubt as to the theories put before her by Mr. Vincent; yet sheshrank (and she scarcely knew why) from that final consummation whichit was proposed to carry out if possible that evening. But theshrinking centered round some half-discerned danger to Laurie Baxterrather than to herself. 

 * * * * *

It was these kinds of thoughts that beset her as she walked up beneaththe trees on her way homewards--checked and soothed now somewhat bythe pleasant air and the radiant sunlight, yet perceptible beneatheverything. And it was not only of Laurie Baxter that she thought; shespared a little attention for herself. 

For she had begun to be aware, for the first time since herinitiation, of a very faint distaste--as slight and yet as suggestiveas that caused by a half-perceived consciousness of a delicatelydisagreeable smell. There comes such a moment in the life of cutflowers in water, when the impetus of growing energy ceases, and a newtone makes itself felt in their scent, of which the end is certain. Itis not sufficient to cause the flowers to be thrown away; they stillpossess volumes of fragrance; yet these decrease, and the new scentincreases, until it has the victory. 

So it was now to the perceptions of this lady. Oh! yes. Spiritualismwas very "teaching" and beautiful; it was perfectly compatible withorthodox religion; it was undeniably true. She would not dream ofgiving it up. Only it would be better if Laurie Baxter did not meddlewith it: he was too sensitive. .. . However, he was coming that eveningagain. .. . There was the fact. 

 * * * * *

As she turned southwards at last, crossing the road again towards herown street, it seemed to her that the day even now was beginning tocloud over. Over the roofs of Kensington a haze was beginning to makeitself visible, as impalpable as a skein of smoke; yet there it was. She felt a little languid, too. Perhaps she had walked too far. Shewould rest a little after lunch, if dearest Maud did not mind; fordearest Maud was to lunch with her, as was usual on Sundays when theColonel was away. 

As she came, slower than ever, down the broad opulent pavement ofQueen's Gate, through the silence and emptiness of Sunday--for thechurch bells were long ago silent--she noticed coming towards her, with a sauntering step, an old gentleman in frock coat and silk hat ofa slightly antique appearance, spatted and gloved, carrying his handsbehind his back, as if he were waiting to be joined by some friendfrom one of the houses. She noticed that he looked at her through hisglasses, but thought no more of it till she turned up the steps of herown house. Then she was startled by the sound of quick footsteps anda voice. 

"I beg your pardon, madam . .. "

She turned, with her key in the door, and there he stood, hat in hand. 

"Have I the pleasure of speaking to Lady Laura Bethell?"

There was a pleasant brisk ring about his voice that inclined herrather favorably towards him. 

"Is there anything. .. . Did you want to speak to me. .. ? Yes, I am LadyLaura Bethell. "

"I was told you were at church, madam, and that you were not at hometo visitors on Sunday. "

"That is quite right. .. . May I ask. .. ?"

"Only a few minutes, Lady Laura, I promise you. Will you forgive mypersistence?"

Yes; the man was a gentleman; there was no doubt of that. 

"Would not tomorrow do? I am rather engaged today. "

He had his card-case ready, and without answering her at once, he cameup the steps and handed it to her. 

The name meant nothing at all to her. 

"Will not tomorrow. .. ?" she began again. 

"Tomorrow will be too late, " said the old gentleman. "I beg of you, Lady Laura. It is on an extremely important matter. "

She still hesitated an instant; then she pushed the door open and wentin. 

"Please come in, " she said. 

She was so taken aback by the sudden situation that she forgotcompletely that the drawing-room would be upside down, and led the waystraight upstairs; and it was not till she was actually within thedoor, with the old gentleman close on her heels, that she saw that, with the exception of three or four chairs about the fire and thetable set out near the hearthrug, the room was empty of furniture. 

"I forgot, " she said; "but will you mind coming in here. .. . We . .. Wehave a meeting here this evening. "

She led the way to the fire, and at first did not notice that he wasnot following her. When she turned round she saw the old gentleman, with his air of antique politeness completely vanished, standing andlooking about him with a very peculiar expression. She also noticed, to her annoyance, that the cabinet was already in place in the littleante-room and that his eyes almost immediately rested upon it. Yetthere was no look of wonder in his face; rather it was such a lookas a man might have on visiting the scene of a well-knowncrime--interest, knowledge, and loathing. 

"So it is here--" he said in quite a low voice. 

Then he came across the room towards her. 

II

For an instant his bearded face looked so strangely at her that shehalf moved towards the bell. Then he smiled, with a little reassuringgesture. 

"No, no, " he said. "May I sit down a moment?"

She began hastily to cover her confusion. 

"It is a meeting, " she said, "for this evening. I am sorry--"

"Just so, " he said. "It is about that that I have come. "

"I beg your pardon. .. ?"

"Please sit down, Lady Laura. .. . May I say in a sentence what I havecome to say?"

This seemed a very odd old man. 

"Why, yes--" she said. 

"I have come to beg you not to allow Mr. Baxter to enter thehouse. .. . No, I have no authority from anyone, least of all from Mr. Baxter. He has no idea that I have come. He would think it anunwarrantable piece of impertinence. "

"Mr. Cathcart . .. I--I cannot--"

"Allow me, " he said, with a little compelling gesture that silencedher. "I have been asked to interfere by a couple of people very muchinterested in Mr. Baxter; one of them, if not both, completelydisbelieves in spiritualism. "

"Then you know--"

He waved his hand towards the cabinet. 

"Of course I know, " he said. "Why, I was a spiritualist for ten yearsmyself. No, not a medium; not a professional, that is to say. I knowall about Mr. Vincent; all about Mrs. Stapleton and yourself, LadyLaura. I still follow the news closely; I know perfectly well--"

"And you have given it up?"

"I have given it up for a long while, " he said quietly. "And I havecome to ask you to forbid Mr. Baxter to be present this evening, for--for the same reason for which I have given it up myself. "

"Yes? And that--"

"I don't think we need go into that, " he said. "It is enough, is itnot, for me to say that Mr. Baxter's work, and, in fact, his wholenervous system, is suffering considerably from the excitement; thatone of the persons who have asked me to do what I can is Mr. Baxter'sown law-coach: and that even if he had not asked me, Mr. Baxter's ownappearance--"

"You know him?"

"Practically, no. I lunched at the same table with him on Friday; thesymptoms are quite unmistakable. "

"I don't understand. Symptoms?"

"Well, we will say symptoms of nervous excitement. You are aware, nodoubt, that he is exceptionally sensitive. Probably you have seen foryourself--"

"Wait a moment, " said Lady Laura, her own heart beating furiously. "Why do you not go to Mr. Baxter himself?"

"I have done so. I arranged to meet him at lunch, and somehow I took awrong turn with him: I have no tact whatever, as you perceive. But Iwrote to him on Friday night, offering to call upon him, and justgiving him a hint. Well, it was useless. He refused to see me. "

"I don't see what I--"

"Oh yes, " chirped the old gentleman almost gaily. "It would be quiteunusual and unconventional. I just ask you to send him a line--I willtake it myself, if you wish it--telling him that you think it would bebetter for him not to come, and saying that you are making otherarrangements for tonight. "

He looked at her with that odd little air of birdlike briskness thatshe had noticed in the street; and it pleasantly affected her even inthe midst of the uneasiness that now surged upon her again tenfoldmore than before. She could see that there was something else behindhis manner; it had just looked out in the glance he had given roundthe room on entering; but she could not trouble at this moment toanalyze what it was. She was completely bewildered by the strangenessof the encounter, and the extraordinary coincidence of this man'sjudgment with her own. Yet there were a hundred reasons against hertaking his advice. What would the others say? What of all thearrangements . .. The expectation. .. ?

"I don't see how it's possible now, " she began. "I think I know whatyou mean. But--"

"Indeed, I trust you have no idea, " cried the old gentleman, with aqueer little falsetto note coming into his voice--"no idea at all. Icome to you merely on the plea of nervous excitement; it is injuringhis health, Lady Laura. "

She looked at him curiously. 

"But--" she began. 

"Oh, I will go further, " he said. "Have you never heard of--ofinsanity in connection with all this? We will call it insanity, if youwish. "

For a moment her heart stood still. The word had a sinister sound, inview of an incident she had once witnessed; but it seemed to her thatsome meaning behind, unknown to her, was still more sinister. Why hadhe said that it might be "called insanity" only. .. ?

"Yes. .. . I--I have once seen a case, " she stammered. 

"Well, " said the old gentleman, "is it not enough when I tell you thatI--I who was a spiritualist for ten years--have never seen a moredangerous subject than Mr. Baxter? Is the risk worth it. .. ? LadyLaura, do you quite understand what you are doing?"

He leaned forward a little; and again she felt anxiety, sickening andhorrible, surge within her. Yet, on the other hand. .. . 

The door opened suddenly, and Mr. Vincent came in. 

III

There was silence for a moment; then the old gentleman turned round, and in an instant was on his feet, quiet, but with an air of bristlingabout his thrust-out chin and his tense attitude. 

Mr. Vincent paused, looking from one to the other. 

"I beg your pardon, Lady Laura, " he said courteously. "Your man toldme to wait here; I think he did not know you had come in. "

"Well--er--this gentleman. .. " began Lady Laura. "Why, do you knowMr. Vincent?" she asked suddenly, startled by the expression in theold gentleman's face. 

"I used to know Mr. Vincent, " he said shortly. 

"You have the advantage of me, " smiled the medium, coming forward tothe fire. 

"My name is Cathcart, sir. "

The other started, almost imperceptibly. 

"Ah! yes, " he said quietly. "We did meet a few times, I remember. "

Lady Laura was conscious of distinct relief at the interruption: itseemed to her a providential escape from a troublesome decision. 

"I think there is nothing more to be said, Mr. Cathcart. .. . No, don'tgo, Mr. Vincent. We had finished our talk. "

"Lady Laura, " said the old gentleman with a rather determined air, "Ibeg of you to give me ten minutes more private conversation. "

She hesitated, clearly foreseeing trouble either way. Then shedecided. 

"There is no necessity today, " she said. "If you care to make anappointment for one day next week, Mr. Cathcart--"

"I am to understand that you refuse me a few minutes now?"

"There is no necessity that I can see--"

"Then I must say what I have to say before Mr. Vincent--"

"One moment, sir, " put in the medium, with that sudden slight air ofimperiousness that Lady Laura knew very well by now. "If Lady Lauraconsents to hear you, I must take it on myself to see that nothingoffensive is said. " He glanced as if for leave towards the woman. 

She made an effort. 

"If you will say it quickly, " she began. "Otherwise--"

The old gentleman drew a breath as if to steady himself. It was plainthat he was very strongly moved beneath his self-command: his air ofcheerful geniality was gone. 

"I will say it in one sentence, " he said. "It is this: You are ruiningthat boy between you, body and soul; and you are responsible beforehis Maker and yours. And if--"

"Lady Laura, " said the medium, "do you wish to hear any more?"

She made a doubtful little gesture of assent. 

"And if you wish to know my reasons for saying this, " went on Mr. Cathcart, "you have only to ask for them from Mr. Vincent. He knowswell enough why I left spiritualism--if he dares to tell you. "

Lady Laura glanced at the medium. He was perfectly still andquiet--looking, watching the old man curiously and half humorouslyunder his heavy eyebrows. 

"And I understand, " went on the other, "that tonight you are to makean attempt at complete materialization. Very good; then after tonightit may be too late. I have tried to appeal to the boy: he will nothear me. And you too have refused to hear me out. I could give youevidence, if you wished. Ask this gentleman how many cases he hasknown in the last five years, where complete ruin, body and soul--"

The medium turned a little to the fire, sighing as if for weariness:and at the sound the old man stopped, trembling. It was more obviousthan ever that he only held himself in restraint by a very violenteffort: it was as if the presence of the medium affected him in anextraordinary degree. 

Lady Laura glanced again from one to the other. 

"That is all, then?" she said. 

His lips worked. Then he burst out--

"I am sick of talking, " he cried--"sick of it! I have warned you. Thatis enough. I cannot do more. "

He wheeled on his heel and went out. A minute later the two heard thefront door bang. 

She looked at Mr. Vincent. He was twirling softly in his strongfingers a little bronze candlestick that stood on the mantelpiece: hismanner was completely unconcerned; he even seemed to be smiling alittle. 

For herself she felt helpless. She had taken her choice, impelled toit, though she scarcely recognized the fact, by the entrance of thisstrong personality; and now she needed reassurance once again. Butbefore she had a word to say, he spoke--still in his serene manner. 

"Yes, yes, " he said. "I remember now. I used to know Mr. Cathcartonce. A very violent old gentleman. "

"What did he mean?"

"His reasons for leaving us? Indeed I scarcely remember. I suppose itwas because he became a Catholic. "

"Was there nothing more?"

He looked at her pleasantly. 

"Why, I daresay there was. I really can't remember, Lady Laura. Isuppose he had his nerves shaken. You can see for yourself what afanatic he is. "

But in spite of his presence, once more a gust of anxiety shook her. 

"Mr. Vincent, are you sure it's safe--for Mr. Baxter, I mean?"

"Safe? Why, he's as safe as any of us can be. We all have nervoussystems, of course. "

"But he's particularly sensitive, isn't he?"

"Indeed, yes. That is why even this evening he must not go intotrance. That must come later, after a good training. "

She stood up, and came herself to stand by the mantelpiece. 

"Then really there's no danger?"

He turned straight to her, looking at her with kind, smiling eyes. 

"Lady Laura, " he said, "have I ever yet told you that there was nodanger? I think not. There is always danger, for every one of us, asthere is for the scientist in the laboratory, and the engineer in hismachinery. But what we can do is to reduce that danger to a minimum, so that, humanly speaking, we are reasonably and sufficiently safe. Nodoubt you remember the case of that girl? Well, that was an accident:and accidents will happen; but do me the justice to remember that itwas the first time that I had seen her. It was absolutely impossibleto foresee. She was on the very edge of a nervous breakdown beforeshe entered the room. But with regard to Mr. Baxter, I have seen himagain and again; and I tell you that I consider him to be running acertain risk--but a perfectly justifiable one, and one that is reducedto a minimum, if I did not think that we were taking every precaution, I would not have him in the room for all the world. .. . Are yousatisfied, Lady Laura?"

Every word he said helped her back to assurance. It was all soreasonable and well weighed. If he had said there was no danger, shewould have feared the more, but his very recognition of it gave hersecurity. And above all, his tranquility and his strength wereenormous assets on his side. 

She drew a breath, and decided to go forward. 

"And Mr. Cathcart?" she asked. 

He smiled again. 

"You can see what he is, " he said. "I should advise you not to see himagain. It's of no sort of use. "

_Chapter XIII_

I

The weather forecasts had been in the right; and the few thatstruggled homewards that night from church fought against a south-westwind that tore, laden with driving rain, up the streets and across theopen spaces, till the very lights were dimmed in the tall street lampsand shone only through streaming panes that seemed half opaque withmist and vapor. In Queen's Gate hardly one lighted window showed thatthe houses were inhabited. So fierce was the clamor and storm of thebroad street that men made haste to shut out every glimpse of thenight, and the fanlights above the doors, or here and there a line ofbrightness where some draught had tossed the curtains apart, were theonly signs of human life. Outside the broad pavements stared likesurfaces of some canal, black and mirror-like, empty of passengers, catching every spark or hint of light from house and lamp, transforming it to a tall streak of glimmering wetness. 

The housekeeper's room in this house on the right was the moredelightful from the contrast. It was here that the august assembly washeld every evening after supper, set about with rigid etiquette andancient rite. Its windows looked on to the little square garden at theback, but were now tight shuttered and curtained; and the room was avery model of comfort and warmth. Before the fire a square table wasdrawn up, set out with pudding and fruit, for it was here that theupper servants withdrew after the cold meat and beer of the servants'hall, to be waited upon by the butler's boy: and it was round thisthat the four sat in state--housekeeper, butler, lady's maid, andcook. 

It was already after ten o'clock; and Mr. Parker was permitted tosmoke a small cigar. They had discussed the weather, the sermon thatMiss Baker had heard in the morning, and the prospects of aDissolution; and they had once more returned to the mysteries thatwere being enacted upstairs. They were getting accustomed to them now, and there was not a great deal to say, unless they repeatedthemselves, which they had no objection to do. Their attitude was oneof tolerant skepticism, tempered by an agreeable tendency on the partof Miss Baker to become agitated after a certain point. Mr. Vincent, it was generally conceded, was a respectable sort of man, with an airabout him that could hardly be put into words, and it was thought tobe a pity that he lent himself to such superstition. Mrs. Stapletonhad been long ago dismissed as a silly sort of woman, though with awill of her own; and her ladyship, of course, must have her way; itcould not last long, it was thought. 

But young Mr. Baxter was another matter, and there was a deal to sayabout him. He was a gentleman--that was certain; and he seemed to havesense; but it was a pity that he was so often here now on thisbusiness. He had not said one word to Mr. Parker this evening as hetook off his coat; Mr. Parker had not thought that he looked verywell. 

"He was too quiet-like, " said the butler. 

As to the details of the affair upstairs--these were considered in apurely humorous light. It was understood that tables danced ahornpipe, and that tambourines were beaten by invisible hands; and itwas not necessary to go further into principles, particularly sinceall these things were done by machinery at the Egyptian Hall. Facesalso, it was believed, were seen looking out of the cabinet whichMr. Parker had once more helped to erect this morning; but these, itwas explained, were "done" by luminous paint. Finally, if peopleinsisted on looking into causes, Electricity was a sufficient answerfor all the rest. No one actually suggested water-power. 

As for human motives, these were not called in question at all. Itappeared to amuse some people to do this kind of thing, as othersmight collect old china or practice the cotillion. There it was, afact, and there was no more to be said about it. Old Lady Carraden, where Mr. Parker had once been under-butler, had gone in for pouterpigeons; and Miss Baker had heard tell of a nobleman who had acarpenter's shop of his own. 

These things were so, then; and meantime here was a cigar to be smokedby Mr. Parker, and a little weak tea to be taken by the three ladies. 

It was about a quarter-past ten when a reversion was made to theweather. Within here all was supremely comfortable. A black stuff mat, with a red fringed border, lay before the blazing fire, convenient tothe feet; the heavy red curtains shut out the darkness, and where theglass cases of china permitted it, large photographs of wedding groupsand the houses of the nobility hung upon the walls. A King Charles'spaniel, in another glass case, looked upon the company with aneternal snarl belied by the mildness of his brown eyes; and, corresponding to him on the other side of the fire, a numerous familyof humming-birds, a little dusty and dim, poised perpetually above theflowers of a lichened tree, with a flaming sunset to show them up. 

But, without, the wind tore unceasingly, laden with rain, through thegusty darkness of the little garden, and, in the pauses, the swiftdripping from the roof splashed and splashed upon the paved walk. Itwas a very wild night, as Mr. Parker observed four times: he onlyhoped that no one would require a hansom cab. He had been foolishenough to take the responsibility tonight of letting the guests outhimself, and of allowing William to go to bed when he wished. Andthese were late affairs, seldom over before eleven, and often not tillnearly midnight. 

Mrs. Martin, in her blouse, moved a little nearer the fire, and saidshe must be off soon to bed; Mrs. Mayle, in her black silk, added thatthere was no telling when her ladyship would get to bed, what withMrs. Stapleton and all, and commiserated Miss Baker; Miss Bakermoaned a little in self-pity; and Mr. Parker remarked for the fifthtime that it was a wild night. It was an astonishingly serene anddomestic atmosphere: no effort of imagination or wit was required fromanybody; it was enough to make observations when they occurred to thebrain, and they would meet with a tranquil response. 

As half-past ten tinkled out from the little yellow marble clock onthe mantelpiece--it had been won by Mrs. Mayle's deceased husband in ahorticultural exhibition--Mrs. Martin said that she must go and have alook at the scullery to see that all was as it should be; there was noknowing with these girls nowadays what they might not leave undone;and Mrs. Mayle preened herself gently with the thought that herresponsibilities were on a higher plane. Mr. Parker made a courteousmovement as if to rise, and remained seated, as the cook rustled out. Miss Baker sighed again as she contemplated the long conversation thatmight take place between the two ladies upstairs before she could gether mistress to bed. 

Once more the tranquil atmosphere settled down on the warm room; thebrass lamp burned brightly with a faint and reassuring smell ofparaffin; the fire presented a radiant cavern of red coals fringed bydancing flames; and Mr. Parker leaned forwards to shake off the ash ofhis cigar. 

Then, on a sudden, he paused, for from the passage outside came thepassionless tinkle of an electric bell--then another, and another, andanother, as if some person overhead strove by reiteration on thatsingle note to cry out some overwhelming need. 

II

Overhead in the great empty drawing-room the noise of the wind andrain, the almost continuous spatter on the glass, and the long hootingof the gusts, had been far more noticeable than in the basementbeneath. Below stairs the company had been natural and normal, talkingof this and that, in a brightly lighted room, dwelling only on mattersthat fell beneath the range of their senses, lulled by warmth and foodand cigar-smoke into a kind of rapt self-contemplation. But up here, in the gloom, lighted only on this occasion by a single shaded candle, in a complete interior silence, three persons had sat round a tablefor more than an hour, striving by passivity and a kind ofindescribable concentration to ignore all that was presented by thesenses, and to await some movement from that which lies beyond them. 

Lady Laura had sat down that night in a state of mind which she couldnot analyze. It was not that her anxieties had been lulled so much ascounterbalanced; they were still there, at once poignant and heavy, but on the other side there had been the assured air of the medium, his reasonableness and his personality, as well as the enthusiasm ofher friend, and her astonished remonstrances. She had decided toacquiesce, not because she was satisfied, but because on the wholeanxiety was outweighed by confidence. She could not have taken actionunder such circumstances, but she could at least refrain from it. 

Laurie, as Mr. Parker had noticed, had been "quiet-like"; he had saidvery little indeed, but a nervous strain was evident in the brightnessof his eyes; but in answer to a conventional inquiry he had declaredhimself extremely well. Mr. Vincent had looked at him for just aninstant longer than usual as he shook hands, but he said nothing. Mrs. Stapleton had made an ecstatic remark or two on the envy with whichshe regarded the boy's sensitive faculties. 

At the beginning of the _séance_ the medium had repeated his warnings asto Laurie's avoiding of trance, and had added one or two otherprecautions. Then he had gone into the cabinet; the fire had beenpressed down under ashes, and a single candle lighted and placedbehind the angle of the little adjoining room in such a position thatits shaded light fell upon the cabinet only and the figure of themedium within. 

 * * * * *

When the silence became fixed, Lady Laura for the first time perceivedthe rage of wind and rain outside. The very intensity of the interiorstillness and the rapture of attention emphasized to an extraordinarydegree the windy roar without. Yet the silence seemed to her, now asalways, to have a peculiar faculty of detaching the psychical from thephysical atmosphere. In spite of the batter of rain not ten feet away, the sighing between the shutters, and even the lift now and again ofthe heavy curtains in the draught, she seemed to herself as remotefrom it as does a man crouching in the dark under some ruin feelhimself at an almost infinite distance from the pick and the hammer ofthe rescuers. These were in one world, she in another. 

For over an hour no movement was made. She herself sat facing thefire, Laurie on her left looking towards the cabinet with his back tothe windows, Mrs. Stapleton opposite to her. 

An endless procession of thoughts defiled before her as she sat, yetthese too were somewhat remote--far up, so to speak, on thesuperficies of consciousness: they did not approach that realm of thewill poised now and attentive on another range of existence. Once andagain she glanced up without moving her head at the three-quarterprofile on her left, at the somewhat Zulu-like outline opposite toher; then down again at the polished little round table and the sixhands laid upon it. And meanwhile her brain revolved images ratherthan thoughts, memories rather than reflections--vignettes, so tospeak, --old Mr. Cathcart in his spats and frock-coat, the look on themedium's face, there and gone again in an instant as he had heard thestranger's name; the carved oak stalls of the chancel towards whichshe had faced this morning, the look of the park, the bloom upon thestill leafless trees, the radiance of the blue spring sky. .. . 

It must have been, she thought, after a little over an hour that thefirst expected movement made itself felt--a long trembling shudderthrough the wood beneath her hands, followed by a strange sensation oflightness, as if the whole table rose a little from the floor. Then, almost before the movement subsided, a torrent of little taps poureditself out, as delicate and as swift and, it seemed, as perfectlycalculated, as the rapping of some minute electric hammer. This wasnew to her, yet not so unlike other experiences as to seem strange orperturbing in any way. .. . Again she bent her attention to the table asthe vibration ceased. 

There followed a long silence. 

It must have been about ten minutes later that she became aware of thenext phenomenon; and her attention had been called to it by a suddennoiseless uplifting of the profile on her left. She turned her face tothe cabinet and looked; and there, perfectly discernible, was somemovement going on between the curtains. For the moment she could seethe medium clearly, his arms folded, indicated by the white lines ofhis cuffs across his breast, his head sunk forward in deep sleep; andat the next instant the curtains flapped two or three times, as ifjerked from within, and finally rested completely closed. 

She glanced quickly at the boy on her left, and in the diffused lightfrom the other room could see him distinctly, his eyes open andwatching, his lips compressed as if in some tense effort ofself-control. 

When she looked at the cabinet again she could see that some movementhad begun again behind the curtains, for these swayed and jerkedconvulsively, as if some person with but little room was moving there. And she could hear now, as the gusts outside lulled for a moment, thesteady rather stertorous breathing of the medium. Then once again thewind gathered strength outside; the rain tore at the glass like astreaming handful of tiny pebbles, and the great curtains at her sidelifted and sighed in the draught through the shutters. 

When it quieted again the breathing had become a measured moaning, asthat which a dreaming dog emits at the end of each expiration; and sheherself drew a long trembling breath, overwhelmed by the sense of somestruggle in the room such as she had not experienced before. 

It was impossible for her to express this even to herself; yet theperception was clear--as clear as some presentment of the senses. Sheknew during those moments, as she watched the swaying curtains of thecabinet in the shaded light that fell upon them, and heard now andagain that low moan from behind them, that some kind of stress layupon something that was new to her in this connection. For the timeshe forgot her undertone of anxiety as to this boy at her side, and acurious terrified excitement took its place. Once, even then, sheglanced at him again, and saw the motionless profile watching, alwayswatching. .. . 

Then in an instant the climax came, and this is what she saw. 

 * * * * *

The commotion of the curtains ceased suddenly, and they hung instraight folds from roof to floor of the little cabinet. Then theygently parted--she saw the long fingers that laid hold of them--andthe form of a person came out, descended the single step, and stood onthe floor before her eyes, in the plain candlelight, not four stepsaway. 

It was the figure of a young girl, perfectly formed in all its parts, swathed in some light stuff resembling muslin that fell almost to thefeet and shrouded the upper part of the head. Her hands were claspedacross her breast, her bare feet were visible against the dark floor, and her features were unmistakably clear. There was a certain beautyin the face--in the young lips, the open eyes, and the dark lines ofthe brows over them; and the complexion was waxen, clear as of ablonde. But, as the observer had noticed before on the three or fouroccasions on which she had seen these phenomena, there was a strangemask-like set of the features, as if the life that lay behind them hadnot perfectly saturated that which expressed it. It was somethingutterly different from the face of a dead person, yet also notcompletely alive, though the eyes turned a little in their sockets, and the young down-curved lips smiled. Behind her, plain between thetossed-back curtains, was the figure of the medium sunk in sleep. 

And so for a few seconds the apparition remained. 

It seemed to the watcher that during those seconds the whole world wasstill. Whether in truth the wind had dropped, or whether the absorbedattention perceived nothing but the marvel before it, yet so itseemed. Even the breathing of the medium had stopped; Lady Laura heardonly the ticking of the watch upon her own wrist. 

Then, as once more a gust tore up from the south-west, the figuremoved forward a step nearer the table, coming with a motion as of aliving person, causing, it even appeared, that faint vibration on thefloor as of a living body. 

She stood so near now, though with her back to the diffused light ofthe ante-room, that her features were more plain than before--thestained lips, the open eyes, the shadow beneath the nostrils and chin, even the white fingers clasped across the breast. There was none ofthat vague mistiness that had been seen once before in that room;every line was as clear-cut as in the face of a living person; eventhe swell of the breast beneath the hands, the slender slopingshoulders, the long curved line from hip to ankle, all were real anddiscernible. And once again the staring eyes of the watcher took in, and her mind perceived, that slight mask-like look on the prettyappealing face. 

Once again the figure came forward, straight on to the table; andthen, so swift that not a motion or a word could check it, thecatastrophe fell. 

There was a violent movement on Lady Laura's left hand, a chair shotback and fell, and with a horrible tearing cry from the throat, theboy dashed himself face forwards across the table, snatched at and foran instant seized something real and concrete that stood there; and asthe two women sprang up, losing sight for an instant of the figurethat had been there a moment ago, the boy sank forward, moaning andsobbing, and a crash as of a heavy body falling sounded from thecabinet. 

For a space of reckonable time there was complete silence. Then oncemore a blast of wind tore up from the south-west, rain shatteredagainst the window, and the house vibrated to the shock. 

_Chapter XIV_

I

As the date approached Maggie felt her anxieties settle down, like afire, from turbulence to steady flame. On the Sunday she had with realdifficulty kept it to herself, and the fringe of the storm of wind andrain that broke over Herefordshire in the evening had not beenreassuring. Yet on one thing her will kept steady hold, and that wasthat Mrs. Baxter must not be consulted. No conceivable good couldresult, and there might even be harm: either the old lady would be toomuch or not enough concerned: she might insist on Laurie's return toStantons, or might write him a cheering letter encouraging him toamuse himself in any direction that he pleased. So Maggie passed theevening in fits of alternate silence and small conversation, andsucceeded in making Mrs. Baxter recommend a good long night. 

Monday morning, however, broke with a cloudless sky, an air like wine, and the chatter of birds; and by the time that Maggie went to look atthe crocuses immediately before breakfast, she was all but at her easeagain. Enough, however, of anxiety remained to make her hurry out tothe stable-yard when she heard the postman on his way to the backdoor. 

There was one letter for her, in Mr. Cathcart's handwriting; and sheopened it rather hastily as she turned in again to the garden. 

It was reassuring. It stated that the writer had approached--that wasthe word--Mr. Baxter, though unfortunately with ill-success, and thathe proposed on the following day--the letter was dated on Saturdayevening--also to approach Lady Laura Bethell. He felt fairlyconfident, he said, that his efforts would succeed in postponing, atany rate, Mr. Baxter's visit to Lady Laura; and in that case he wouldwrite further as to what was best to be done. In the meanwhile MissDeronnais was not to be in the least anxious. Whatever happened, itwas extremely improbable that one visit more or less to a _séance_would carry any great harm: it was the habit, rather than the act, that was usually harmful to the nervous system. And the writer beggedto remain her obedient servant. 

Maggie's spirits rose with a bound. How extraordinarily foolish shehad been, she told herself, to have been filled with such forebodingslast night! It was more than likely that the _séance_ had taken placewithout Laurie; and, even at the worst, as Mr. Cathcart said, he wasprobably only a little more excited than usual this morning. 

So she began to think about future arrangements; and by the time thatMrs. Baxter looked benignantly out at her from beneath the Queen Annedoorway to tell her that breakfast was waiting, she was conceiving ofthe possibility of going up herself to London in a week or two on someshopping excuse, and of making one more genial attempt to persuadeLaurie to be a sensible boy again. 

During her visit to the fowl-yard after breakfast she began toelaborate these plans. 

She was clear now, once again, that the whole thing was a fantasticdelusion, and that its sole harm was that it was superstitious andnerve-shaking. (She threw a large handful of maize, with a meditativeeye. ) It was on that ground and that only that she would approachLaurie. Perhaps even it would be better for her not to go and see him;it might appear that she was making too much of it: a good sensibleletter might do the work equally well. .. . Well, she would wait atleast to hear from Mr. Cathcart once more. The second post wouldprobably bring a letter from him. (She emptied her bowl. )

She was out again in the spring sunshine, walking up and down beforethe house with a book, by the time that the second post was due. Butthis time, through the iron gate, she saw the postman go past thehouse without stopping. Once more her spirits rose, this time, onemight say, to par; and she went indoors. 

Her window looked out on to the front; and she moved her writing-tableto it to catch as much as possible of the radiant air and light of thespring day. She proposed to begin to sketch out what she would say toLaurie, and suggest, if he wished it, to come up and see him in a weekor two. She would apologize for her fussiness, and say that the reasonwhy she was writing was that she did not want his mother to be madeanxious. 

"My dear Laurie. .. "

She bit her pen gently, and looked out of the window to catchinspiration for the particular frame of words with which she shouldbegin. And as she looked an old gentleman suddenly appeared beyond theiron gate, shook it gently, glanced up in vain for a name on the stoneposts, and stood irresolute. It was an old trap, that of the frontgate; there was no bell, and it was necessary for visitors to comestraight in to the front door. 

Then, so swiftly that she could not formulate it, an anxiety leapt ather, and she laid her pen down, staring. Who was this?

She went quickly to the bell and rang it; standing there waiting, withbeating heart and face suddenly gone white. .. . 

"Susan, " she said, "there is an old gentleman at the gate. Go out andsee who it is. .. . Stop: if it is anyone for me . .. If--if he gives thename of Mr. Cathcart, ask him to be so kind as to go round the turn tothe village and wait for me. .. . Susan, don't say anything toMrs. Baxter; it may just possibly be bad news. "

From behind the curtain she watched the maid go down the path, saw afew words pass between her and the stranger, and then the maid comeback. She waited breathless. 

"Yes, miss. It is a Mr. Cathcart. He said he would wait for you. "

Maggie nodded. 

"I will go, " she said. "Remember, please do not say a word to anyone. It may be bad news, as I said. "

 * * * * *

As she walked through the hamlet three minutes later, she began torecognize that the news must be really serious; and that beneath allher serenity she had been aware of its possibility. So intense now wasthat anxiety--though perfectly formless in its details--that all otherfaculties seemed absorbed into it. She could not frame any imaginationas to what it meant; she could form no plan, alternative or absolute, as to what must be done. She was only aware that something hadhappened, and that she would know the facts in a few seconds. 

About fifty yards up the turning she saw the old gentleman waiting. He was in his London clothes, silk-hatted and spatted, and made acuriously incongruous picture there in the deep-banked lane that ledupwards to the village. On either side towered the trees, stillleafless, yet bursting with life; and overhead chattered the birdsagainst the tender midday sky of spring. 

He lifted his hat as she came to him; but they spoke no word ofgreeting. 

"Tell me quickly, " she said. "I am Maggie Deronnais. "

He turned to walk by her side, saying nothing for a moment. 

"The facts or the interpretation?" he asked in his brisk manner. "Iwill just say first that I have seen him this morning. "

"Oh! the facts, " she said. "Quickly, please. "

"Well, he is going to Mr. Morton's chambers this afternoon; hesays. .. "

"What?"

"One moment, please. .. . Oh! he is not seriously ill, as the worldcounts illness. He thought he was just very tired this morning. I wentround to call on him. He was in bed at half-past ten when I left him. Then I came straight down here. "

For a moment she thought the old man mad. The relief was so intensethat she flushed scarlet, and stopped dead in the middle of the road. 

"You came down here, " she repeated. "Why, I thought--"

He looked at her gravely, in spite of the incessant twinkle in hiseyes. She perceived that this old man's eyes would twinkle at adeath-bed. He stroked his grey beard smoothly down. 

"Yes; you thought that he was dead, perhaps? Oh, no. But for all that, Miss Deronnais, it is just as serious as it can be. "

She did not know what to think. Was the man a madman himself?

"Listen, please. I am telling you simply the facts. I was anxious, andI went round this morning first to Lady Laura Bethell. To myastonishment she saw me. I will not tell you all that she said, justnow. She was in a terrible state, though she did not know one-tenthof the harm--Well, after what she told me I went round straight toMitre Court. The porter was inclined not to let me in. Well, I wentin, and straight into Mr. Baxter's bedroom; and I found there--"

He stopped. 

"Yes?"

"I found exactly what I had feared, and expected. "

"Oh! tell me quickly, " she cried, wheeling on him in anger. 

He looked at her as if critically for a moment. Then he went onabruptly. 

"I found Mr. Baxter in bed. I made no apology at all. I said simplythat I had come to see how he was after the _séance_. "

"It took place, then--"

"Oh! yes. .. . I forgot to mention that Lady Laura would pay noattention to me yesterday. .. . Yes, it took place. .. . Well, Mr. Baxterdid not seem surprised to see me. He told me he felt tired. He saidthat the _séance_ had been a success. And while he talked I watchedhim. Then I came away and caught the ten-fifty. "

"I don't understand in the least, " said Maggie. 

"So I suppose, " said the other dryly. "I imagine you do not believe inspiritualism at all--I mean that you think that the whole thing isfraud or hysteria?"

"Yes, I do, " said Maggie bravely. 

He nodded once or twice. 

"So do most sensible people. Well, Miss Deronnais, I have come to warnyou. I did not write, because it was impossible to know what to sayuntil I had seen you and heard your answer to that question. At thesame time, I wanted to lose no time. Anything may happen now at anymoment. .. . I wanted to tell you this: that I am at your service nowaltogether. When--" he stopped; then he began again, "If you hear nofurther news for the present, may I ask when you expect to see Mr. Baxter again?"

"In Easter week. "

"That is a fortnight off. .. . Do you think you could persuade him tocome down here next week instead? I should like you to see him foryourself: or even sooner. "

She was still hopelessly confused with these apparent alternations. She still wondered whether Mr. Cathcart were as mad as he seemed. Theyturned, as the village came in sight ahead, up the hill. 

"Next week? I could try, " she said mechanically. "But I don'tunderstand--"

He held up a gloved hand. 

"Wait till you have seen him, " he said. "For myself, I shall make apoint of seeing Mr. Morton every day to hear the news. .. . MissDeronnais, I tell you plainly that you alone will have to bear theweight of all this, unless Mrs. Baxter--"

"Oh, do explain, " she said almost irritably. 

He looked at her with those irresistibly twinkling eyes, but sheperceived a very steady will behind them. 

"I will explain nothing at all, " he said, "now that I have seen you, and heard what you think, except this single point. What you have tobe prepared for is the news that Mr. Baxter has suddenly gone out ofhis mind. "

It was said in exactly the same tone as his previous sentences, andfor a moment she did not catch the full weight of its meaning. Shestopped and looked at him, paling gradually. 

"Yes, you took that very well, " he said, still meeting her eyessteadily. "Stop. .. . Keep a strong hold on yourself. That is the worstyou have to hear, for the present. Now tell me immediately whether youthink Mrs. Baxter should be informed or not. "

Her leaping heart slowed down into three or four gulping blows at thebase of her throat. She swallowed with difficulty. 

"How do you know--"

"Kindly answer my question, " he said. "Do you think Mrs. Baxter--"

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" sobbed Maggie. 

"Steady, steady, " said the old man. "Take my arm, Miss Deronnais. "

She shook her head, keeping her eyes fixed on his. 

He smiled in his grey beard. 

"Very good, " he said, "very good. And do you think--"

She shook her head again. 

"No: not one word. She is his mother. Besides--she is not thekind--she would be of no use. "

"Yes: it is as I thought. Very well, Miss Deronnais; you will have tobe responsible. You can wire for me at any moment. You have myaddress?"

She nodded. 

"Then I have one or two things to add. Whatever happens, do not loseheart for one moment. I have seen these cases again and again. .. . Whatever happens, too, do not put yourself into a doctor's hands untilI have seen Mr. Baxter for myself. The thing may come suddenly orgradually. And the very instant you are convinced it is coming, telegraph to me. I will be here two hours after. .. . Do youunderstand?"

They halted twenty yards from the turning into the hamlet. He lookedat her again with his kindly humorous eyes. 

She nodded slowly and deliberately, repeating in her own mind hisinstructions; and beneath, like a whirl of waters, questions surged toand fro, clamoring for answer. But her self-control was coming backeach instant. 

"You understand, Miss Deronnais?" he said again. 

"I understand. Will you write to me?"

"I will write this evening. .. . Once more, then. Get him down nextweek. Watch him carefully when he comes. Consult no doctor until youhave telegraphed to me, and I have seen him. "

She drew a long breath, nodding almost mechanically. 

"Good-bye, Miss Deronnais. Let me tell you that you are taking itmagnificently. Fear nothing; pray much. "

He took her hand for a moment. Then he raised his hat and left herstanding there. 

II

Mrs. Baxter was exceedingly absorbed just now in a new pious book ofmeditations written by a clergyman. A nicely bound copy of it, whichshe had ordered specially, had arrived by the parcels post thatmorning; and she had been sitting in the drawing-room ever sincelooking through it, and marking it with a small silver pencil. Religion was to this lady what horticulture was to Maggie, except ofcourse that it was really important, while horticulture was not. Sheoften wondered that Maggie did not seem to understand: of course shewent to mass every morning, dear girl; but religion surely was muchmore than that; one should be able to sit for two or three hours overa book in the drawing-room, before the fire, with a silver pencil. 

So at lunch she prattled of the book almost continuously, and at theend of it thought Maggie more unsubtle than ever: she looked rathertired and strained, thought the old lady, and she hardly said a wordfrom beginning to end. 

The drive in the afternoon was equally unsatisfactory. Mrs. Baxtertook the book with her, and the pencil, in order to read aloud a fewextracts here and there; and she again seemed to find Maggie rathervacuous and silent. 

"Dearest child, you are not very well, I think, " she said at last. 

Maggie roused herself suddenly. 

"What, Auntie?"

"You are not very well, I think. Did you sleep well?"

"Oh! I slept all right, " said Maggie vaguely. 

 * * * * *

But after tea Mrs. Baxter did not feel very well herself. She said shethought she must have taken a little chill. Maggie looked at her withunperceptive eyes. 

"I am sorry, " she said mechanically. 

"Dearest, you don't seem very overwhelmed. I think perhaps I shallhave dinner in bed. Give me my book, child. .. . Yes, and thepencil-case. "

Mrs. Baxter's room was so comfortable, and the book so fascinatinglyspiritual, that she determined to keep her resolution and go to bed. She felt feverish, just to the extent of being very sleepy and at herease. She rang her bell and issued her commands. 

"A little of the _volaille_, " she said, "with a spoonful of soupbefore it. .. . No, no meat; but a custard or so, and a little fruit. Oh! yes, Charlotte, and tell Miss Maggie not to come and see me afterdinner. "

It seemed that the message had roused the dear girl at last, forMaggie appeared ten minutes later in quite a different mood. There wasreally some animation in her face. 

"Dear Auntie, I am so very sorry. .. . Yes; do go to bed, and breakfastthere in the morning too. I'm just writing to Laurie, by the way. "

Mrs. Baxter nodded sleepily from her deep chair. 

"He's coming down in Easter week, isn't he?"

"So he says, my dear. "

"Why shouldn't he come next week instead, Auntie, and be with us forEaster? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Very nice indeed, dear child; but don't bother the boy. "

"And you don't think it's influenza?" put in Maggie swiftly, laying acool hand on the old lady's. 

She maintained it was not. It was just a little chill, such as she hadhad this time last year: and it became necessary to rouse herself alittle to enumerate the symptoms. By the time she had done, Maggie'sattention had begun to wander again: the old lady had never known herso unsympathetic before, and said so with gentle peevishness. 

Maggie kissed her quickly. 

"I'm sorry, Auntie, " she said. "I was just thinking ofsomething. Sleep well; and don't get up in the morning. "

Then she left her to a spoonful of soup, a little _volaille_, acustard, some fruit, her spiritual book and contentment. 

Downstairs she dined alone in the green-hung dining-room; and sherevolved for the twentieth time the thoughts that had beencontinuously with her since midday, moving before her like akaleidoscope, incessantly changing their relations, their shapes, andtheir suggestions. These tended to form themselves into two mainalternative classes. Either Mr. Cathcart was a harmless fanatic, or hewas unusually sharp. But these again had almost endless subdivisions, for at present she had no idea of what was really in his mind--as towhat his hints meant. Either this curious old gentleman with shrewd, humorous eyes was entirely wrong, and Laurie was just suffering from anervous strain, not severe enough to hinder him from reading law inMr. Morton's chambers; and this was all the substratum of Mr. Cathcart's mysteries: or else Mr. Cathcart was right, and Laurie wasin the presence of some danger called insanity which Mr. Cathcartinterpreted in some strange fashion she could not understand. Andbeneath all this again moved the further questions as to whatspiritualism really was--what it professed to be, or meresuperstitious nonsense, or something else. 

She was amazed that she had not demanded greater explicitness thismorning; but the thing had been so startling, so suggestive at first, so insignificant in its substance, that her ordinary common sense haddeserted her. The old gentleman had come and gone like a wraith, haduttered a few inconclusive sentences, and promised to write, had beendisappointed with her at one moment and enthusiastic the next. Obviously their planes ran neither parallel nor opposing; they cut atunexpected points; and Maggie had no notion as to the direction inwhich his lay. All she saw plainly was that there was some point ofview other than hers. 

So, then, she revolved theories, questioned, argued, doubted withherself. One thing only emerged--the old lady's feverish cold affordedher exactly the opportunity she wished; she could write to Laurie withperfect truthfulness that his mother had taken to her bed, and thatshe hoped he would come down next week instead of the week after. 

After dinner she sat down and wrote it, pausing many times to considera phrase. 

Then she read a little, and soon after ten went upstairs to bed. 

III

It was a little before sunset on that day that Mr. James Morton turneddown on to the Embankment to walk up to the Westminster underground totake him home. He was a great man on physical exercise, and it was amatter of principle with him to live far from his work. As he camedown the little passage he found his friend waiting for him, andtogether they turned up towards where in the distance the Westminstertowers rose high and blue against the evening sky. 

"Well?" said the old man. 

Mr. Morton looked at him with a humorous eye. 

"You are a hopeless case, " he said. 

"Kindly tell me what you noticed. "

"My dear man, " he said, "there's absolutely nothing to say. I didexactly what you said: I hardly spoke to him at all: I watched himvery carefully indeed. I really can't go on doing that day after day. I've got my own work to do. It's the most utter bunkum I ever--"

"Tell me anything odd that you saw. "

"There was nothing odd at all, except that the boy looked tired, asyou saw for yourself this morning. "

"Did he behave exactly as usual?"

"Exactly, except that he was quieter. He fidgeted a little with hisfingers. "

"Yes?"

"And he seemed very hard at work. I caught him looking at me once ortwice. "

"Yes? How did he look?"

"He just looked at me--that was all. Good Lord! what do you want--"

"And there was nothing else--absolutely nothing else?"

"Absolutely nothing else. "

"He didn't complain of . .. Of anything?"

"Lord. .. ! Oh, yes; he did say something about a headache. "

"Ah!" The old man leaned forward. "A headache? What kind?"

"Back of his head. "

The old man sat back with pursed lips. 

"Did he talk about last night?" he went on again suddenly. 

"Not a word. "

"Ah!"

Mr. Morton burst into a rude uproarious laugh. 

"Upon my word!" he said. "I think, Cathcart, you're the mostamazingly--"

The other held up a gloved hand in deprecation; but he did not seem atall ruffled. 

"Yes, yes; we can take all that as said. .. . I'm accustomed to it, mydear fellow. Well, I saw Miss Deronnais, as I told you I should in mynote. .. . You're quite right about her. "

"Pleased to hear it, I'm sure, " said Mr. Morton solemnly. 

"She's one in a thousand. I told her right out, you know, that Ifeared insanity. "

"Oh! you did! That's tactful! How did she--"

"She took it admirably. "

"And did you tell her your delightful theories?"

"I did not. She will see all that for herself, I expect. Meantime--"

"Oh, you didn't tell me about your interview with Lady Laura. "

The old face grew a little grim. 

"Ah! that's not finished yet, " he said. "I'm on my way to her now. Idon't think she'll play with the thing again just yet. "

"And the others--the medium, and so on?"

"They will have to take their chance. It's absolutely useless going tothem. "

"They're as bad as I am, I expect. "

The old man turned a sharp face to him. 

"Oh! you know nothing whatever about it, " he said. "You don'tcount. But they do know quite enough. "

In the underground the two talked no more; but Mr. Morton, affectingto read his paper, glanced up once or twice at the old shrewd faceopposite that stared so steadily out of the window into the roaringdarkness. And once more he reflected how astonishing it was thatanyone in these days--anyone, at least, possessing common sense--andcommon sense was written all over that old bearded face--could believesuch fantastic rubbish as that which had been lately discussed. Itwas not only the particular points that regarded Laurie Baxter--allthese absurd, though disquieting hints about insanity and suicide andthe rest of it--but the principles that old Cathcart declared to bebeneath--those principles which he had, apparently, not confided toMiss Deronnais. Here was the twentieth century; here was an electricrailway, padded seats, and the _Pall Mall_. .. ! Was further commentrequired?

The train began to slow up at Gloucester Road; and old Cathcartgathered up his umbrella and gloves. 

"Then tomorrow, " he said, "at the same time?"

Mr. Morton made a resigned gesture. 

"But why don't you go and have it out with him yourself?" he asked. 

"He would not listen to me--less than ever now. Good night!"

 * * * * *

The train slid on again into the darkness; and the lawyer sat for amoment with pursed lips. Yes, of course the boy was overwrought:anyone could see that: he had stammered a little--a sure sign. But whymake all this fuss? A week in the country would set him right. 

Then he opened the _Pall Mall_ again resolutely. 

_Chapter XV_

I

Mr. And Mrs. Nugent were enjoying their holiday exceedingly. On GoodFriday they had driven laboriously in a waggonette to Royston, wherethey had visited the hermit's cave in company with other grandees oftheir village, and held a stately picnic on the downs. They hadreturned, the gentlemen of the party slightly flushed with brandy andwater from the various hostelries on the home journey, and the ladiessevere, with watercress on their laps. Accordingly, on the Saturday, Mrs. Nugent had thought it better to stay indoors and dispatch herhusband to the scene of the first cricket match of the season, acouple of miles away. 

At about five o'clock she made herself a cup of tea, and did not wakeup from the sleep which followed until the evening was closing in. Sheawoke with a start, remembering that she had intended to give a goodlook between the spare bedroom that had been her daughter's, andpossibly make a change or two of the furniture. There was a mahoganywardrobe . .. And so forth. 

She had not entered this room very often since the death. It had cometo resemble to her mind a sort of melancholy sanctuary, symbolical ofglories that might have been; for she and her husband were full of theglorious day that had begun to dawn when Laurie, very constrainedthough very ardent, had called upon them in state to disclose hisintentions. Well, it had been a false dawn; but at least it could be, and was, still talked about in sad and suggestive whispers. 

It seemed full then of a mysterious splendor when she entered it thisevening, candle in hand, and stood regarding it from the threshold. Tothe outward eye it was nothing very startling. A shrouded bedprotruded from the wall opposite with the words "The Lord preservethee from all evil" illuminated in pink and gold by the girl's ownhand. An oleograph of Queen Victoria in coronation robes hung on oneside and the painted photograph of a Nonconformist divine, Bible inhand, whiskered and cravatted, upon the other. There was a smallcloth-covered table at the foot of the bed, adorned with an almostcontinuous line of brass-headed nails as a kind of beading round theedge, in the center of which rested the plaster image of a youngperson clasping a cross. A hymn-book and a Bible stood before this, and a small jar of wilted flowers. Against the opposite wall, flankedby dejected-looking wedding-groups, and another text or two, stood thegreat mahogany wardrobe, whose removal was vaguely in contemplation. 

Mrs. Nugent regarded the whole with a tender kind of severity, shakingher head slowly from side to side, with the tin candlestick slightlytilted. She was a full-bodied lady, in clothes rather too tight forher, and she panted a little after the ascent of the stairs. It seemedto her once more a strangely and inexplicably perverse act ofProvidence, to whom she had always paid deference, by which soincalculable a rise in the social scale had been denied to her. 

Then she advanced a step, her eyes straying from the shrouded bed tothe wardrobe and back again. Then she set the candlestick upon thetable and turned round. 

It must now be premised that Mrs. Nugent was utterly without a traceof what is known as superstition; for the whole evidential value ofwhat follows, such as it is, depends upon that fact. She would not, bypreference, sleep in a room immediately after a death had taken placein it, but solely for the reason of certain ill-defined physicaltheories which she would have summed up under the expression that "itwas but right that the air should be changed. " Her views on humannature and its component parts were undoubtedly practical andcommon-sense. To put it brutally, Amy's body was in the churchyard andAmy's soul, crowned and robed, in heaven; so there was no more toaccount for. She knew nothing of modern theories, nothing of therevival of ancient beliefs; she would have regarded with kindlycompassion, and met with practical comments, that unwilling shrinkingfrom scenes of death occasionally manifested by certain kind oftemperaments. 

She turned, then, and looked at the wardrobe, still full of Amy'sbelongings, with her back to the bed in which Amy had died, withouteven the faintest premonitory symptom of the unreasoning terror thatpresently seized upon her. 

It came about in this way. 

She kneeled down, after a careful scrutiny of the polished surface ofthe mahogany, pulled out a drawer filled to brimming over with linenof various kinds and uses, and began to dive among these with carefulhousewifely hands to discover their tale. Simultaneously, as sheremembered afterwards, there came from the hill leading down from thedirection of the station, the sound of a trotting horse. 

She paused to listen, her mind full of that faint gossipy surmise thatsurges so quickly up in the thoughts of village dwellers, her handsfor an instant motionless among the linen. It might be the doctor, orMr. Paton, or Mr. Grove. Those names flashed upon her; but an instantlater were drowned again in a kind of fear of which she could giveafterwards no account. 

It seemed to her, she said, that there was something coming towardsher that set her a-tremble; and when, a moment later, the trottinghoofs rang out sharp and near, she positively relapsed into a kind ofsitting position on the floor, helpless and paralyzed by a furiousup-rush of terror. 

For it appeared, so far as Mrs. Nugent could afterwards make it out, as if a sort of double process went on. It was not merely that Fear, full-armed, rushed upon with the approaching wheels, outside andtherefore harmless; but that the room itself in which she crouched, itself filled with some atmosphere, swift as water in a rising lock, that held her there motionless, blind and dumb with horror, unable tomove, even to lift her hands or turn her head. As one approached, theother rose. 

Again sounded the hoofs and wheels, near now and imminent. Again theyhushed as the corner was approached. Then once more, as they brokeout, clear and distinct, not twenty yards away at the turning into thevillage, Mrs. Nugent, no longer able even to keep that rigid positionof fear, sank gently backwards and relapsed in a huddle on the floor. 

II

Mr. Nugent was astonished and even a little peevish when, on arrivinghome after dark, he found the parlor lamp a-smoke and his wife absent. 

He inquired for her; the mistress had slipped upstairs scarcely tenminutes ago. He shouted at the bottom of the stairs, but there was noresponse. And after he had taken his boots off, and his desire forsupper had become poignant, he himself stepped upstairs to see intothe matter. .. . 

It was several minutes, even after the conveyal of an apparentlyinanimate body downstairs, before his wife first made clear signs ofintelligence; and even these were little more than grotesqueexpressions of fear--rolling eyes and exclamations. It was anotherquarter of an hour before any kind of connected story could be got outof her. One conclusion only was evident, that Mrs. Nugent did notpropose to fetch the forgotten candle still burning on thecloth-covered, brass-nailed table, but that it must be fetchedinstantly; the door locked on the outside, and the key laid before heron that tablecloth. These were the terms that must be conceded beforeany further details were gone into. 

Plainly there was but one person to carry out these instructions, forthe little servant-maid was already all eyes and mouth at the fewpregnant sentences that had fallen from her mistress's lips. SoMr. Nugent himself, cloth cap and all, stepped upstairs once more. 

He paused at the door and looked in. 

All was entirely as usual. In spite of the unpleasant expectancyroused, in spite of himself and his godliness, by the words of hiswife and her awful head-nodding, the room gave back to him no echo orlingering scent of horror. The little bed stood there, white andinnocent in the candlelight, the drawer still gaped, showing itspathetic contents; the furniture, pictures, texts, and all the restremained in their places, harmless and undefiled as when Amy herselfhad set them there. 

He looked carefully round before entering; then, stepping forward, hetook the candle, closed the drawer, not without difficulty, glancedround once more, and went out, locking the door behind him. 

"A pack of nonsense!" he said, as he tossed the key on to the tablebefore his wife. 

The theological discussion waxed late that night, and by ten o'clockMrs. Nugent, under the influence of an excellent supper and a touch ofstimulant, had begun to condemn her own terrors, or rather to cease toprotest when her husband condemned them for her. A number of solutionshad been proposed for the startling little incident, to none of whichdid she give an unqualified denial. It was the stooping that had doneit; there had been a rush of blood to the head that had emptied theheart and caused the sinking feeling. It was the watercress eaten insuch abundance on the previous afternoon. It was the fact that she hadpassed an unoccupied morning, owing to the closing of the shop. It wasone of those things, or all of them, or some other like one of them. Even the little maid was reassured, when she came to take away thesupper things, by the cheerful conversation of the couple, though sheregistered a private vow that for no consideration under heaven wouldshe enter the bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs. 

About half-past ten Mrs. Nugent said that she would step up to bed;and in that direction she went, accompanied by her husband, whoseprogram it was presently to step round to the "Wheatsheaf" for an hourwith the landlord after the bar was shut up. 

At the door on the right hand he hesitated, but his wife passed onsternly; and as she passed into their own bedroom a piece of news cameto his mind. 

"That was Mr. Laurie you heard, Mary, " said he. "Jim told me he sawhim go past just after dark. .. . Well, I'll take the house-key withme. "

_Chapter XVI_

I

"When is he coming?" asked Mrs. Baxter with a touch of peevishness, asshe sat propped up in her tall chair before the bedroom fire. 

"He will be here about six, " said Maggie. "Are you sure you havefinished?"

The old lady turned away her head from the rice pudding in a kind ofgesture of repulsion. She was in the fractious period of influenza, and Maggie had had a hard time with her. 

Nothing particular had happened for the last ten days. Mrs. Baxter'sfeverish cold had developed, and she was but now emerging from thenightdress and flannel-jacket stage to that of the petticoat anddressing-gown. It was all very ordinary and untragic, and Maggie hadhad but little time to consider the events on which her subconsciousattention still dwelt. Mr. Cathcart had had no particular news to giveher. Laurie, it seemed, was working silently with his coach, talkinglittle. Yet the old man did not for one instant withdraw one word thathe had said. Only, in answer to a series of positive inquiries fromthe girl two days before, he had told her to wait and see him forherself, warning her at the same time to show no signs of perturbationto the boy. 

And now the day was come--Easter Eve, as it happened--and she wouldsee him before night. He had sent no answer to her first letter; then, finally, a telegram had come that morning announcing his train. 

She was wondering with all her might that afternoon as to what shewould see. In a way she was terrified; in another way she wascontemptuous. The evidence was so extraordinarily confused. If he werein danger of insanity, how was it that. Mr. Cathcart advised her toget him down to a house with only two women and a few maids? Who wasthere besides this old gentleman who ever dreamed that such a dangerwas possible? How, if it was so obvious that she would see the changefor herself, was it that others--Mr. Morton, for example--had not seenit too? More than ever the theory gained force in her mind that thewhole thing was grossly exaggerated by this old man, and that all thatwas the matter with Laurie was a certain nervous strain. 

Yet, for all that, as the afternoon closed in, she felt her nervestightening. She walked a little in the garden while the old lady tookher nap; she came in to read to her again from the vellum-bound littlebook as the afternoon light began to fade. Then, after tea, she wentunder orders to see for herself whether Laurie's room was as it shouldbe. 

It struck her with an odd sense of strangeness as she went in; shescarcely knew why; she told herself it was because of what she hadheard of him lately. But all was as it should be. There were springflowers on the table and mantelshelf, and a pleasant fire on thehearth. It was even reassuring after she had been there a minute ortwo. 

Then she went to look at the smoking-room where she had sat with himand heard the curious noise of the cracking wood on the night of thethaw, when the boy had behaved so foolishly. Here, too, was a fire, atall porter's chair drawn on one side with its back to the door, and adeep leather couch set opposite. There was a box of Laurie'scigarettes set ready on the table--candles, matches, flowers, theillustrated papers--yes, everything. 

But she stood looking on it all for a few moments with an odd emotion. It was familiar, homely, domestic--yet it was strange. There was anair of expectation about it all. .. . Then on a sudden the emotionsprecipitated themselves in tenderness. .. . Ah! poor Laurie. .. . 

 * * * * *

"It is all perfectly right, " she said to the old lady. 

"Are the cigarettes there?"

"Yes: I noticed them particularly. "

"And flowers?"

"Yes, flowers too. "

"What time is it, my dear? I can't see. "

Maggie peered at the clock. 

"It's just after six, Auntie. Will you have the candles?"

The old lady shook her head. 

"No, my dear: my eyes can't stand the light. Why hasn't the boy come?"

"Why, it's hardly time yet. Shall I bring him up at once?"

"Just for two minutes, " sighed the old lady. "My head's bad again. "

"Poor dear, " said Maggie. 

"Sit down, my dearest, for a few minutes. You'll hear the wheels fromhere. .. . No, don't talk or read. "

There, then, the two women sat waiting. 

 * * * * *

Outside the twilight was falling, layer on layer, over the springgarden, in a great stillness. The chilly wind of the afternoon haddropped, and there was scarcely a sound to be heard from the livingthings about the house that once more were renewing their strength. Yet over all, to the Catholic's mind at least, there lay a shadow ofdeath, from associations with that strange anniversary that waspassing, hour by hour. .. . 

As to what Maggie thought during those minutes of waiting, she couldhave given afterwards no coherent description. Matters were toocomplicated to think clearly; she knew so little; there were so manyhypotheses. Yet one emotion dominated the rest--expectancy with atinge of fear. Here she sat, in this peaceful room, with all thehomely paraphernalia of convalescence about her--the fire, the bedlaid invitingly open with a couple of books, and a reading-lamp on thelittle table at the side, the faint smell of sandalwood; and beforethe fire dozed a peaceful old lady full too of gentle expectation ofher son, yet knowing nothing whatever of the vague perils that wereabout him, that had, indeed, whatever they were, already closed in onhim. .. . And that son was approaching nearer every instant through thecountry lanes. .. . 

She rose at last and went on tiptoe to the window. The curtains hadnot yet been drawn, and she could see in the fading light theelaborate ironwork of the tall gate in the fence, and the common roadoutside it, gleaming here and there in puddles that caught the greencolor from the dying western sky. In front, on the lawn on this side, burned tiny patches of white where the crocuses sprouted. 

As she stood there, there came a sound of wheels, and a carriage camein sight. It drew up at the gate, and the door opened. 

II

"He is come, " said the girl softly, as she saw the tall ulsteredfigure appear from the carriage. There was no answer, and as she wenton tiptoe to the fire, she saw that the old lady was asleep. She wentnoiselessly out of the room, and stood for an instant, every pulseracing with horrible excitement, listening to the footsteps and voicesin the hall. Then she drew a long trembling breath, steadied herselfwith a huge effort of the will, and went downstairs. 

"Mr. Laurie's gone into the smoking-room, miss, " said the servant, looking at her oddly. 

He was standing by the table as she went in; so much she could see:but the candles were unlighted, and no more was visible of him thanhis outline against the darkening window. 

"Well, Laurie?" she said. 

"Well, Maggie, " said his voice in answer. And their hands met. 

Then in an instant she knew that something was wrong. Yet at themoment she had not an idea as to what it was that told her that. Itwas Laurie's voice surely!

"You're all in the dark, " she said. 

There was no movement or word in answer. She passed her hand along themantelpiece for the matches she had seen there just before; but herhand shook so much that some little metal ornament fell with a crashas she fumbled there, and she drew a long almost vocal breath ofsudden nervous alarm. And still there was no movement in answer. Onlythe tall figure stood watching her it seemed--a pale luminous patchshowing her his face. 

Then she found the matches and struck one; and, keeping her facedowncast, lighted, with fingers that shook violently, the two candleson the little table by the fire. She must just be natural andordinary, she kept on telling herself. Then with another fierce effortof will she began to speak, lifting her eyes to his face as she didso. 

"Auntie's just fallen. .. " (her voice died suddenly for an instant, asshe saw him looking at her)--then she finished--"just fallen asleep. Will . .. You come up presently . .. Laurie?"

Every word was an effort, as she looked steadily into the eyes thatlooked so steadily into hers. 

It was Laurie--yes--but, good God. .. !

"You must just kiss her and come away, " she said, driving out thewords with effort after effort. "She has a bad headache thisevening. .. . Laurie--a bad headache. "

With a sudden twitch she turned away from those eyes. 

"Come, Laurie, " she said. And she heard his steps following her. 

They passed so through the inner hall and upstairs: and, withoutturning again, holding herself steady only by the consciousness thatsome appalling catastrophe was imminent if she did not, she opened thedoor of the old lady's room. 

"Here he is, " she said. "Now, Laurie, just kiss her and come away. "

"My dearest, " came the old voice from the gloom, and two hands werelifted. 

Maggie watched, as the tall figure came obediently forward, in anindescribable terror. It was as when one watches a man in a tiger'sden. .. . But the figure bent obediently, and kissed. 

Maggie instantly stepped forward. 

"Not a word, " she said. "Auntie's got a headache. Yes, Auntie, he'svery well; you'll see him in the morning. Go out at once, please, Laurie. "

Without a word he passed out, and, as she closed the door after him, she heard him stop irresolute on the landing. 

"My dearest child, " came the peevish old voice, "you might haveallowed my own son--"

"No, no, Auntie, you really mustn't. I know how bad your headis . .. Yes, yes; he's very well. You'll see him in the morning. "

And all the while she was conscious of the figure that must be facedagain presently, waiting on the landing. 

"Shall I go and see that everything's all right in his room?" shesaid. "Perhaps they've forgotten--"

"Yes, my dearest, go and see. And send Charlotte to me. "

The old voice was growing drowsy again. 

Maggie went out swiftly without a word. There again stood the figurewaiting. The landing lamp had been forgotten. She led the way to hisroom. 

"Come, Laurie, " she said. "I'll just see that everything's all right. "

She found the matches again, lighted the candles, and set them on histable, still without a look at that face that turned always as shewent. 

"We shall have to dine alone, " she said, striving to make her voicenatural, as she reached the door. 

Then once more she raised her eyes to his, and looked him bravely inthe face as he stood by the fire. 

"Do just as you like about dressing, " she said. "I expect you'retired. "

She could bear it no more. She went out without another word, passedsteadily across the length of the landing to her own room, locked thedoor, and threw herself on her knees. 

III

She was roused by a tap on the door--how much later she did notknow. But the agony was passed for the present--the repulsion and thehorror of what she had seen. Perhaps it was that she did not yetunderstand the whole truth. But at least her will was dominant; shewas as a man who has fought with fear alone, and walks, white andtrembling, yet perfectly himself, to the operating table. 

She opened the door; and Susan stood there with a candle in one handand a scrap of white in the other. 

"For you, miss, " said the maid. 

Maggie took it without a word, and read the name and the penciledmessage twice. 

"Just light the lamp out here, " she said. "Oh . .. And, by the way, send Charlotte to Mrs. Baxter at once. "

"Yes, miss. .. "

The maid still paused, eyeing her, as if with an unspokenquestion. There was terror too in her eyes. 

"Mr. Laurie is not very well, " said Maggie steadily. "Please take nonotice of anything. And . .. And, Susan, I think I shall dine alonethis evening, just a tray up here will do. If Mr. Laurie saysanything, just explain that I am looking after Mrs. Baxter. And. .. . Susan--"

"Yes, miss. "

"Please see that Mrs. Baxter is not told that I am not diningdownstairs. "

"Yes, miss. "

Maggie still stood an instant, hesitating. Then a thought recurredagain. 

"One moment, " she said. 

She stepped across the room to her writing-table, beckoning the maidto come inside and shut the door; then she wrote rapidly for a minuteor so, enclosed her note, directed it, and gave it to the girl. 

"Just send up someone at once, will you, with this to Father Mahon--ona bicycle. "

When the maid was gone, she waited still for an instant looking acrossthe dark landing, expectant of some sound or movement. But all wasstill. A line of light showed only under the door where the boy whowas called Laurie Baxter stood or sat. At least he was not movingabout. There in the darkness Maggie tested her power of resistingpanic. Panic was the one fatal thing: so much she understood. Even ifthat silent door had opened, she knew she could stand there still. 

She went back, took a wrap from the chair where she had tossed it downon coming in from the garden that afternoon, threw it over her headand shoulders, passed down the stairs and out through the garden oncemore in the darkness of the spring evening. 

All was quiet in the tiny hamlet as she went along the road. A blazeof light shone from the tap-room window where the fathers of familieswere talking together, and within Mr. Nugent's shuttered shop shecould see through the doorway the grocer himself in his shirt-sleeves, shifting something on the counter. So great was the tension to whichshe had strung herself that she did not even envy the ordinariness ofthese people: they appeared to be in some other world, not attainableby herself. These were busied with domestic affairs, with beer orcheese or gossip. Her task was of another kind: so much she knew; andas to what that task was, she was about to learn. 

As she turned the corner, the figure she expected was waiting there;and she could see in the deep twilight that he lifted his hat toher. She went straight up to him. 

"Yes, " she said, "I have seen for myself. You are right so far. Nowtell me what to do. "

It was no time for conventionality. She did not ask why the solicitorwas there. It was enough that he had come. 

"Walk this way then with me, " he said. "Now tell me what you haveseen. "

"I have seen a change I cannot describe at all. It's just someoneelse--not Laurie at all. I don't understand it in the least. But Ijust want to know what to do. I have written to Father Mahon to come. "

He was silent for a step or two. 

"I cannot tell you what to do. I must leave that to yourself. I canonly tell you what not to do. "

"Very well. "

"Miss Deronnais, you are magnificent. .. ! There, it is said. Now then. You must not get excited or frightened whatever happens. I do notbelieve that you are in any danger--not of the ordinary kind, I mean. But if you want me, I shall be at the inn. I have taken rooms therefor a night or so. And you must not yield to him interiorly. I wonderif you understand. "

"I think I shall understand soon. At present I understand nothing. Ihave said I cannot dine with him. "

"But--"

"I cannot . .. Before the servants. One of them at least suspectssomething. But I will sit with him afterwards, if that is right. "

"Very good. You must be with him as much as you can. Remember, it isnot the worst yet. It is to prevent that worst happening that you mustuse all the power you've got. "

"Am I to speak to him straight out? And what shall I tell FatherMahon?"

"You must use your judgment. Your object is to fight on his side, remember, against this thing that is obsessing him. Miss Deronnais, Imust give you another warning. "

She bowed. She did not wish to use more words than were necessary. The strain was frightful. 

"It is this: whatever you may see--little tricks of speech ormovement--you must not for one instant yield to the thought that thecreature that is obsessing him is what he thinks it is. Remember thething is wholly evil, wholly evil; but it may, perhaps, do its utmostto hide that, and to keep up the illusion. It is intelligent, but notbrilliant; it has the intelligence only of some venomous brute in theslime. Or it may try to frighten you. You must not be frightened. "

She understood hints here and there of what the old man said--enough, at any rate, to act. 

"And you must keep up to the utmost pitch your sympathy with _him_himself. You must remember that he is somewhere there, underneath, inchains; and that, probably, he is struggling too, and needs you. It isnot Possession yet: he is still partly conscious. .. . Did he know you?"

"Yes; he just knew me. He was puzzled, I think. "

"Has he seen anyone else he knows?"

"His mother . .. Yes. He just knew her too. He did not speak to her. Iwould not let him. "

"Miss Deronnais, you have acted admirably. .. . What is he doing now?"

"I don't know. I left him in his room. He was quite quiet. "

"You must go back directly. .. . Shall we turn? I don't think there'smuch more to say just now. "

Then she noticed that he had said nothing about the priest. 

"And what about Father Mahon?" she said. 

The old man was silent a moment. 

"Well?" she said again. 

"Miss Deronnais, I wouldn't rely on Father Mahon. I've hardly ever meta priest who takes these things seriously. In theory--yes, of course;but not in concrete instances. However, Father Mahon may be anexception. And the worst of it is that the priesthood has enormouspower, if they only knew it. "

The tinkle of a bicycle bell sounded down the road behind them. Maggie wheeled on the instant, and caught the profile she wasexpecting. 

"Is that you?" she said, as the rider passed. 

The man jumped off, touched his hat, and handed her a note. She toreit open, and glanced through it in the light of the bicycle lamp. Thenshe crumpled it up and threw it into the ditch with a quick, impatientmovement. 

"All right, " she said. "Good night. "

The gardener mounted his bicycle again and moved off. 

"Well?" said the old man. 

"Father Mahon's called away suddenly. It's from his housekeeper. He'll only be back in time for the first mass tomorrow. "

The other nodded, three or four times, as if in assent. 

"Why do you do that?" asked the girl suddenly. 

"It is what I should have expected to happen. "

"What! Father Mahon?--Do you mean it . .. It is arranged?"

"I know nothing. It may be coincidence. Speak no more of it. You havethe facts to think of. "

About them as they walked back in silence lay the quiet spring night. From the direction of the hamlet came the banging of a door, thenvoices wishing good night, and the sound of footsteps. The stepspassed the end of the lane and died away again. Over the trees to theright were visible the high twisted chimney of the old house where theterror dwelt. 

"Two points then to remember, " said the voice in thedarkness--"Courage and Love. Can you remember?"

Maggie bowed her head again in answer. 

"I will call and ask to see you as soon as the household is up. If youcan't see me, I shall understand that things are going well--or youcan send out a note to me. As for Mrs. Baxter--"

"I shall not say one word to her until it becomes absolutelynecessary. And if--"

"If it becomes necessary I will wire for a doctor from town. I willundertake all the preliminary arrangements, if you will allow me. "

Ten steps before the corner they stopped. 

"God bless you, Miss Deronnais. Remember, I am at the inn if you needme. "

IV

Mrs. Baxter dined placidly in bed at about half-past seven; but shewas more sleepy than ever when she had done. She was rash enough todrink a little claret and water. 

"It always goes straight to my head, Charlotte, " she explained. "Well, set the book--no, not that one--the one bound in white parchment. .. . Yes, just so, down here; and turn the reading lamp so that I can readif I want to. .. . Oh! ask Miss Maggie to tap at my door very softlywhen she comes out from dinner. Has she gone down yet?"

"I think I heard her step just now, ma'am. "

"Very well; then you can just tell Susan to let her know. How wasMr. Laurie looking, Charlotte?"

"I haven't seen him, ma'am. "

"Very well. Then that is all, Charlotte. You can just look in hereafter Miss Maggie and settle me for the night. "

Then the door closed, and Mrs. Baxter instantly began to doze off. 

She was one of those persons whose moments between sleeping andwaking, especially during a little attack of feverishness, areoccupied in contemplating a number of little vivid pictures of allkinds that present themselves to the mental vision; and she saw asusual a quantity of these, made up of tiny details of the day that wasgone, and of other details markedly unconnected with it. She saw forexample little scenes in which Maggie and Charlotte and medicinebottles and Chinese faces and printed pages of a book all movedtogether in a sort of convincing incoherence; and she was justbeginning to lose herself in the depths of sleep, and to forget herfirm resolution of reading another page or so of the book by her side, when a little sound came, and she opened, as she thought, her eyes. 

Her reading lamp cast a funnel of light across her bed, and the restof the room was lit only by the fire dancing in the chimney. Yet thiswas bright enough, she thought at the time, to show her perfectlydistinctly, though with shadows fleeting across it, her son's facepeering in at the door. She thought she said something; but she wasnot sure afterwards. At any rate, the face did not move; and it seemedto her that it bore an expression of such extraordinary malignity thatshe would hardly have known it for her son's. In a sudden panic sheraised herself in bed, staring; and as the shadows came and went, asshe stared, the face was gone again. Mrs. Baxter drew a quick breathor two as she looked; but there was nothing. Yet again she could havesworn that she heard the faint jar of the closing door. 

She reached out and put her hand on the bell-string that hung downover her bed. Then she hesitated. It was too ridiculous, she toldherself. Besides, Charlotte would have gone to her room. 

But the fear did not go immediately; though she told herself again andagain that it was just one of those little waking visions that sheknew so well. 

She lay back on the pillow, thinking. .. . Why, they would have reachedthe fish by now. No; she would tell Maggie when she came up. HowLaurie would laugh tomorrow! Then, little by little, she dozed offonce more. 

 * * * * *

The next thing of which she was aware was Maggie bending over her. 

"Asleep, Auntie dear?" said the girl softly. 

The old lady murmured something. Then she sat up, suddenly. 

"No, my dear. Have you finished dinner?"

"Yes, Auntie. "

"Where's Laurie? I should like to see him for a minute. "

"Not tonight, Auntie; you're too tired. Besides, I think he's gone tothe smoking-room. "

She acquiesced placidly. 

"Very well, dearest. .. . Oh! Maggie, such a queer thing happened justnow--when you were at dinner. "

"Yes?"

"I thought I saw Laurie look in, just for an instant. But he lookedawful, somehow. It was just one of my little waking visions I've toldyou of, I suppose. "

The girl was silent; but the old lady saw her suddenly straightenherself. 

"Just ask him whether he did look in, after all. It may just have beenthe shadow on his face. "

"What time was it?"

"About ten past eight, I suppose, dearest. You'll ask him, won't you?"

"Yes, Auntie. .. . I think I'd better lock your door when I go out. Youwon't fancy such things then, will you?"

"Very well, dearest. As you think best. "

The old voice was becoming sleepy again: and Maggie stood watching amoment or two longer. 

"Send Charlotte to me, dearest. .. . Good night, my pet. .. . I'm toosleepy again. My love to Laurie. "

"Yes, Auntie. "

The old lady felt the girl's warm lips on her forehead. They seemed tolinger a little. Then Mrs. Baxter lost herself once more. 

IV

The public bar of the Wheatsheaf Inn was the scene this evening of alively discussion. Some thought the old gentleman, arrived that dayfrom London, to be a new kind of commercial traveler, with designsupon the gardens of the gentry; others that he was a sort ofscientific collector; others, again, that he was a private detective;and since there was no evidence at all, good or bad, in support of anyone of these suggestions, a very pretty debate became possible. 

A silence fell when his step was heard to pass down the stairs and outinto the street, and another half an hour later when he returned. Thenonce more the discussion began. 

At ten o'clock the majority of the men moved out into the moonlight todisperse homewards, as the landlord began to put away the glasses andglance at the clock. Overhead the lighted blind showed where themysterious stranger still kept vigil; and over the way, beyond thestill leafless trees, towered up the twisted chimneys of Mrs. Baxter'shouse. No word had been spoken connecting the two, yet one or two ofthe men glanced across the way in vague surmise. 

Nearly a couple of hours later the landlord himself came to the doorto give the great Mr. Nugent himself, with whom he had been sitting inthe inner parlor, a last good-night, and he too noticed that thebedroom window was still lighted up. He jerked his finger in thedirection of it. 

"A late old party, " he said in an undertone. 

Mr. Nugent nodded. He was still a little flushed with whisky and withhis previous recountings of what would have happened if his poordaughter had lived to marry the young squire, of his (Mr. Nugent's)swift social advancement and its outward evidences, and of thehobnobbing with the gentry that would have taken place. He lookedreflectively across at the silhouette of the big house, all grey andsilver in the full moon. The landlord followed the direction of hiseyes; and for some reason unknown to them both, the two stood theresilent for a full half-minute. Yet there was nothing exceptional to beseen. 

Immediately before them, across the road, rose the high oak palingthat enclosed the lawn on this side, and the immense limes thattowered, untrimmed and undipped, in delicate soaring filigree againstthe peacock sky of night. Behind them showed the chimneys, above thedusky front of red-brick and the parapet. The moon was not yet fullupon the house, and the windows glimmered only here and there, inlines and sudden patches where they caught the reflected light. 

Yet the two looked at it in silence. They had seen such a sight fiftytimes before, for the landlord and the other at least twice a weekspent such an evening together, and usually parted at the door. Butthey stood here on this evening and looked. 

All was as still as a spring night can be. Unseen and unheard the lifeof the earth streamed upwards in twig and blade and leaf, pushing onto the miracle of the prophet Jonas, to be revealed in wealth of colorand scent and sound a fortnight later. The wind had fallen; the lastdoors were shut, and the two figures standing here were as still asall else. To neither of them occurred even the thinnest shadow of asuspicion as to the cause that held them here--two plain men--insilence, staring at an old house--not a thought of any hidden lifebeyond that of matter, that life by which most men reckon existence. For them this was but one more night such as they had known for half acentury. There was a moon. It was fine. That was Mrs. Baxter's house. This was the village street:--that was the sum of the situation. .. . 

Mr. Nugent moved off presently with a brisk air, bidding his friendgood night, and the landlord, after another look, went in. There camethe sound of bolts and bars, the light in the window of the parlorbeside the bar suddenly went out, footsteps creaked upstairs; a doorshut, and all was silence. 

Half an hour later a shadow moved across the blind upstairs: an armappeared to elongate itself; then, up went the blind, the windowfollowed it, and a bearded face looked out into the moonlight. Behindwas the table littered with papers, for Mr. Cathcart, laborious evenin the midst of anxiety, had brought down with him for the Sunday aquantity of business that could not easily wait; and had sat therepatiently docketing, correcting, and writing ever since his interviewin the lane nearly five hours before. 

Even now his face seemed serene enough; it jerked softly this way andthat, up the street and down again; then once more settled down tostare across the road at the grey and silver pile beyond the trees. Yet even he saw nothing there beyond what the landlord had seen. Itstood there, uncrossed by lights or footsteps or sounds, keeping itssecret well, even from him who knew what it contained. 

Yet to the watcher the place was as sinister as a prison. Behind thesolemn walls and the superficial flash of the windows, beneath thesilence and the serenity, lay a life more terrible than death, engagednow in some drama of which he could not guess the issue. A conflictwas proceeding there, more silent than the silence itself. Two soulsfought for one against a foe of unknown strength and unguessedpossibilities. The servants slept apart, and the old mistress apart, yet in one of those rooms (and he did not know which) a battle waslocked of which the issue was more stupendous than that of anystruggle with disease. Yet he could do nothing to help, except what healready did, with his fingers twisting and gripping a string of beadsbeneath the window-sill. Such a battle as this must be fought bypicked champions; and since the priesthood in this instance could nothelp, a girl's courage and love must take its place. 

From the village above the hill came the stroke of a single bell; abird in the garden-walk beyond the paling chirped softly to his mate;then once more silence came down upon the moonlit street, the stripedshadows, the tall house and trees, and the bearded face watching atthe window. 

_Chapter XVII_

I

The little inner hall looked very quiet and familiar as MaggieDeronnais stood on the landing, passing through her last struggle withherself before the shock of battle. The stairs went straight down, with the old carpet, up and down which she had gone a thousand times, with every faint patch and line where it was a little worn at theedges, visible in the lamplight from overhead; and she stared atthese, standing there silent in her white dress, bare-armed andbare-necked, with her hair in great coils on her head, as upright as alance. Beneath lay the little hall, with the tiger-skin, thered-papered walls, and a few miscellaneous things--an old cloak ofhers she used on rainy days in the garden, a straw hat of Laurie's, and a cap or two, hanging on the pegs opposite. In front was the doorto the outer hall, to the left, that of the smoking-room. The housewas perfectly quiet. Dinner had been cleared away already through thehatch into the kitchen passage, and the servants' quarters were on theother side of the house. No sound of any kind came from thesmoking-room; not even the faint whiff of tobacco-smoke that had a wayof stealing out when Laurie was smoking really seriously within. 

She did not know why, she had stopped there, half-way down the stairs. 

She had dined from a tray in her own room, as she had said; and hadbeen there alone ever since, for the most part at her _prie-Dieu_, indead silence, conscious of nothing connected, listening to theoccasional tread of a maid in the hall beneath, passing to and fromthe dining-room. There she had tried to face the ordeal that wascoming--the ordeal, at the nature of which even now she only halfguessed, and she had realized nothing, formed no plan, considered noeventuality. Things were so wholly out of her experience that she hadno process whereby to deal with them. Just two words came over andover again before her consciousness--Courage and Love. 

She looked again at the door. 

Laurie was there, she said. Then she questioned herself. Was itLaurie. .. ?

"He is there, underneath, " she whispered to herself softly; "he iswaiting for me to help him. " She remembered that she must make thatact of faith. Yet was it Laurie who had looked in at his mother'sdoor. .. ? Well, the door was locked now. But that secretive visitseemed to her terrible. 

What, then, did she believe?

She had put that question to herself fifty times, and found no answer. The old man's solution was clear enough now: he believed no less thanthat out of that infinitely mysterious void that lies beyond the veilsof sense there had come a Personality, strong, malignant, degraded, and seeking to degrade, seizing upon this lad's soul, in the disguiseof a dead girl, and desiring to possess it. How fantastic thatsounded! Did she believe it? She did not know. Then there was thesolution of a nervous strain, rising to a climax of insanity. This wasthe answer of the average doctor. Did she believe that? Was thatenough to account for the look in the boy's eyes? She did not know. 

She understood perfectly that the fact of herself living underconditions of matter made the second solution the more natural; yetthat did not content her. For her religion informed her emphaticallythat discarnate Personalities existed which desired the ruin of humansouls, and, indeed, forbade the practices of spiritualism for thisvery reason. Yet there was hardly a Catholic she knew who regarded thepossibility in these days as more than a theoretical one. So shehesitated, holding her judgment in suspense. One thing only she sawclearly, and that was that she must act as if she believed the formersolution: she must treat the boy as one obsessed, whether indeed hewere so or not. There was no other manner in which she couldconcentrate her force upon the heart of the struggle. If there were noevil Personality in the affair, it was necessary to assume one. 

And still she waited. 

There came back to her an old childish memory. 

Once, as a child of ten, she had had to undergo a small operation. Oneof the nuns had taken her to the doctor's house. When she hadunderstood that she must come into the next room and have it done, shehad stopped dead. The nun had encouraged her. 

"Leave me quite alone, please, Mother, just for one minute. Pleasedon't speak. I'll come in a minute. "

After a minute's waiting, while they looked at her, she had goneforward, sat down in the chair and behaved quite perfectly. Yes; sheunderstood that now. It was necessary first to collect forces, toconcentrate energies, to subdue the imagination: after that almostanything could be borne. 

So she stood here now, without even the thought of flight, notarguing, not reassuring herself, not analyzing anything; but justgathering strength, screwing the will tight, facing things. 

And there was yet another psychological fact that astonished her, though she was only conscious of it in a parenthetical kind of way, and that was the strength of her feeling for Laurie himself. It seemedto her curious, when she considered it, how the horror of that whichlay over the boy seemed, like death itself, to throw out as on a clearbackground the best of himself. His figure appeared to her memory aswholly good and sweet; the shadows on his character seemed absorbed inthe darkness that lay over him; and towards this figure sheexperienced a sense of protective love and energy that astonishedher. She desired with all her power to seize and rescue him. 

Then she drew a long steady breath, thrust out her strong white handto see if the fingers trembled; went down the stairs, and, withoutknocking, opened the smoking-room door and went straight in, closingit behind her. There was a screen to be passed round. 

She passed round it. 

And he sat there on the couch looking at her. 

II

For the first instant she remained there standing motionless; it waslike a declaration of war. In one or two of her fragmentary rehearsalsupstairs she had supposed she would say something conventional tobegin with. But the reality struck conventionality clean out of therealm of the possible. Her silent pause there was as significant asthe crouch of a hound; and she perceived that it was recognized to beso by the other that was there. There was in him that quick, silentalertness she had expected: half defiant, half timid, as of a fiercebeast that expects a blow. 

Then she came a step forward and sideways to a chair, sat down in itwith a swift, almost menacing motion, and remained there stilllooking. 

This is what she saw:

There was the familiar background, the dark paneled wall, theengraving, and the shelf of books convenient to the hand; the fire wason her right, and the couch opposite. Upon the couch sat the figure ofthe boy she knew so well. 

He was in the same suit in which he had traveled; he had not evenchanged his shoes; they were splashed a little with London mud. Thesethings she noticed in the minutes that followed, though she kept hereyes upon his face. 

The face itself was beyond her power of analysis. Line for line it wasLaurie's features, mouth, eyes and hair; yet its signification was notLaurie's. One that was akin looked at her from out of those windows ofthe soul--scrutinized her cautiously, questioningly, and suspiciously. It was the face of an enemy who waits. And she sat and looked at it. 

A full minute must have passed before she spoke. The face had droppedits eyes after the first long look, as if in a kind of relaxation, andremained motionless, staring at the fire in a sort of dejection. Yetbeneath, she perceived plainly, there was the same alert hostility;and when she spoke the eyes rose again with a quick furtiveattentiveness. The semi-intelligent beast was soothed, but not yetreassured. 

"Laurie?" she said. 

The lips moved a little in answer; then again the face glanced downsideways at the fire; the hands dangled almost helplessly between theknees. 

There was an appearance of weakness about the attitude that astonishedand encouraged her; it appeared as if matters were not yetconsummated. Yet she had a sense of nausea at the sight. .. . 

"Laurie?" she said again suddenly. 

Again the lips moved as if speaking rapidly, and the eyes looked up ather quick and suspicious. 

"Well?" said the mouth; and still the hands dangled. 

"Laurie, " she said steadily, bending all her will at the words, "you're very unwell. Do you understand that?"

Again the noiseless gabbling of the lips, and again a littlecommonplace sentence, "I'm all right. "

His voice was unnatural--a little hoarse, and quite toneless. It wasas a voice from behind a mask. 

"No, " said Maggie carefully, "you're not all right. Listen, Laurie. Itell you you're all wrong; and I've come to help you as well as I can. Will you do your best? I'm speaking to _you_, Laurie . .. To _you_. "

Every time he answered, the lips flickered first as in rapidconversation--as of a man seen talking through a window; but this timehe stammered a little over his vowels. 

"I--I--I'm all right. "

Maggie leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly, and her eyes fixedsteadily on that baffling face. 

"Laurie; it's you I'm speaking to--_you_. .. . Can you hear me? Do _you_understand?"

Again the eyes rose quick and suspicious; and her hands knit yet moreclosely together as she fought down the rising nausea. She drew a longbreath first; then she delivered a little speech which she had halfrehearsed upstairs. As she spoke he looked at her again. 

"Laurie, " she said, "I want you to listen to me very carefully, and totrust me. I know what is the matter with you; and I think you knowtoo. You can't fight--fight him by yourself. .. . Just hold on astightly as you can to me--with your mind, I mean. Do you understand?"

For a moment she thought that he perceived something of what shemeant: he looked at her so earnestly with those odd questioning eyes. Then he jerked ever so slightly, as if some string had been suddenlypulled, and glanced down again at the fire. .. . 

"I . .. I . .. I'm all right, " he said. 

It was horrible to see that motionlessness of body. He sat there as hehad probably sat since entering the room. His eyes moved, but scarcelyhis head; and his hands hung down helplessly. 

"Laurie . .. Attend . .. " she began again. Then she broke off. 

"Have you prayed, Laurie. .. ? Do you understand what has happened toyou? You aren't really ill--at least, not exactly, but--"

Again those eyes lifted, looked, and dropped again. 

It was piteous. For the instant the sense of nausea vanished, swallowed up in emotion. Why . .. Why, he was there all thewhile--Laurie . .. Dear Laurie. .. . 

With one motion, swift and impetuous, she had thrown herself forwardon to her knees, and clasped at the hanging hands. 

"Laurie! Laurie!" she cried. "You haven't prayed . .. You've beenplaying, and the machinery has caught you. But it isn't too late! Oh, God! it's not too late. Pray with me! Say the Our Father. .. . "

Again slowly the eyes moved round. He had started ever so little ather rush, and the seizing of his hands; and now she felt those handsmoving weakly in her own, as of a sleeping child who tries to detachhimself from his mother's arms. 

"I . .. I . .. I'm all--"

She grasped his hands more fiercely, staring straight up into thosestrange piteous eyes that revealed so little, except formlesscommotion and uneasiness. 

"Say the Our Father with me. 'Our Father--'"

Then his hands tore back, with a movement as fierce as her own, andthe eyes blazed with an unreal light. She still clung to his wrists, looking up, struck with a paralysis of fear at the change, and thefurious hostility that flamed up in the face. The lips writhed back, half snarling, half smiling. .. . 

"Let go! let go!" he hissed at her. "What are you--"

"The Our Father, Laurie . .. The Our--"

He wrenched himself backwards, striking her under the chin with hisknee. The couch slid backwards a foot against the wall, and he was onhis feet. She remained terror-stricken, shocked, looking up at thedully flushed face that glared down on her. 

"Laurie! Laurie. .. ! Don't you understand? Say one prayer--"

"How dare you?" he whispered; "how dare you--"

She stood up suddenly--wrenching her will back to self-command. Herbreath still came quick and panting; and she waited until once moreshe breathed naturally. And all the while he stood looking down at herwith eyes of extraordinary malevolence. 

"Well, will you sit quietly and listen?" she said. "Will you do that?"

Still he stared at her, with lips closed, breathing rapidly throughhis nostrils. With a sudden movement she turned and went to her chair, sat down and waited. 

He still watched her; then, with his eyes on her, with movements as ofa man in the act of self-defense, wheeled out the sofa to its place, and sat down. She waited till the tension of his figure seemed torelax again, till the quick glances at her from beneath droopingeyelids ceased, and once more he settled down with dangling hands tolook at the fire. Then she began again, quietly and decisively. 

"Your mother isn't well, " she said. "No . .. Just listen quietly. Whatis going to happen tomorrow? I'm speaking to _you_, Laurie to _you_. Do you understand?"

"I'm all right, " he said dully. 

She disregarded it. 

"I want to help you, Laurie. You know that, don't you? I'm MaggieDeronnais. You remember?"

"Yes--Maggie Deronnais, " said the boy, staring at the fire. 

"Yes, I'm Maggie. You trust me, don't you, Laurie? You can believewhat I say? Well, I want you to fight too. You and I together. Willyou let me do what I can?"

Again the eyes rose, with that odd questioning look. Maggie thoughtshe perceived something else there too. She gathered her forcesquietly in silence an instant or two, feeling her heart quicken likethe pulse of a moving engine. Then she sprang to her feet. 

"Listen, then--in the name of Jesus of Nazareth--"

He recoiled violently with a movement so fierce that the words died onher lips. For one moment she thought he was going to spring. And againhe was on his feet, snarling. There was silence for an interminableinstant; then a stream of words, scorching and ferocious, snarled ather like the furious growling of a dog--a string of blasphemies andfilth. 

Just so much she understood. Yet she held her ground, unable to speak, conscious of the torrent of language that swirled against her fromthat suffused face opposite, yet not understanding a tenth part ofwhat she heard. 

. .. "In the name of. .. "

On the instant the words ceased; but so overpowering was the venom andmalice of the silence that followed that again she was silent, perceiving that the utmost she could do was to hold her ground. So thetwo stood. If the words were horrible to hear, the silence was morehorrible a thousand times; it was as when a man faces the suddenlyopened door of a furnace and sees the white cavern within. 

He was the first to speak. 

"You had better take care, " he said. 

III

She scarcely knew how it was that she found herself again in herchair, with the figure seated opposite. 

It seemed that the direct assault was useless. And indeed she was nolonger capable of making it. The nausea had returned, and with it asensation of weakness. Her knees still were lax and useless; and herhand, as she turned it on the chair-arm, shook violently. Yet she hada curious sense of irresponsibility: there was no longer anyterror--nothing but an overpowering weakness of reaction. 

She sat back in silence for some minutes, looking now at the fire too, now at the figure opposite, noticing, however, that the helplessnessseemed gone. His hands dangled no longer; he sat upright, his handsclasped, yet with a curious look of stiffness and unnaturalness. 

Once more she began deliberately to attempt to gather her forces; butthe will, it appeared, had lost its nervous grasp of the faculties. Ithad no longer that quick grip and command with which she had begun. Passivity rather than activity seemed her strength. .. . 

Then suddenly and, as it appeared, inevitably, without movement orsound, she began internally to pray, closing her eyes, careless, andindeed unfearing. It seemed her one hope. And behind the steadymovement of her will--sufficient at least to elicit acts ofpetition--her intellect observed a thousand images and thoughts. Sheperceived the silence of the house and of the breathless spring nightoutside; she considered Mr. Cathcart in the inn across the road, Mrs. Baxter upstairs: she contemplated the future as it would be on themorrow--Easter Day, was it not?--the past, and scarcely at all thepresent. She relinquished all plans, all intentions and hopes: sheleaned simply upon the supernatural, like a tired child, and looked atpictures. 

 * * * * *

In remembering it all afterwards, she recalled to herself the factthat this process of prayer seemed strangely tranquil; that there hadbeen in her a consciousness of rest and recuperation as marked as thatwhich a traveler feels who turns into a lighted house from a stormynight. The presence of that other in the room was not even aninterruption; the nervous force that the other had generated just nowseemed harmless and ineffective. For a time, at least, that was so. But there came a moment when it appeared as if her almost mechanicaland rhythmical action of internal effort began to grip something. Itwas as when an engine after running free clenches itself again uponsome wheel or cog. 

The moment she was aware of this, she opened her eyes; and saw thatthe other was looking straight at her intently and questioningly. Andin that moment she perceived for the first time that her conflict lay, not externally, as she had thought, but in some interior region ofwhich she was wholly ignorant. It was not by word or action, but bysomething else which she only half understood that she was tostruggle. .. . 

She closed her eyes again with quite a new kind of determination. Itwas not self-command that she needed, but a steady interiorconcentration of forces. 

She began again that resolute wordless play of the will--dismissingwith a series of efforts the intellectual images of thought--that playof the will which, it seemed, had affected the boy opposite in a newway. She had no idea of what the crisis would be, or how it wouldcome. She only saw that she had struck upon a new path that ledsomewhere. She must follow it. 

Some little sound roused her; she opened her eyes and looked up. 

He had shifted his position, and for a moment her heart leapt withhope. For he sat now leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and hishead in his hands, and in the shaded lamplight it seemed that he wasshaking. 

She too moved, and the rustle of her dress seemed to reach him. Heglanced up, and before he dropped his head again she caught a clearsight of his face. He was laughing, silently and overpoweringly, without a sound. .. . 

For a moment the nausea seized her so fiercely that she gasped, catching at her throat; and she stared at that bowed head and shakingshoulders with a horror that she had not felt before. The laughter wasworse than all: and it was a little while before she perceived itsunreality. It was like a laughing machine. And the silence of it gaveit a peculiar touch. 

She wrestled with herself, driving down the despair that was onher. Courage and love. 

Again she leaned back without speaking, closing her eyes to shut outthe terror, and began desperately and resolutely to bend her willagain to the task. 

Again a little sound disturbed her. 

Once more he had shifted his position, and was looking straight at herwith a curious air of detached interest. His face looked almostnatural, though it was still flushed with that forced laughter; butthe mirth itself was gone. Then he spoke abruptly and sharply, in thetone of a man who speaks to a tiresome child; and a littleconversation followed, in which she found herself taking a part, as inan unnatural dream. 

"You had better take care, " he said. 

"I am not afraid. "

"Well--I have warned you. It is at your own risk. What are you doing?"

"I am praying. "

"I thought so. .. . Well, you had better take care. "

She nodded at him; closed her eyes once more with new confidence, andset to work. 

After that a series of little scenes followed, of which, a few dayslater, she could only give a disconnected account. 

She had heard the locking of the front door a long while ago; and sheknew that the household was gone to bed. It was then that she realizedhow long the struggle would be. But the next incident was marked inher memory by her hearing the tall clock in the silent hall outsidebeat one. It was immediately after this that he spoke once more. 

"I have stood it long enough, " he said, in that same abrupt manner. 

She opened her eyes. 

"You are still praying?" he said. 

She nodded. 

He got up without a word and came over to her, leaning forward withhis hands on his knees to peer into her face. Again, to herastonishment, she was not terrified. She just waited, looking narrowlyat the strange person who looked through Laurie's eyes and spokethrough his mouth. It was all as unreal as a fantastic dream. Itseemed like some abominable game or drama that had to be gone through. 

"And you mean to go on praying?"

"Yes. "

"Do you think it's the slightest use?"

"Yes. "

He smiled unnaturally, as if the muscles of his mouth were notperfectly obedient. 

"Well, I have warned you, " he said. 

Then he turned, went back to his couch, and this time lay down on itflat, turning over on his side, away from her, as if to sleep. Hesettled himself there like a dog. She looked at him a moment; thenclosed her eyes and began again. 

 * * * * *

Five minutes later she understood. 

The first symptom of which she was aware was a powerlessness toformulate her prayers. Up to that point she had leaned, as has beensaid, on an enormous Power external to herself, yet approached by aninterior way. Now it required an effort of the will to hold to thatPower at all. In terms of space, let it be said that she had rested, like a child in the dark, upon Something that sustained her: now shewas aware that it no longer sustained her; but that it needed a strongcontinuous effort to apprehend it at all. There was still the darkabout her; but it was of a different quality--it cannot be expressedotherwise--it was as the darkness of an unknown gulf compared to thedarkness of a familiar room. It was of such a nature that space andform seemed meaningless. .. . 

The next symptom was a sense of terror, comparable only to that whichshe had succeeded in crushing down as she stood on the stairs four orfive hours before. That, however, had been external to her; she hadentered it. Now it had entered her, and lay, heavy as pitch, upon thevery springs of her interior life. It was terror of something to come. That which it heralded was not yet come: but it was approaching. 

The third symptom was the approach itself--swift and silent, like therunning of a bear; so swift that it was upon her through the darkbefore she could stir or act. It came upon her, in a flash at thelast; and she understood the whole secret. 

It is possible only to describe it as, afterwards, she described itherself. The powerlessness and the terror were no more than thefar-off effect of its approach; the Thing itself was the center. 

Of that realm of being from which it came she had no previousconception: she had known evil only in its effects--in sins of herselfand others--known it as a man passing through a hospital ward seesflushed or pale faces, or bandaged wounds. Now she caught some glimpseof its essence, in the atmosphere of this bear-like thing that wasupon her. As aches and pains are to Death, so were sins to thisPersonality--symptoms, premonitions, causes, but not Itself. And shewas aware that the Thing had come from a spiritual distance sounthinkable and immeasurable, that the very word distance meantlittle. 

Of the Presence itself and its mode she could use nothing better thanmetaphors. But those to whom she spoke were given to understand thatit was not this or that faculty of her being that, so to speak, pushedagainst it; but that her entire being was saturated so entirely, thatit was but just possible to distinguish her inmost self from it. Theunderstanding no longer moved; the emotions no longer rebelled; memorysimply ceased. Yet through the worst there remained one minute, infinitesimally small spark of identity that maintained "I am I; and Iam not that. " There was no analysis or consideration; scarcely even asense of disgust. In fact for a while there was a period when to thattiny spot of identity it appeared that it would be an incalculablerelief to cease from striving, and to let self itself be merged inthat Personality so amazingly strong and compelling, that hadprecipitated itself upon the rest. .. . Relief? Certainly. For thoughemotion as most men know it was crushed out--that emotion stirred byhuman love or hatred--there remained an instinct which strove, which, by one long continuous tension, maintained itself in being. 

For the malignity of the thing was overwhelming. It was not merepressure; it had a character of its own for which the girl afterwardshad no words. She could only say that, so far from being negation, oremptiness, or non-being, it had an air, hot as flame, black as pitch, and hard as iron. 

That then was the situation for a time which she could only afterwardsreckon by guesswork; there was no development or movement--nomeasurable incidents; there was but the state that remained poised;below all those comparatively superficial faculties with which men ingeneral carry on their affairs--that state in which two Personalitiesfaced one another, welded together in a grip that lay on the verybrink of fusion. .. . 

_Chapter XVIII_

I

The cocks were crowing from the yards behind the village when Maggieopened her eyes, clear shrill music, answered from the hill as bytheir echoes, and the yews outside were alive with the dawn-chirpingof the sparrows. 

She lay there quite quietly, watching under her tired eyelids, throughthe still unshuttered windows, the splendid glow, seen behind thetwisted stems in front and the slender fairy forest of birches on thefurther side of the garden. Immediately outside the window lay thepath, deep in yew-needles, the ground-ivy beyond, and the wet lawnglistening in the strange mystical light of morning. 

She had no need to remember or consider. She knew every step andprocess of the night. That was Laurie who lay opposite in a deepsleep, his head on his arm, breathing deeply and regularly; and thiswas the little smoking-room where she had seen the cigarettes laidready against his coming, last night. 

There was still a log just alight on the hearth, she noticed. She gotout of her chair, softly and stiffly, for she felt intolerably languidand tired. Besides, she must not disturb the boy. So she went down onher knees, and, with infinite craft, picked out a coal or two from thefender and dropped them neatly into the core of red-heat that stillsmoldered. But a fragment of wood detached itself and fell with asharp sound; and she knew, even without turning her head, that the boyhad awakened. There was a faint inarticulate murmur, a rustle and along sigh. 

Then she turned round. 

Laurie was lying on his back, his arms clasped behind his head, looking at her with a quiet meditative air. He appeared no moreastonished or perplexed than herself. He was a little white-lookingand tired in the light of dawn, but his eyes were bright and sure. 

She rose from her knees again, still silent, and stood looking down onhim, and he looked back at her. There was no need of speech. It wasone of those moments in which one does not even say that there are nowords to use; one just regards the thing, like a stretch of opencountry. It is contemplation, not comment, that is needed. 

Her eyes wandered away presently, with the same tranquility, to thebrightening garden outside; and her slowly awakening mind, expandingwithin, sent up a little scrap of quotation to be answered. 

"While it was yet early . .. There came to the sepulcher. " How did itrun? "Mary. .. " Then she spoke. 

"It is Easter Day, Laurie. "

The boy nodded gently; and she saw his eyes slowly closing once more;he was not yet half awake. So she went past him on tiptoe to thewindow, turned the handle, and opened the white tall framework-likedoor. A gush of air, sweet as wine, laden with the smell of dew andspring flowers and wet lawns, stole in to meet her; and a blackbird, in the shrubbery across the garden, broke into song, interruptedhimself, chattered melodiously, and scurried out to vanish in a longcurve behind the yews. The very world itself of beast and bird wasstill but half awake, and from the hamlet outside the fence, beyondthe trees, rose as yet no skein of smoke and no sound of feet upon thecobbles. 

For the time no future presented itself to her. The minutes thatpassed were enough. She regarded indeed the fact of the old man asleepin the inn, of the old lady upstairs, but she rehearsed nothing ofwhat should be said to them by and by. She did not even think of thehour, or whether she should go to bed presently for a while. Shetraced no sequence of thought; she scarcely gave a glance at what waspast; it was the present only that absorbed her; and even of thepresent not more than a fraction lay before her attention--the wetlawn, the brightening east, the cool air--those with the joy that hadcome with the morning were enough. 

 * * * * *

Again came the long sigh behind her; and a moment afterwards there wasa step upon the floor, and Laurie himself stood by her. She glanced athim sideways, wondering for an instant whether his mood was as hers;and his grave, tired, boyish face was answer enough. He met her eyes, and then again let his own stray out to the garden. 

He was the first to speak. 

"Maggie, " he said, "I think we had best never speak of this again toone another. " She nodded, but he went on--

"I understand very little. I wish to understand no more. I shall askno questions, and nothing need be said to anybody. You agree?"

"I agree perfectly, " she said. 

"And not a word to my mother, of course. "

"Of course not. "

 * * * * *

The two were silent again. 

And now reality--or rather, the faculties of memory and considerationby which reality is apprehended--were once more coming back to thegirl and beginning to stir in her mind. She began, gently now, andwithout perturbation, to recall what had passed, the long crescendo ofthe previous months, the gathering mutter of the spiritual storm thathad burst last night--even the roar and flare of the storm itself, andthe mad instinctive fight for the conscious life and identity ofherself through which she had struggled. And it seemed to her as ifthe storm, like others in the material plane, had washed things cleanagain, and discharged an oppression of which she had been but halfconscious. Neither was it herself alone who had emerged into this"clear shining after rain"; but the boy that stood by her seemed toher to share in her joy. They stood here together now in a spiritualgarden, of which this lovely morning was no more than a clumsytranslation into another tongue. There stirred an air about them whichwas as wine to the soul, a coolness and clearness that was beyondthought, in a radiance that shone through all that was bathed withinit, as sunlight that filtered through water. She perceived then thatthe experience had been an initiation for them both, that here theystood, one by the other, each transparent to the other, or, at least, he transparent to her; and she wondered, not whether he would see itas she did, for of that she was confident, but when. For this space ofsilence she perceived him through and through, and understood thatperception was everything. She saw the flaws in him as plainly as inherself, the cracks in the crystal; yet these did not matter, for thecrystal was crystal. .. . 

So she waited, confident, until he should understand it too. 

"But that is only one fraction of what is in my mind--" He broke off. 

Then for the first time since she had opened her eyes just now herheart began to beat. That which had lain hidden for so long--thatwhich she had crushed down under stone and seal and bidden liestill--yet that which had held her resolute, all unknown to herself, through the night that was gone--once more asserted itself and waitedfor liberation. 

"Yet how dare I--" began Laurie. 

Again she glanced at him, terrified lest that which was in her heartshould declare itself too plainly by eyes and lips; and she saw how hestill looked across the garden, yet seeing nothing but his own thoughtwritten there against the glory of sky and leaf and grass. His facecaught the splendor from the east, and she saw in it the lines thatwould tell always of the anguish through which he was come; and againthe terror in her heart leapt to the other side, in spite of herconfidence, and bade her fear lest through some mistake, someconventional shame, he should say no more. 

Then he turned his troubled eyes and looked her in the face, and as helooked the trouble cleared. 

"Why--Maggie!" he said. 

_Epilogue_

"The worst of it all is, " said Maggie, four months later, to a verypatient female friend who adored her, and was her _confidante_ justthen--"the worst of it is that I'm not in the least sure of what it isthat I believe even now. "

"Tell me, dear, " said the girl. 

 * * * * *

The two were sitting out in a delightfully contrived retreat cut outat the lower end of the double hedge. Above them and on two sides rosemasses of August greenery, hazel and beech, as close as the roof andwalls of a summer-house: the long path ran in green gloom up to theold brick steps beneath the yews: and before the two girls rested thepleasant apparatus of tea--silver, china and damask, all the moredelightful from its barbaric contrast with its surroundings. 

Maggie looked marvelously well, considering the nervous strain thathad come upon her about Easter-time. She had collapsed altogether, itseemed, in Easter week itself, and had been for a long rest--one ather own dear French convent until a week ago, being entirely forbiddenby the nuns to speak of her experiences at all, so soon as they hadheard the rough outline. Mrs. Baxter had spent the time in rathermelancholy travel on the Continent, and was coming back this evening. 

"It seems to me now exactly like a very bad dream, " said Maggiepensively, beginning to measure in the tea with a small silver scoop. "Oh! Mabel; may I tell you exactly what is in my mind: and then wewon't talk of it any more at all?"

"Oh! do, " said the girl, with a little comfortable movement. 

When the tea had been poured out and the plates set ready to hand, Maggie began. 

 * * * * *

"It seems perfectly dreadful of me to have any doubts at all, after allthis; but . .. But you don't know how queer it seems. There's a kind ofthick hedge--" she waved a hand illustratively to the hazels besideher--"a kind of thick hedge between me and Easter--I suppose it's theillness: the nuns tell me so. Well, it's like that. I can see myself, and Laurie, and Mr. Cathcart, and all the rest of them, like figuresmoving beyond; and they all seem to me to be behaving rather madly, asif they saw something that I can't see. .. . Oh! it's hopeless. .. . 

"Well, the first theory I have is that these little figures, myselfincluded, really see something that I can't now: that there really wassomething or somebody, which makes them dance about like that. (Yes:that's not grammar; but you understand, don't you?) Well, I'll comeback to that presently. 

"And my next theory is this . .. Is this"--Maggie sipped her teameditatively--"my next theory is that the whole thing was simpleimagination, or, rather, imagination acting upon a few little factsand coincidences, and perhaps a little fraud too. Do you know the way, if you're jealous or irritable, the way in which everything seems tofit in? Every single word the person you're suspicious of utters allfits in and corroborates your idea. It isn't mere imagination: youhave real facts, of a kind; but what's the matter is that you chooseto take the facts in one way and not another. You select and arrangeuntil the thing is perfectly convincing. And yet, you know, in ninecases out of ten it's simply a lie. .. ! Oh! I can't explain all thethings, certainly. I can't explain, for instance, the pencilaffair--when it stood up on end before Laurie's eyes; that is, if itdid really stand up at all. He says himself that the whole thing seemsrather dim now, as if he had seen it in a very vivid dream. (Have oneof these sugar things?)

"Then there are the appearances Laurie saw; and the extraordinaryeffect they finally had upon him. Oh! yes; at the time, on the nightof Easter Eve, I mean, I was absolutely certain that the thing wasreal, that he was actually obsessed, that the thing--the Personality, I mean--came at me instead, and that somehow I won. Mr. Cathcart tellsme I'm right--Well; I'll come to that presently. But if it didn'thappen, I certainly can't explain what did; but there are a good manythings one can't explain; and yet one doesn't instantly rush to theconclusion that they're done by the devil. People say that we knowvery little indeed about the inner working of our own selves. There'sinstinct, for instance. We know nothing about that except that it isso. 'Inherited experience' is only rather a clumsy phrase--a piece ofpaper gummed up to cover a crack in the wall. 

"And that brings me to my third theory. "

Maggie poured out for herself a second cup of tea. 

"My third theory I'm rather vague about, altogether. And yet I seequite well that it may be the true one. (Please don't interrupt tillI've quite done. )

"We've got in us certain powers that we don't understand at all. Forinstance, there's thought-projection. There's not a shadow of doubtthat that is so. I can sit here and send you a message of what I'mthinking about--oh! vaguely, of course. It's another form of what wemean by Sympathy and Intuition. Well, you know, some people think thathaunted houses can be explained by this. When the murder is going on, the murderer and the murdered person are probably fearfullyexcited--anger, fear, and so on. That means that their whole being isstirred up right to the bottom, and that their hidden powers arefrightfully active. Well, the idea is that these hidden powers arealmost like acids, or gas--Hudson tells us all about that--and thatthey can actually stamp themselves upon the room to such a degree thatwhen a sympathetic person comes in, years afterwards, perhaps, he seesthe whole thing just as it happened. It acts upon his mind first, ofcourse, and then outwards through the senses--just the reverse orderto that in which we generally see things. 

"Well--that's only an illustration. Now my idea is this: How do weknow whether all the things that happened, from the pencil and therappings and the automatic writing, right up to the appearances Lauriesaw, were not just the result of these inner powers. .. . Look here. When one person projects his thought to another it arrives generallylike a very faint phantom of the thing he's thinking about. If I'mthinking of the ace of hearts, you see a white rectangle with a redspot in the middle. See? Well, multiply all that a hundred times, andone can just see how it might be possible that the thought of . .. OfMr. Vincent and Laurie together might produce a kind of unreal phantomthat could even be touched, perhaps. .. . Oh! I don't know. "

Maggie paused. The girl at her side gave an encouraging murmur. 

"Well--that's about all, " said Maggie slowly. 

"But you haven't--"

"Why, how stupid! Yes: the first theory. .. . Now that just shows howunreal it is to me now. I'd forgotten it. 

"Well, the first theory, my dear brethren, divides itself into twoheads--first the theory of the spiritualists, secondly the theory ofMr. Cathcart. (He's a dear, Mabel, even though I don't believe oneword he says. )

"Well, the spiritualist theory seems to me simple R. -O. -T. --rot. Mr. Vincent, Mrs. Stapleton, and the rest, really think that the souls ofpeople actually come back and do these things; that it was, really andtruly, poor dear Amy Nugent who led Laurie such a dance. I'm quite, quite certain that that's not true whatever else is. .. . Yes, I'll cometo the coincidences presently. But how can it possibly be that Amyshould come back and do these things, and hurt Laurie so horribly?Why, she couldn't if she tried. My dear, to be quite frank, she was avery common little thing: and, besides, she wouldn't have hurt a hairof his head. 

"Now for Mr. Cathcart. "

There was a long pause. A small cat stepped out suddenly from thehazel tangle behind and eyed the two girls. Then, quite noiselessly, as it caught Maggie's eye, it opened its mouth in a pathetic curveintended to represent, an appeal. 

"You darling!" cried Maggie suddenly; seized a saucer, filled it withmilk, and set it on the ground. The small cat stepped daintily down, and set to work. 

"Yes?" said the other girl tentatively. 

"Oh! Mr. Cathcart. .. . Well, I must say that his theory fits in withwhat Father Mahon says. But, you know, theology doesn't say that thisor that particular thing is the devil, or has actually happened in anygiven instance--only that, if it really does happen, it is the devil. Well, this is Mr. Cathcart's idea. It's a long story: you mustn'tmind. 

"First, he believes in the devil in quite an extraordinary way. .. . Oh!yes, I know we do too; but it's so very real indeed with him. Hebelieves that the air is simply thick with them, all doing their veryutmost to get hold of human beings. Yes, I suppose we do believe thattoo; but I expect that since there are such a quantity of things--likebad dreams--that we used to think were the devil, and now only turnout to be indigestion, that we're rather too skeptical. Well, Mr. Cathcart believes both in indigestion, so to speak, _and_ the devil. He believes that those evil spirits are at us all the time, trying toget in at any crack they can find--that in one person they producelunacy--I must say it seems to me rather odd the way in which lunaticsso very often become horribly blasphemous and things like that--and inanother just shattered nerves, and so on. They take advantage, hesays, of any weak spot anywhere. 

"Now one of the easiest ways of all is through spiritualism. Spiritualism is wrong--we know that well enough; it is wrong becauseit's trying to live a life and find out things that are beyond us atpresent. It's 'wrong' on the very lowest estimate, because it'soutraging our human nature. Yes, Mabel, that's his phrase. Goodintentions, therefore, don't protect us in the least. To go to_séances_ with good intentions is like . .. Like . .. Holding asmoking-concert in a powder-magazine on behalf of an orphan asylum. It's not the least protection--I'm not being profane, my dear--it'snot the least protection to open the concert with prayer. We've got nobusiness there at all. So we're blown up just the same. 

"The danger. .. ? Oh! the danger's this, Mr. Cathcart says. At_séances_, if they're genuine, and with automatic handwriting and allthe rest, you deliberately approach those powers in a friendly way, and by the sort of passivity which you've got to get yourself into, you open yourself as widely as possible to their entrance. Very oftenthey can't get in; and then you're only bothered. But sometimes theycan, and then you're done. It's particularly hard to get them outagain. 

"Now, of course, no one in his senses--especially decent people--woulddream of doing all this if he knew what it all meant. So thesecreatures, whatever they may be, always pretend to be somebody else. They're very sharp: they can pick up all kinds of odds and ends, little tricks, and little facts; and so, with these, they impersonatesomeone whom the inquirer's very fond of; and they say all sorts ofpious, happy little things at first in order to lead them on. So theygo on for a long time saying that religion's quite true. (By the way, it's rather too odd the way in which the Catholic Church seems the onething they don't like! You can be almost anything else, if you're aspiritualist; but you can't be a Catholic. ) Generally, though, theytell you to say your prayers and sing hymns. (Father Mahon the otherday, when I was arguing with him about having some hymns in church, said that heretics always went in for hymns!) And so you go on. Thenthey begin to hint that religion's not worth much; and then theyattack morals. Mr. Cathcart wouldn't tell me about that; but he saidit got just as bad as it could be, if you didn't take care. "

Maggie paused again, looking rather serious. Her voice had risen alittle, and a new color had come to her face as she talked. Shestooped to pick up the saucer. 

"Dearest, had you better--"

"Oh! yes: I've just about done, " said Maggie briskly. "There's hardlyany more. Well, there's the idea. They want to get possession of humanbeings and move them, so they start like that. 

"Well; that's what Mr. Cathcart says happened to Laurie. One of thoseBeasts came and impersonated poor Amy. He picked up certain thingsabout her--her appearance, her trick of stammering, and of playingwith her fingers, and about her grave and so on: and then, finally, made his appearance in her shape. "

"I don't understand about that, " murmured the girl. 

"Oh! my dear, I can't bother about that now. There's a lot aboutastral substance, and so on. Besides, this is only what Mr. Cathcartsays. As I told you, I'm not at all sure that I believe one word ofit. But that's his idea. "

Maggie stopped again suddenly, and leaned back, staring out at theluminous green roof of hazels above her. The small cat could bediscerned half-way up the leafy tunnel swaying its body in preparationfor a pounce, while overhead sounded an agitated twittering. Mabelseized a pebble, and threw it with such success that the swayingstopped, and a reproachful cat-face looked round at her. 

"There!" said Mabel comfortably; and then, "Well, what do you reallythink?"

Maggie smiled reflectively. 

"That's exactly what I don't know myself in the very least. As I said, all this seems to me more like a dream--and a very bad one. I thinkit's the . .. The nastiest thing, " she added vindictively, "that I'veever come across; I don't want to hear one word more about it as longas I live. "

"But--"

"Oh, my dear, why can't we be all just sensible and normal? I lovedoing just ordinary little things--the garden, and the chickens, andthe cat and dog and complaining to the butcher. I cannot imagine whatanybody wants with anything else. Yes; I suppose I do, in a sort ofway, believe Mr. Cathcart. It seems to me, granted the spiritual worldat all--which, naturally, I do grant--far the most intelligentexplanation. It seems to me, intellectually, far the most broad-mindedexplanation; because it really does take in all the facts--if they arefacts--and accounts for them reasonably. Whereas the subjective--selfbusiness--oh, it's frightfully clever and ingenious--but it doesassume such a very great deal. It seems to me rather like the peoplewho say that electricity accounts for everything--electricity! And asfor the imagination theory--well, that's what appeals to me now, emotionally--because I happen to be in the chickens and butcher mood;but it doesn't in the least convince me. Yes; I suppose Mr. Cathcart'stheory is the one I ought to believe, and, in a way, the one I dobelieve; but that doesn't in the least prevent me from feeling itextraordinarily unreal and impossible. Anyhow, it doesn't mattermuch. "

Again she leaned back comfortably, smiling to herself, and there was along silence. 

It was a divinely beautiful August evening. From where they sat littlecould be seen except the long vista of the path, arched with hazels, whence the cat had now disappeared, ending in three old brick steps, wide and flat, lichened and mossed, set about with flower-pots andleading up to the yew walk. But the whole air was full of summer soundand life and scent, heavy and redolent, streaming in from the oldbox-lined kitchen-garden on their right beyond the hedge and from theorchard on the left. It was the kind of atmosphere suggesting Naturein her most sensible mood, full-blooded, normal, perfectly fulfillingher own vocation; utterly unmystical, except by very subtleinterpretation; unsuggestive, since she was already saying all thatcould be said, and following out every principle by which she lived tothe furthest confine of its contents. It presented the same kind ofrounded-off completion and satisfactoriness as that suggested by anentirely sensuous and comfortable person. There were no corners in it, no vistas hinting at anything except at some perfectly normal lawn orset garden, no mystery, no implication of any other theory or glimpseof theory except that which itself proclaimed. 

Something of its air seemed now to breathe in Maggie's expression ofcontentment, as she smiled softly and happily, clasping her armsbehind her head. She looked perfectly charming, thought Mabel; and shelaid a hand delicately on her friend's knee, as if to share in thesatisfaction--to verify it by participation, so to speak. 

"It doesn't seem to have done you much harm, " she said. 

"No, thank you; I'm extremely well and very content. I've lookedthrough the door once, without in the least wishing to; and I don't inthe least want to look again. It's not a nice view. "

"But about--er--religion, " said the younger girl rather awkwardly. 

"Oh! religion's all right, " said Maggie. "The Church gives me just asmuch of all that as is good for me; and, for the rest, just tells meto be quiet and not bother--above all, not to peep or pry. Listenershear no good of themselves: and I suppose that's true of the othersenses too. At any rate, I'm going to do my best to mind nothingexcept my own business. "

"Isn't that rather unenterprising?"

"Certainly it is; that's why I like it. .. . Oh! Mabel, I do want to beso absolutely ordinary all the rest of my life. It's so extremely rareand original, you know. Didn't somebody say that there was nothing souncommon as common sense? Well, that's what I'm going to be. A genius!Don't you understand?--the kind that is an infinite capacity fortaking pains, not the other sort. "

"What is the other sort?"

"Why, an infinite capacity for doing without them. Like Wagner, youknow. Well, I wish to be the Bach sort--the kind of thing that anyoneought to be able to do--only they can't. "

Mabel smiled doubtfully. 

"Lady Laura was saying--" she began presently. 

Maggie's face turned suddenly severe. 

"I don't wish to hear one word. "

"But she's given it up, " cried the girl. "She's given it up. "

"I'm glad to hear it, " said Maggie judicially. "And I hope now thatshe'll spend the rest of her days in sackcloth--with a scourge, " sheadded. "Oh, did I tell you about Mrs. Nugent?"

"About the evening Laurie came home? Yes. "

"Well, that's all right. The poor old dear got all sorts of things onher mind, when it leaked out. But I talked to her, and we went uptogether and put flowers on the grave, and I said I'd have a mass saidfor Amy, though I'm sure she doesn't require one. The poor darling!But . .. But . .. (don't think me brutal, please) _how_ providential herdeath was! Just think!"

"Mrs. Baxter's coming home by the 6. 10, isn't she?"

Maggie nodded. 

"Yes; but you know you mustn't say a word to her about all this. Infact she won't have it. She's perfectly convinced that Laurieoverworked himself--Laurie, overworked!--and that that was just allthat was the matter with him. Auntie's what's called a sensible woman, you know, and I must say it's rather restful. It's what I want to be;but it's a far-off aspiration, I'm afraid, though I'm nearer it than Iwas. "

"You mean she doesn't think anything odd happened at all?"

"Just so. Nothing at all odd. All very natural. Oh, by the way, Laurieswears he never put his nose inside her room that night, but I'mabsolutely certain he did, and didn't know it. "

"Where is Mr. Lawrence?"

"Auntie made him go abroad. "

"And when does he come back?"

There was a perceptible pause. 

"Mr. Lawrence comes back on Saturday evening, " said Maggiedeliberately.