那些在光中的人
维奥拉·兰伯特， 主题
兰伯特夫人， 她妈妈
乔斯·兰伯特， 她的继父
安东尼·克拉克, 她的牧师
布里特博士， 她的医生
莫顿·塞维斯, 她的爱人
凯特·赖斯, 她的朋友
魏斯曼博士， 她的调查员
西蒙·普拉特， 她的赞助人

那些在黑暗中的人
沃尔德伦, 她的父亲
麦克劳德, 她的“控制”
沃尔蒂， 她的恶作剧精神
珍妮普拉特， 普拉特的大女儿
普拉特夫人，“洛吉”等人隐约感觉到

科洛罗村被一个巨大的鸽灰色石头圆形剧场包围着，在圆形剧场的壁龛里，被风扭曲的松树矗立着，就像静静等待的观众。谷底上方六千英尺处，绿色和橙色的斜坡一直延伸到常年冰原的边缘，而在更远的地方，从这些几乎难以接近的防御工事上方凝视，就像围攻泰坦的帐篷一样，矗立着三座大山，白雪闪闪发光，风暴雷鸣。 。总的来说，这是一个值得上演大型戏剧的舞台，而不是一个被遗忘的小村庄的平静睡眠。

铁路从南边进入山谷，蜿蜒地沿着一条湍急的白色泡沫溪流蜿蜒而行，在许多英里的路程中，火车头在巨大的墙壁中小心翼翼地摸索，踉踉跄跄地穿过由细长铁杆危险地悬挂在垂直悬崖之间的桥梁，或者像山猫一样从一个壁架爬到另一个壁架，这样，当他们到达红色小仓库旁边的安全港时，他们就会像一只疲倦而满足的狗在主人的门边喘气和喘息。除了来来往往的火车外，小镇里寂静如松树。

进入这个深渊的唯一其他途径是沿着线状的小路，这些小路爬上银城、托尔特克和朱红的分界线，沿着只有强壮的驴子或敏捷、脚步稳健的山马走过的斜坡，沿着可怕的路线蜿蜒而下。 。这些摇摇晃晃的小路曾经磨损得很深，布满灰尘，现在已经长满了草，因为它们是在白银被视为贵金属的时代建造的，目前只有偶尔的猎人或探矿者使用它们。

卡洛罗本身曾经是一个充满矿工、赌徒和社会排斥者的火热而喧闹的中心，现在已崛起（或衰落）为新英格兰避暑胜地的安静，部分由两三个大型矿山支撑（其白色矿石带有条纹）黄金），但越来越多的是它的山脉和药用泉水的名声越来越大，因为这些壮丽的山峰有它们的水，有热的，有冷的，有甜的，有苦的，它们的治愈能力正在为越来越多的美国人所了解。他们有志于探索自己的祖国。

如果不是每个发现者都对它们抱有独特的所有权意识，这个空中风暴的中心，这些超凡的山峰群，将会更加广为人知。落入这个天堂的幸运旅行者会立即对它产生某种嫉妒，并且只将他的知识传达给他的家人和朋友。然而，它的名气传播得很慢，每年都有越来越多的新发现者涌入这家小旅馆及其摇摇欲坠的浴室，因此这个曾经绝对而恶毒的功利主义的社区开始胆怯地考虑它的审美环境，在这里和在那儿，一座小木屋（就像阿尔卑斯山的小木屋一样适合这片土地）建在河水的涟漪旁边，鞍马、驮着驮着的驴子排成一排，时不时地看到一大片黄色或红色的矿石——马车下降时发出悲惨的吱吱声，仍然可以证明采矿活动沿着曲折的小路一直延伸到大陆分水岭高耸、闪亮的山峰。

七月的一天，一位美丽的年轻女孩，长着美丽的灰色眼睛，若有所思地坐在一条南方小道旁，凝视着红色天空的倒金字塔，它在西边的守护山峰的倾斜山肩之间闪闪发光。她精致的嘴唇，猩红如草莓渍，露出苦涩的拘束表情，眉头不自然地皱着。她的帽子放在身旁的地上，棕色的头发随风飘扬，眼中流露出对山外世界的向往。她显得既孤独又落寞。

看到一个如此年轻、如此英俊的人面对夜晚所呈现的如此空中威严的悲伤和阴沉的眉头，真是令人遗憾。这确实是一种不敬，而女孩似乎终于感觉到了这一点。她紧皱的眉头变得平滑，嘴唇的线条变得更加少女般，最后，她全神贯注于惊奇，凝视着一朵正在溶解的紫色云朵，它每时每刻都变得更小，更遥远，就像一只逃跑的鹰，但燃烧着每一个瞬间都比以前更加耀眼，仿佛要赶上即将逝去的一天。一个关于更美丽的土地、征服和爱的梦想席卷了她——映照在她的脸上。此时此刻，她的目光充满了渴望未来的年轻人眼中的渴望。

正当她陷入沉思时，突然传来一阵细小的声音，那么微弱，那么遥远，她不知道它从哪里来，也不知道它的原因是什么。这可能是附近一只松鼠脚下的鹅卵石发出的嘎嘎声，也可能是远处一只熊的爬行声。过了一会儿，一个男人的声音——虽然很微弱，但毫无疑问——从山坡上传来。

女孩像一只小鹿一样轻轻地、优雅地站了起来，她被唤醒但并不害怕，站在草地上她的脚印上，等待着，倾听着。

那个人或几个人——因为现在可以听到另一个声音在回答——迅速赶来，很快，几个人和一列小车队从峡谷顶端的一丛茂密的树丛中走了出来，然后向后加倍前进。向前，迅速降落在女孩身上，女孩带着某种天生的好奇心站着，让旅行者，无论他们是谁，通过并在她之前到达山谷。她怨恨他们，因为他们打断了她的遐想，打断了她精神上的平静。

第一个出现的男人是我们所熟悉的西方人，身材矮小、精瘦、五官锐利、眼神狡猾，骑术优雅而疲惫——天生的骑手和拖车人。在他身后，两匹疲惫不堪的马，身上堆满了野营服装，低垂着头，跌跌撞撞，而在后面，骑着一个年轻人，他的马鞍坚固而不是优雅，骑着一个光着头的年轻人，但除此之外，他还穿着粗糙的衣服。一个平原人的。他的目光也注视着夕阳，从他的胡须以及他平静的头脑中可以看出，他是小火车的主人，是一个有文化的人，也是一个外星人。

一看到这个女孩，他就微笑着鞠躬，脸上流露出坦诚和尊敬的钦佩之情，完全不像向导那样无礼的目光。他双手戴着手套，穿着一件整洁的衬衫，领带也打得整整齐齐——当他面对她时，女孩看到了这一点——当他经过时，她从他的背部和肩膀的线条中察觉到了某种坚强而有男子气概的东西。显然，他不像前面的那个人那样生来就是马鞍，但他的皮肤却同样古铜色，而且饱经风霜。

小路拐了一个弯，他们俩就在她脚下靠近了，后面的男人再次抬头看了一眼站在他头顶圆顶滚球上的人影，他的眼睛再次闪烁着喜悦的光芒。他的表情中流露出一种公认的亲属关系，就像一个高雅的灵魂对另一个人的认可，一种微妙的奉承，让女孩感到困惑的同时又感到高兴。在她的世界里，拥有这种魅力眼神的男人并不常见。

苦涩的表情从她脸上消失了。她带着孩子般毫不掩饰的兴趣盯着拖车后面，想知道他是谁。那一瞬间，她的灵魂，敏感而渴望，像一块敏感的盘子一样接受并保留着他身材的每一条线条，他脸上的每一个细节造型——甚至他的马鞍款式和枪盒的皮革都像食物一样留在她身边。为了反思，当她沿着小路闲逛时，她心里升起一种想要更多地了解他的愿望。在见到她之前，他的脸上露出了一种狂喜的微笑——仿佛他也被这一幕感动了，而这种表情最终成为了他性格的主要表现。

红色从天而降。金色的云鹰飞过无边无际的番红花海，紫色的影子在山谷中升起，小镇的灯光开始闪烁。发动机的铃声来来回回，酒吧乐队的曲调响起，用对舞厅的令人厌恶的回忆搅扰着女孩诗意的灵魂。 “我想他只是在露营而已，”她有点若有所思地想，指着那个陌生人。 “我希望我知道他是谁。”

当她来到小溪的水平面时，友好的轰鸣声切断了粗俗的音乐和引擎的喧闹声，就像河岸关闭了可见的城镇一样，只留下了群山和军事区中的一排漂亮的小屋。 ，排名第一，巍峨第一。

在小路脚下，一位灰发女人遇见了她。那是她的母亲，她感到不安、愤怒。 “维奥拉·兰伯特，你天黑后还呆在那里是什么意思？我为你感到颤抖。”

“妈妈，天还没黑，”女孩回答道。 “如果是的话，这也不是我第一次独自外出了。”

兰伯特夫人的声音软化了。 “孩子，我几乎看不清你的脸了！你绝对不能做这样的事情。我不介意你骑马出去，但你绝对不能步行上去。这些流浪矿工来来往往，很危险。”

“好了，别骂了——我安然无恙地在这里。”

“维奥拉，我已经很多年没有遇到过这样的情况了，”当他们沿着狭窄的人行道并肩等待时，母亲解释道。 “我有一个 印象——如此生动——以至于我放下手中的工作跑去找你。就像你打电话给我寻求帮助一样。我觉得你身上发生了一些可怕的事情。”

“但是什么也没做。我上去看看日落。我没有遇到一个灵魂。”她突然结束了，因为她不想再回想起悲伤的遐想。

“刚才下来的两个人是谁？他们一定已经超越了你。”

“是的，他们从我身边经过——我不认识他们。后面的那个看上去就像一位‘专家’。也许他是来检查圣路易斯矿的。有人说他们在等一个来自英国的人。”

“在我看来，他更像是一个法国人。”

“也许他是，”维奥拉克制地回答道。

他们在一个质朴的大门前拐进去，通向一个小而漂亮的小木屋的院子，它看起来像一个玩具屋，它是如此微小，与后面巨大的、由灰色和黄色岩石覆盖的冷杉墙形成鲜明对比。小路两旁种满了鲜花，敞开的门里透出一盏红色灯罩的灯，像罂粟花一样闪闪发光。显然，这里是精致而有品位的女人的家，而高大而粗鲁的男人则怯生生地带着歉意走进去。

“有邮件吗？”女孩把帽子放在一边问道。

“没什么。”

她敏感的小脸上的阴影加深了。 “哦为什么 别 女孩们写的？他们应该知道这里有多么孤独。我厌倦了今天的一切，妈妈——完美的石蓝色。我不喜欢现在的自己；我厌倦了教堂的工作和这里的人。我要回东方；我想彻底改变我的生活。”

母亲是一位英俊的女人，面容清新，毫无皱纹，对于这番爆发没有做出任何回应。 “古斯塔很晚才会回来；我们得自己去吃晚饭了。”

女孩似乎很高兴有这个机会做点什么，她高高兴兴地去做她的工作，动作如此优雅和轻盈，以至于母亲站在那儿钦佩地看着她。她那么高大、那么轻盈、那么丰满——她唯一的宝贝。

当她工作时，阴影再次从女孩脸上消失，微笑重新回到她猩红色的嘴唇上，她低声唱着，只有年轻的少女才能唱出，对她来说，爱情是一个奇迹，婚姻是一个遥远的梦想。

她回忆起那个光着头骑马的男人脸上的表情，他对自己上方和下方的景色感到欣喜若狂。但最重要的是，她仔细地回忆着他向她打招呼时所投来的亲切而坦诚的钦佩目光，当他消失在她身下再也不见踪影时，他又重复了一遍这一目光。

这种表情伴随着她来到了她的房间，当她坐在面向河流的窗户前时，她想知道他是否已经在桥下的松树林里扎营了，或者他是否已经在旅馆里住宿了。

她有情人——像她这样有魅力的女孩，一举一动都会受到男人钦佩的目光。但这个陌生人的注视却更加微妙地令人崇敬——它具有一种客观的品质——它超出了她的全部理解，给她自己、给他、给日落增添了神秘的元素。

与此同时，年轻的游客在大饭店门口下了车，在办公室的书本上清晰准确地写下了自己的名字后，就匆匆去吃晚饭了，对那个苗条身材的记忆最为清晰，脸红了。以及路上那个女孩说话的脸。那次偶然的相遇，转瞬即逝，却已然成为他朝圣之路上最美的高潮。 “她诞生于夕阳；她并不真正存在。”他语气异常温暖。 “这个矿业小镇，怎么能开出如此精美的花朵呢？”

他更粗俗的需要得到了满足，他点燃了他的大学生烟斗，走到旅馆简陋的门廊的上层，坐在那里，听着溪水的奔流声，而伟大的黄色星星一颗一颗地出现在高耸的山峰上，空气变得清凉到冰冷。他对世界和他自己都感到深深的平静，他身体上的疲倦足以让这一刻变得充实而充实。

夜色渐深，少女的美如月色般诱人。他仍然试图向她解释。 “她是像我一样的旅行者，”他说，“布莱特·哈特恰恰相反，荒野并没有产生像她那样明显的精致和优雅的女仆。她出身于一个有教养的家族。”

他不是一个情绪化的人，也没有被允许将快乐视为主要目标，即使是度假，但那天晚上他上床睡觉时对卡洛非常满意，并且有一种半明确的感觉，这毕竟是，他漫长的旅程，尽管充满了曲折，真正趋向于那个点。但他并不准备承认，这里的魅力有很大一部分是来自夕阳余晖下的纤细女仆的魅力。

第二天早上，当他从窗外看到一朵白云像一只疲倦的天鹅停在老卡纳布的尖峰上时，这种对小镇及其周围环境的喜悦获得了新的品质。尽管新墨西哥州的台地和亚利桑那州的沙漠是他的专长，但他还是暴露了“高地乡村”的魅力。

每年夏天，在他的实验室里（他既是分析化学家，又是生物学家）长时间观察微观事物隐藏的核心几个月后，他习惯性地回到巨大的、原始的合成自然中几周来寻求解脱。在对“力量的螺旋”和“细菌在人体有机体中的作用”进行了无休无止的讨论之后，他喜欢平原人生动的白话，细菌对他们就像黑莓种子一样漠不关心。每年他都决定去森林、去湖区、或者去山里；但随着离开的日子临近沙漠，生活在沙漠上的陌生民族重新确立了他们的统治地位，所以他继续回到沙漠，回到角蟾蜍和响尾蛇的家。这些旅行使他的思想恢复了理智的平衡。在丛林中露营，探索溪流的源头，重温男孩的奇迹，使他的能力保持警觉和敏锐。

他对平原上的沙子和紫色山丘的热爱并没有使他忽视这些山峰的美丽色彩和优雅的威严，这些山峰披着赤褐色、金色和琥珀色的成熟青草，甚至长到了最高峰。山顶（只有最王者的山峰才被允许穿着象征主权的貂皮长袍）；大陆分水岭确实比他预想的要令人印象深刻得多。

他不是那种追求陌生女人的人，也没有希望再见到那个山边的姑娘。他很满意她仍是一首诗——一首夕阳之歌——一幅只见片刻的图画，但其印象却比铁更持久。自然界的一切都汇聚在一起，使她变得举足轻重。他在沙漠里丑陋、肤色黝黑的女人中长期逗留，他在山上日落时欣喜若狂，他的健康状况良好（这使他的心充满了男孩般的轻快）——所有这些因素结合在一起，重新唤起了他对科学的全神贯注的情感。调查的背景是普通人所关心的情感，但雄心勃勃的化学家渴望发现等离子体的化学分子结构，必须坚决将其放在一边。

第二天下午，维奥拉正要离开母亲的家门，一个男人的声音，亲切、自信、有教养，让她吃了一惊。

“早上好。这是你家吗？”

她抬起头，对上了陌生骑手微笑的眼睛。再次，一种难以形容的魅力使他的问候不再冒犯，她相当镇静地回答道：

“是的，这就是我们的家。”

“你的景色多美，音乐多美！”他指着人行道下方的那条河，河水泛着白色，宽阔的鹅卵石铺满了鹅卵石。 “我对这个地方很着迷。我想你一定非常喜欢它。”

她的表情表示有条件的同意。 “哦，是的，但有时我会感到厌倦，尤其是在冬天，我们都被雪关在家里了。”

“那你真的是常年居民吗？我想我的看法 is 游客的看法。我不敢相信冬天有人住在这里。我希望你不会介意我自我介绍”——他递给她一张卡片。 “昨天你在步道旁边拍了一张非常漂亮的照片，以至于我在第二次见面时忍不住要和你说话。我想知道你是真实的，还是只是晚霞的碎片。”

他轻松坦率的态度，再加上名片上的名字，让她完全放心了，她微笑着抬起头来。 “你不进来休息一下吗？”

“谢谢你，我特别想这么做，我爬过你小屋后面的那座山峰，我累了。”

女孩的矜持完全消失了，她领着她走到门口，她的母亲站在那儿，脸上带着天真的惊奇。

“妈妈，这是科利尔学院的瑟维斯博士。”

“我很高兴认识你，先生，”兰伯特夫人用老式的正式语气说道。 “你不进来吗？”

“谢谢。这将是一种乐趣。”

“你是医生吗？”她一边问​​道，一边接过他的帽子和手杖。

“哦，亲爱的，不！没有什么比这更有用的了。正如军队里所说，我是一名名誉医生。”然后，仿佛承认他的女主人有权更多地了解她这位侵入性的客人，他补充道：“兰伯特夫人，我是一名生物学学生，也是科利尔细菌学系主任魏斯曼博士的助手。医学院。我们研究细菌——微观的‘虫子’，”他最后幽默地看了一眼维奥拉。 “你们这里的平房多迷人啊！那些野花是你采的吗？”

薇奥拉用学生对主人的语气回答：“是，先生。”

“但其中一些长得很高。你一定是一名登山爱好者。请原谅我的好奇心——这是不可原谅的——但是你在这里住了多久了？”

母亲看着女儿寻求确认。 “8年。”

“你当然是东方人？”

“是的，来自威斯康星州。”

他笑了。 “We 称威斯康星州为西部州。当然，这是纽约人无知的偏见，但我很难把你当作这个遥远小镇的真正居民。我以为只有矿工住在这里？”

“我们是矿工。我丈夫在盆地有一个矿井，但他刚刚安装了一些新机器，只能每周下来一次。”然后，她对他对这座小镇的暗示批评表示不满，并补充道：“我们这里的人们和你在任何地方都能找到的一样好。”

他殷勤地回答道：“我很愿意相信这一点，兰伯特夫人。不过像你这样的好人常年住在这里吗？”他一心想把女孩拉出来，但她没有反应。

母亲回答：“我除了送女儿伊斯特上学外，就没出去过。”

他很谨慎。 “你所说的东部是指密尔沃基吗？”

“威斯康星州钻石湖。”

他转向女孩。 “你离开多久了？”

“四年。”

“你喜欢它吗？”

“非常。”

“这就是你觉得这里孤独的原因。”到现在为止，他的态度还是老师对待漂亮学生的态度。 “我想你想念你的同学吧？即使对于一个年轻女孩来说，这里也一定有消遣的地方。”

母亲叹了口气。 “对于维奥拉来说，这里确实非常孤独——如果不是她的教堂工作和她的音乐，我不知道她会做什么。年轻人太少了，无论如何，她在神学院的岁月让她对这里的社会宠坏了。”

“对于卡洛社会来说，情况更糟，”瑟维斯笑着说。然后，为了消除女孩脸上的阴影，他说：“我看到一架精美的钢琴，还有架子上的音乐书。这说明你热爱音乐。你不唱歌给我听吗？我很想听一首歌。”

“我不会唱歌，”她冷冷地回答，“我没有声音。”

“那就为我演奏吧。我已经在沙漠里呆了八周了，我非常渴望音乐。”

“你是音乐家吗？”兰伯特夫人问道。

“哦不，只是一个音乐爱好者。”

“我的女儿非常喜欢钢琴，”母亲解释道，“她的老师建议她继续发展钢琴专业。他们推荐了波士顿，但维奥拉想去纽约。去年她想去，但我不能让她走。我已经离开她四年了，而兰伯特先生的事务又不允许我们两人一起离开，所以她不得不留下来。但它 不 对于像她这样有天赋的人来说放弃它似乎太糟糕了。”

这一刻，瑟维斯对这些人的态度彻底改变了。他们太真诚、太值得信赖、太优雅，不允许有任何居高临下的态度，而女孩庄严的沉默、她清澈的眼睛和玫瑰叶般的嘴唇的魅力，使他从好奇的旁观者变成了朋友。 “我能理解你的困境，”他说道，语气中少了些正式的欢呼，多了一些真诚的同情。 “然而，如果你的女儿具有最明显的天赋，那么给她一个展示自己能力的机会是公平的。”

当母亲向来访者弯腰时，女孩脸红了，眼睛垂下来。

“瑟维斯博士，我希望你能听听她的演奏，并告诉我你对她的才华有何看法。”

他的眼睛里闪烁着幽默的光芒。 “我会非常高兴地聆听；但不要让化学家来评判钢琴家。我热爱音乐——它在我耳中是一种甜美的声音——但我几乎无法区分肖邦和舒曼。”他面对着女孩。 “为我演奏。我将深深感激。”当她还在犹豫时，他补充道：“请这样做，否则我肯定会认为你认为我打扰了。”

当维奥拉慢慢站起来时，兰伯特夫人说道：“塞维斯博士，你一定不要有这种感觉。我们非常荣幸能够招待像您这样一位杰出的人士。我从小就重视学习。为他效力，维奥拉。”

“她不情愿的理由是什么？”瑟维斯问自己。 “是害羞吗？还是她对我有怨恨？”

女孩抗议地看了她妈妈一眼，在钢琴前坐下。 “我会尝试，”她直言不讳地说。 “但我知道我会失败。”

有两次，她把手放在钥匙上，但又把它们夺走，就像它们是白热化的金属一样，瑟维斯觉得她的脸颊变得苍白。第三次，她发出了一些刺耳的和弦，在高音上混杂着相当惊人的肉卷——一种莫名其妙的中断，就好像第三只手被伸进去迷惑她一样。她停了下来，他开始分担她的尴尬。

她又试了一次，坚定地左右摇头，仿佛要逃避某种看不见的烦人的物体。似乎乐器中的某个嘲讽的精灵正在努力让她的每一个和声都变得不和谐，瑟维斯对他的坚持感到非常后悔。

突然，她跳了起来，发出一声不耐烦、窒息的哭声。 “我做不到！他不会让我的！”她热情地喊道，然后冲出了房间，留下来访者用怜悯和惊讶的目光注视着母亲的脸，母亲似乎很困扰，但对女儿歇斯底里的行为丝毫没有感到惊讶。她静静地坐着——一种痛苦的沉默，仿佛无法用言语来表达她的想法；瑟维斯站起来，受到责备，第一次感到不自在。

“请您原谅，兰伯特夫人；我并不是故意让你女儿难堪的。”

“她很紧张——”

“我明白。作为一个完全陌生的人，我不应该坚持。我所认识的最好的歌手之一是如此害羞，以至于在舞台上她绝对是失败的。她的声带变得如此收缩，以至于她唱歌很走调，但在朋友面前她却很出色。”

母亲的声音十分平静。 “这不是你的错，先生。有时她就是这样，即使她最好的朋友邀请她玩。这就是为什么我担心她永远无法在音乐会上表演——她是 容易 到这些崩溃。”

他对母亲的语气中隐藏的某种东西感到困惑，他痛苦又深切地渴望恢复他在某种意义上不自觉地融入的家的平静魅力。 “我有罪——不可饶恕的罪。我请求你告诉她，我的要求不仅仅是表面上的礼貌——我真诚地渴望听到她的演奏。也许在另一个时候，当她更加了解我时，她会想再试一次。我不喜欢认为我们的相识就这样结束了——不和谐。既然我在某种意义上已经得到了解释，我可以不再进来了吗？”

他结结巴巴地从一个句子到另一个句子，试图软化母亲嘴唇上严厉、笔直的线条——一条奇异的压抑的线条，甜蜜但坚定。

“我希望你 将 再来。我真的很喜欢你对维奥拉未来的建议。晚上不能过来吗？”

“我将非常乐意这样做。几点钟？

“在八点。也许到时候她就能为你演奏。”

瑟维斯感觉自己因对一位漂亮女孩的一时兴趣而陷入了最不愉快的困境，于是退回河对岸的旅馆。

一旦脱离了这位陷入困境的母亲和她迷人的女儿的直接存在的魔咒，瑟维斯开始怀疑和质疑。 “他们太简单、太自信了。为什么兰伯特夫人在第一次见面时，偶然且没有任何解释地要求我考虑她女儿的未来？事实上，他与一所学术机构的联系使他在他们眼中具有某种神圣性，但他对此并不重视。他是那些以现代方式担任教授职位的人——无论是真实的还是假设的，都是轻率的。

“我认为，总的来说，我最好远离这个家庭并发症，无论它是什么，”他总结道。 “丈夫在山上的缺席可能比现在看起来更严重——这可能是一种自愿隔离。我明白了。我并不是在寻求新的责任，我也不想担任顾问，即使是对一个漂亮的女孩——尤其是 不能 给一个漂亮的女孩。”他挥了挥手，就像拒绝一支可疑的雪茄一样。

但这个有着猩红嘴唇和恳求的灰色眼睛的苗条年轻女巫却没有那么容易被放逐。他的内心越来越喜悦地注视着她，“当她站在那个圆顶圆顶上时，她是多么美丽啊！也许她是在摆姿势？现在的她正处于少女魅力的巅峰。她那精致的嘴唇、那柔韧的腰肢、那丰满的胸部，对这个地区的男人来说是多么有吸引力啊！母女之间存在着一些对立——这种对立比表面上看起来的更严重。她既闷闷不乐又歇斯底里。真可惜！”

当他吃完晚饭又坐在旅馆的阳台上时，她继续骚扰他。他能听见沉重的靴子在他脚下的人行道上缓慢踏出的脚步声，还有卡洛罗的轰鸣声，随着距离的远近而变得柔和，像一首昏昏欲睡的曲子一样时起时落。最高的山峰上余辉依然挥之不去，小溪对面阴影深处的一栋小小屋里发出一道光芒，像是一个信号，一个邀请，而他身上的热血还年轻，接受了诱惑。他一冲动就站了起来。 “我要去！为什么不？这是一个冒险之夜。我没有必要介入他们的未来。我是一个局外人，并且会非常小心地保持这样的状态。”他面无表情，但当他踏上桥时，他的心却在飞快地跳动。 “也许这就是我的卢比肯河？”他说道，然后犹豫了一下停了下来。

当他重新走进漂亮的小起居室，面对那位面容甜美的母亲时，他的怀疑、怀疑立刻消失了。母亲默契地承认她的女儿是他来的原因，说道：

“维奥拉刚刚走进牧师住宅。她一会儿就会回来。不请你坐下吗？”

瑟维斯坐在椅子上，准备好——甚至是渴望——倾听他认为女主人即将向他透露的进一步的秘密。

“我希望你不会觉得奇怪，教授——”

他打断了她的话。 “请不要叫我教授。”

“请您原谅，先生。我知道你是一所大学的教授。”

她似乎很失望，他解释道：“确实，我在手册中是作为一名教员，我对哲学博士学位表示认罪——这 我感到自豪；但被称为教授却剥夺了我年轻时的人性。”这种幽默的解释似乎让她感到困惑，他亲切而自然地补充道：“真的，兰伯特夫人，我是一名化学家和生物学实验家。我没有课堂作业，因为学院更喜欢让我进行他们所谓的“原始调查”。而且，请允许我说，虽然我非常愿意帮助你的女儿，或者以任何方式为你提供建议，但我对纽约的音乐剧了解甚少。我的工作将我紧紧地限制在我的“商店”里，当我出去时，我几乎完全与我的特殊类型交往。然而，我可以轻松获得有关最好的音乐学校的信息，因为我有几个朋友知道这一切。我打断你了——请继续。”

这番愉快而直白的演讲让她恢复了信心。 “我想我想说的是，先生，我突然征求你的建议对你来说可能会很奇怪，但是，你看——”

“哦，一点也不，”他和蔼地打断道。 “各种问题都会咨询我；事实上，我被认为是一位真正的医生——在路上。我带着一个小药箱以备不时之需，有时我也会承担起普通医生的所有权威。如果我对“教授”这个头衔的厌恶导致您认为我缺乏同情心，我将感到非常抱歉。我将非常乐意以任何方式帮助您。”

“谢谢。你看，我从小就崇尚学问，我们很少见到您这样的大人物——我们这里完全是与世隔绝的——这对我们来说是一种莫大的荣幸——”

纱门外传来脚步声，女孩平静地走了进来，后面跟着一个年轻人。当她向瑟维斯打招呼时，她的态度冷漠，目光冷漠。

“我很高兴你能来，”她说。 “我怕你会忘记我们。”她转向停在门口的陪同人员。 “瑟维斯教授，这位是克拉克牧师先生，我们教堂的牧师。”

当塞维斯与克拉克牧师握手时，他感到一种明显的厌恶感——一种无法解释的感觉，因为这位牧师第一眼看上去确实很英俊。但他的手冰冷，脸色苍白，嘴角弯起一道苦涩的皱纹，那是一道冷笑的痕迹。 “不健康，贫血。”当瑟维斯转过身去对那个女孩说话时，他内心这样评价，女孩态度的改变对他产生了一种新的魔力。

她不知道为什么穿了一身黑衣，脸上显得忧郁而忧郁，但那年轻健壮的身躯却在这身深色长袍的衬托下，更显出优雅的端庄。她的手，她的脚，都很匀称，但并不娇嫩。 “显然，这些女人出身很好，不管她们的丈夫和父亲是什么，”瑟维斯想。他越来越厌恶牧师的闯入。 “他是被带进来作为保护的吗？”他问自己。

克拉克先生的态度确实令人生畏。他坐在椅子边上，表情冷酷、充满期待，沉默不语，等待着，注视着。他瘦削的脸呈现出刮胡子的演员的蓝白色，他的举止像悲剧演员一样不祥。

“他这样盯着我到底是什么意思？”瑟维斯继续问自己。 “他希望我像炸弹一样爆炸吗？”

他开始讨论天气或其他无害的话题，这时克拉克开始用牧师的正式语调低沉地说道：“兰伯特小姐告诉我你来自科利尔大学，教授？”

瑟维斯呻吟了一声，举起了双手，做出了一个滑稽的动作。 “好吧，就这样吧。我想这可以解释为什么我称我为“教授”。是的，我在那里有联系——我从该机构领取工资。”

牧师和女人们一样，严肃地看着他，丝毫没有表现出他的幽默感。显然，对于西方传教士来说，担任大学教授绝非易事。 “她告诉我你提议担任她的顾问——”

瑟维斯再次提出抗议。 “哦，没有什么比这更可怕的了，亲爱的先生。我已经答应帮她打探情况了。”然后，为了给女孩留下更好的印象，他又补充道：“当然，我会非常高兴地尽我所能来帮助你，兰伯特小姐，但是，正如我刚才所说的，对于你妈妈，我只能通过我的朋友来行动。没有人比我更喜欢音乐，但也没有人比我更了解音乐。在专业化的今天，人们被迫按自己的方式行事，以取得实际成果。对于像我这样受过专门训练的人来说，一般文化是不可能的。”

“ is 我可以问一下你的专业吗？”克拉克远程地问道。

“我通常回答‘错误’，但当我希望得到充分理解时，我会解释说我是一名生理化学家和生物学家。目前我是科利尔医学院病理科的助理。”

牧师的心情似乎轻松了一些。 “啊！这是一项崇高的研究，一项为人类做出不可估量的服务的研究。我自己对这种思路非常感兴趣——我可以说 至关重要地 有兴趣，因为我患有肺部疾病。我们正在一一发现疾病细菌，并对其抗毒素进行分类。”显然，他急于用他对科学家的工作和目标的深刻理解来给女性留下深刻的印象。

他的语气如此豪言壮语，以至于塞维斯立刻变得轻率，以此作为补偿。 “是的，我们将他们一一围捕！但别以为我对‘野兽’不友好。它们有它们的用途。我宁愿杀死一只细菌，也不愿杀死一只鸣禽。我认为我们过于关心癌症患者和肺痨患者。我完全不确定人类不应该像杂草一样被砍伐，从而加强对生命的控制。细菌可能是因祸得福。”

克拉克继续他的道路。 “我们对它们的反应——它们的分泌物——知之甚少。我猜你已经关注了 X 射线及其对这些细胞的影响？”

当魏斯曼看到他的助手与一名乡村牧师和两名虔诚的妇女坐在一起严肃地讨论细菌和 X 射线时，塞维斯暗自微笑着思考魏斯曼会说什么。 “为什么，是的，我已经考虑过了。当然，任何与我的专业相关的新事物都会让我坐立不安。我什至还做了一些实验。”

“但是你有没有考虑过所有这些科学的微妙之处对”——他犹豫着——“一个——对某些——一个——神秘现象的影响？”

瑟维斯不置可否地看着他。 “嗯，比如说什么？”

“嗯，比如说，心灵感应——还有——嗯，精神治疗——等等。”

“我不能说我有；我不太明白其中的联系。此外，我不相信这些特殊的妄想。我的作品关注生活的物质事实，而不是种族消亡的迷信。我对任何病态的生命理论都没有耐心。”

这句话显然引起了轰动。传教士意味深长地看了那位母亲一眼，女孩则把目光移开，看着灯，脸上泛起红晕。

“你好！”瑟维斯低声喊道。 “我发现了一堆怪人吗？我已经加入了某人的阵营——不知道是谁的？”

牧师再次面对他，平静地问道：“你有没有经历过？” 调查 这些神秘现象？”

“当然不是。我没有时间浪费在这样的想象上。我的时间全部花在研究生物体中某些确定的过程上。”

年轻牧师的眼中开始闪烁光芒。 “我想你把心理治疗归为妄想吧？”

“我当然愿意，”瑟维斯带着年轻人的无情回答。

“你会说，人的心灵无法治愈另一个人的身体——”

“如果你的意思是直接的——以‘信仰治愈’之类的方式——我肯定会回答不是，除非这种疾病本身恰好是由于妄想造成的。我可以想象通过精神刺激治愈疑病症。”他觉得自己已经接近问题的关键了，他的眼睛里闪烁着喜悦的光芒。

传教士设下陷阱。 “你相信药物的作用——比如氢氰酸——你相信它会杀人吗？”

“是的，而且完全不管接受者的意见。他认为水不会阻止或改变其作用有丝毫。”

“但是， 形成一种 它会杀人吗？”克拉克坚持道。 “它有什么作用 do？“

“如果你的意思是，在最后的分析中，为什么一种药物会攻击细胞，而另一种药物会滋养细胞，我的回答是，坦率地说，我不知道——没有人知道。”

克拉克继续阐述他的观点。 “在显微镜下，破伤风的细菌是一个细小的棒，末端有孢子，就像蝌蚪的头部一样。这个细胞是由什么组成的？”

“可能是一种具有极细丝的果冻状物质，但我们不知道。我们正处于显微镜的极限。我们追踪某些过程，甚至解剖某些细胞，但血浆的元素组成仍然是个谜。”

传教士洋溢着胜利的光芒。 “那你承认自己很困惑吗？物质与精神的结合超出了你的显微镜的范围。关于一滴水，你了解多少？你说它是由氢和氧按这样那样的比例组成的。什么 is 氢？他们为什么团结起来？”

“我不知道，”瑟维斯平静地回答。 “我们承认任何物质实体仍然是无法解释的。该分子远低于可见线。我们只是将已知的领域推向未知的领域更远一点；但这对你的论点有什么帮助呢？”

“通过证明人的思想就是神秘世界中的主宰之谜，并且它的作用没有已知的限制。我们说，当生命进入分化阶段时，细菌就超越了科学——信仰必然诞生。”

“你说‘我们’——你是‘新教会’的使徒吗？”瑟维斯突然问道。

传教士的身子明显缩了缩。 “目前，我不想向我的会众宣布我日益增强的信念；但我发现这个教义中有很多吸引我的地方。根据我的判断，某种形式的通灵术是即将到来的宗教。旧秩序发生了变化。传统神学——我所宣扬的信仰——对于这个时代来说已经变得太粗俗、太唯物主义了。随之而来的是一些更甜蜜、更神秘的信仰。甚至科学也预言了人类的新力量、精神的新领域。你们科学家假装领先，但你们却是落后者。你仔细研究细菌培养，却对最重要的真理视而不见。难道死后的生命还不如动物的习性重要吗？”

这位年轻的科学家表面上彬彬有礼地听着这个问题，但内心却感到气愤。 “我看到你在新职位上取得了一些进展，”他轻描淡写地回答道。 “物质不再是旧时代神学家所宣称的死的、无机的、‘无神论的东西’。物质远不是某种惰性的团块，而是充满了生命——就是生命本身。就我们现在所知，所有可见和有形的宇宙都可以用力来解析——也就是说，化学过程。有机物和无机物之间可能没有界限。”

“然而，凭借你对物质深不可测的最终奥秘的了解，你在坟墓上留下了一个标记！你谴责所有精神的表现，例如所有通灵术的现象？”

“谴责不是这个词——我们只是说这些现象是荒谬的，精神不能离开身体而存在——”

“你研究过单一的灵体显现方式吗？你研究过那些接触灵界的人的说法吗？”

“没有。”

传教士爆发出冷笑。 “我看不出来，但你们科学家和神学家一样教条、一样偏执。”

瑟维斯笑了。 “看起来确实有那么一点点。然而，我并不像看上去那样无知。碰巧我与专门研究病态心理学的人有密切的个人接触，我知道那些充当死者复活媒介的人的素质。”他面前的这一小群人的兴趣之强烈令人惊讶，更不用说是令人震惊了。 “很明显，母亲和她的牧师都是新时代或更糟的人，”他的想法是，但他自然的礼貌使他平静地说：“我承认，世界上有奥秘——在化学中就像在化学中一样。”生物学——但在我看来，它们在本质上与招魂术和所有相关的“心灵现象”的“神秘”不同，在我看来，这些本质上是荒谬的、卑鄙的——“破烂”，用一句俚语来说——一种建立在信仰之上的信仰。在黑暗中做的事情，总是在黑暗中。”

传教士听到这里就火冒三丈。 “我就知道你会抽出时间来做这件事；这就是为什么我一开始就把你画在 X 光片上。我们对运动知之甚少！据我所知，X 射线沿直线运动，而光则呈波动运动。因此他们是对立的。难道前人的灵魂不是通过一种被光中和的未知力量显现出来的吗？这不正是灵界现象需要黑暗的原因吗？”

“有可能，”塞维斯干巴巴地回答道。 “但是还有一个更简单的解释——但是，看这里，”他恢复了他孩子气的幽默，“这是我的假期。我来这里是为了逃离“商店”，而我们在这里浪费时间在X光和通灵术上，而且还让我们耐心的女主人感到无聊。兰伯特小姐，你愿意为我们演奏，清除我们有争议的灰尘吗？”

谈话期间，女孩一直一动不动地坐着，专注于每一个字，现在她转向克拉克，仿佛在征求他的同意。母亲似乎也在焦急地等待部长的回答，似乎想知道他是否愿意打断审讯。

他的眼中依然闪烁着争论的热度，但他严肃地说道：“希望你再给我一次机会来讨论这件事。这对我来说非常重要。”

“当然，我很乐意。”瑟维斯回答道，他很高兴摆脱了当下的讨论。

当维奥拉站在那里慢慢地转动音乐的叶子时，内门响起了三声响亮的敲门声，仿佛有一位坚持不懈的邻居进来并发出求救信号。母亲站起身来，急匆匆地出去了，但牧师只是看了她一眼，对女孩说：

“你最好玩一下，维奥拉。”

女孩冲进了一首暴风雨般的波兰进行曲，她弹得很好，但机械般的精确性似乎冒犯了克拉克，克拉克站起来，把手放在她的手臂上。 “等等，你还没心情。”他转向瑟维斯。 “我们讨论的重点是她。她对这样的事情非常敏感。我先唱歌——如果你不反对的话，”他用一种新的语气补充道，声音里带着一丝歉意，他给人一种在对一个看不见的审计员——里面的房间里的某个人——说话的感觉。

“我会很高兴的，”塞维斯以正式的礼貌回答道，尽管他开始意识到部长以及他对女孩的影响中有某种病态的禁忌。一种非同寻常的亲密感流露出来，与其说是在他的言语中，不如说是在他使用的语气中。 “这是女孩的情人，”他决定。

当维奥拉弹奏一首古老民谣的第一个和弦时，她的态度中没有胆怯或犹豫，克拉克被一种新的、崇高的情绪所改变，以明显的措辞之美唱出了“班克斯·奥·本·洛蒙德”。情人忧郁的哭声中似乎有某种东西适合这位奇异的年轻传教士的心情。他的声音直击人心，他的眼睛充满了感情，当他说完时，塞维斯热烈鼓掌：“太棒了！”并冲动地伸出了手。

“我亲爱的朋友，你的声音真好听。 完全 是去纽约的人；你会让卡洛勒斯沾沾自喜。唱点别的东西——施特劳斯的东西。你认识施特劳斯吗？”

克拉克微笑着，带着渴望的悲伤。 “我很少唱民谣。我的声音是用来为基督服务的，而不是为了满足我的骄傲。”

塞维斯在这道道貌岸然的言论面前退缩了，他的脸上失去了光芒。他的嘴角掠过一丝无法完全掩饰的厌恶。 “我亲爱的先生，没有什么比为地球上疲倦的人们唱优美的歌曲来更好地侍奉主了。在平贝克赞美诗曲调中让这样的声音变得疲惫不堪是一种犯罪。”然后，仿佛意识到自己忽视了这个女孩，他补充道：“兰伯特小姐，现在你有心情了，你必须再试一次奏鸣曲。”

女孩似乎并没有因为他对牧师的歌声的热情而生气，她低声对克拉克说了一句话，克拉克把一张乐谱放在她面前，她开始演奏，以意想不到的措辞的广度和尊严开始了这首乐曲。 。瑟维斯越听越惊讶。她的双手并不大，但展开的幅度却很大，而且控制得恰到好处。她头部的平静和身体有节奏的摇摆充满力量，但她的演奏却出奇地不女性化。她的表演毫无少女般的优雅和感伤，瑟维斯恍然大悟，心里感叹道：“啊哈！一个牧师斯文加利！这位音乐传教士训练他的学生直到她演奏 he 如果他有数字设备，他就会玩。一切都很好，但那不是那个女孩。”他们的关系问题再次引起了他的注意。

当最后的暴风雨般的音符平静下来时，维奥拉仍然坐在凳子上，仿佛在等待批评者的掌声。

塞维斯打破了沉默，大声说道：“看这里，你们这些人在戏弄我。你们都是伪装的专业人士。来吧，“坦白吧，”他向克拉克挑战。 “你是德尔科尔特先生，盐空歌剧院的男中音；而你，兰伯特小姐，属于阿里昂女子管弦乐团。你们两个我都找到了！”

女孩高兴地微笑着，但克拉克仍然那么严肃，以至于瑟维斯被感动得更加大胆。 “别告诉我你也是喜剧演员！你肯定让我猜到了。你到底是谁？”

克拉克愤恨地回答道：“正如兰伯特小姐告诉你的那样，我是这个村里长老会的牧师，她是我的管风琴师。”

门上又响起了重复三遍的“咚咚”声。塞维斯对克拉克不可逾越的严肃感到困惑和沉默，对女孩的脸有一种莫名其妙的顺从但警惕的感觉，他感到自己面临着一种无形的、险恶的、不可避免的影响。这位年轻的牧师似乎阴暗并压迫了这两个女人。就好像他们都联合起来进行欺骗和哄骗。这种困惑只持续了一会儿，他猛地从椅子上站了起来。 “好吧，现在，玩点别的吧——给我们来点拉格泰姆；最后一件作品让我们都有点沮丧——尝试一下轻松行走吧。”

克拉克插话道。 “兰伯特小姐不会演奏那些垃圾旋律。我认为他们本质上是无宗教信仰的。”

瑟维斯对传教士的语气感到不满，但很快回答道：“我承认，他们并不十分虔诚；他们并不虔诚。”但如果没有他们，美国音乐就只能是德国音乐的拙劣反映。”

仿佛是为了挽救自己的声誉，传教士唱起了《棕榈树》，而且唱得非常美妙。那个女孩以如此准确和良好的判断力陪伴着他，塞维斯能够推断出长时间的练习，但这并不让他高兴。

“他对她和这个家庭的影响不好，”他决定。 “那家伙绝对是病态的。如果他结婚了，那就更糟糕了。他太英俊了，无法成为一个易受影响的年轻女孩的安全向导。这里有一些谜团。”他回忆起维奥拉第一次看到它时脸上的表情。在这首歌结束时，他没有看传教士一眼，就向维奥拉伸出了告别的手。 “如果我可以帮助您联系纽约的老师，请写信给我。我想你有我的名片。你的演奏具有惊人的力量和才华。你肯定会对像格里尔这样的人感兴趣。”

她的脸涨得通红，所有的闷闷不乐都消失了，少女般的魅力又回来了。 “哦，你也这么认为吗？你觉得我能让他来教我吗？”

“我不是这么说的——他是一个非常忙碌的人——但我认为你绝对应该受到鼓励。但在我走之前我也许能再次听到你的声音。我想听你一个人演奏。”

“我希望你能再来。”她的声音里有一种微妙的恳求，几乎是一种祈祷。她昂扬的脸上流露出孩子般的尊重和自信。他的心中既充满怜悯，又充满钦佩，他转向母亲，补充道：“我可能会在周日留下来，如果我能再次来到你美丽的家，那将是我的荣幸。”

兰伯特夫人的脸上洋溢着喜悦的光芒。 “先生，您的到来将是我的荣幸。”

本着这种精神，他走开了，没有再次握住克拉克的手，最后看了一眼女孩的脸，当时她站在敞开的门前让他过去。他从大门转过身，有一种被允许瞥见一场秘密戏剧的核心的感觉，而这场秘密戏剧随时可能变成一场悲剧。他的兴趣被深深地激发起来，他的同情心完全集中在这个如此年轻、如此有抱负的女孩身上。

当他站在咆哮的水面上时，他对他刚刚抛在身后的人物之间的关系提出了一个理论。 “这个女孩正在受到克拉克这个疯狂爱着她的男人的迫害。她内心对他有一种反感；但他是一名牧师，这对于处于崇拜阶段的女孩来说意义重大。当然，她的母亲是一个和蔼可亲、虔诚的人，她很喜欢传教士。但父亲可能鄙视他。克拉克显然正在失去他的信条的岩石压载龙骨，在他的海难中，他可能会带着那个女孩一起沉没；这种情况太常见了。如果他结婚了，他就更加危险了。但干涉不是我的职责。”他最后决定把整个问题抛在脑后：“这个女孩有合法的监护人——如果她腐败了，责任就在他们身上。改革这个世界从来都不是我的使命。”

但他无法摆脱日益增长的责任感。他的思绪一次又一次地回到他突然陷入的复杂局面中。 “也许女孩想要出国读书的愿望只是一种本能的逃避欲望。就像那个传教士有一个疲惫、娇小、平凡的妻子一样。兰伯特到底是怎么想的，才会让这样一个男人走进自己的家，指挥妻子和女儿的日常生活呢？他忽视了他的职责。”

他睡着了，想象着自己正走在通往矿井的小路上，当他醒来时，发现早晨的阳光洒满了他的房间，晚上的理论都是荒谬的。他渴望再次见到这个女孩，并不是为了警告她危险，而是因为她调皮又可爱，很适合她浪漫的环境。

第二天早上十一点左右，瑟维斯骑马在兰伯特门下马，在正午的火光下，一种神秘感，感觉这个女孩正处于某种看不见的威胁的盘旋之中，完全消失了。这位传教士已经沦为一个自负的教士混蛋，他将科学视为他特殊理论的敌人，将可见的宇宙视为加尔文主义的边远领域。而来到门口的维奥拉又恢复了人间的魅力，让他的眼睛像早晨一样愉悦。

她愉快地微笑着，语气平静地回应他的问候。但当他请她当他的向导，带他去探索这个地区的奇观时，她的脸色变得沮丧起来。

“哦，对不起;我希望我能;但我必须向矿井里的父亲传达一个信息。”

“很好，为什么不带我去？我猜你是骑马去的吧？”

她犹豫了。 “是的，但这是一次漫长而艰难的旅程——而且你说你厌倦了马鞍。”

“我是昨天的；但我现在感觉很休息。无论如何，让我陪你吧。我应该特别喜欢今天的攀登高峰。我也想见见你的父亲。”

“好吧，我去跟妈妈说一声。”她满脸闪亮地回答，然后就消失在里面了。

母亲考虑到瑟维斯与一所伟大大学的联系，因此没有反对这个计划。相反，她对他对自己女儿的兴趣感到高兴和受宠若惊，不一会儿，年轻人并肩而行，兴高采烈地向山路上走去。

瑟维斯有时会因为维奥拉孩子气的平淡评论而皱起眉头，但她的声音很有音乐感，脸庞像花朵一样——因此他原谅了她。就他对物质构成的了解而言，他还很年轻，正处于交配期。

他们谈论着鲜花、小径，以及一度在高处发现的鸟儿。但很快，他们就不可避免地开始谈论自己。在他的询问下，她概述了她的音乐教育计划，这最终导致克拉克牧师先生的考虑。

第一次提到他的名字时，女孩的脸色明显阴沉下来，她的回答变得好奇起来，几乎是闪烁其辞——至少在瑟维斯看来是这样。

“是的，我在他的教堂里演奏，”她说，“他教我。他是一位出色的音乐家——你不这么认为吗？我欠他很多。他给了我很多帮助——尤其是在我的措辞方面。他是一个很棒的人。我们很幸运有他和我们在一起。”

“他给我的印象是有点病态，更不用说是忧郁了。他的教会遇到麻烦了吗？”

她的回答语气低沉，而且年轻时还带着一种做作的严肃。 “没有，但他的妻子去年就昏倒了。”

“晕倒？你是什​​么意思？”

“我的意思是她死了。”

“我懂了！”他的语调检查了她的信心，他们默默地骑了一小段路。

瑟维斯心里想着。现在情况已经清楚了。克拉克正在研究这个可爱迷人的女孩，以便让她取代他死去的妻子。想想就觉得悲伤，但并不像我想象的那么糟糕。最后他问道：“关于这位克拉克先生，你还能告诉我什么吗？他是西方人吗？”

“哦不，他来自东方。他在布鲁克林有一座大教堂；但他的健康状况不佳，他被迫离开。他来这里是为了沐浴和空气。他现在好多了。”

“然而，他保留了所有的智力疾病。他会找到什么药来治疗这些？”迎上女孩惊讶的目光，他连忙补充道：“对不起，我只是想知道，他来的时候是不是像现在这样病态。”

“不好了！在他妻子离开之前，他一直很高兴。这极大地改变了他。几个月来，他几乎没有离开过书房。即使现在他也读得太多了。这就是为什么他看起来如此苍白。他的房子里堆满了书。”

“他似乎需要新鲜空气。你父亲和他相处得怎么样？”

“一点都不好。”

“我是这样推断的。你父亲是一个实事求是的人——性格开朗——我相信。”

“先生。兰伯特不是我自己的父亲。”她趁此机会解释道。 “我十一岁时，我的父亲就去世了。”

“请原谅我的好奇心，兰伯特小姐，但你曾经用过一两次我听过某种信仰的人使用过的短语。你母亲是通灵师吗？”

她用胆怯的眼神看着他，然后迅速转身走开。 “她——她曾经是；她现在正在学习神智学。”

“部长正试图让你们所有人接受他的特殊理论！我可以想象他的话语。难怪你想逃。”

女孩的整个脸、声音和态度都变了——变得痛苦、热情。 “噢，我讨厌它！我恨它！我想要摆脱这一切！”

她说话的强度让瑟维斯感到惊讶，他在回答之前默默地审视着她的侧脸。 “我想我明白你的意思，我很同情你。你还太年轻，不会被像克拉克这样的人的怀疑和沮丧所困扰。面对这样的风景，他显得很荒唐。让我们忘记他和他的‘主义’。”说着，他在马鞍上直起身来，抬起眼睛看向他们面前的高处。 “这不是很棒吗！”

他们正在靠近山谷的灰色大墙，当他们绕过道路的拐角处，进入一个小三角形角落时，咆哮的水声变得喧闹起来，这个角落是古代科罗河在力量下降时形成的。来自高地公园的源头。左边的岩架几乎陡峭地上升了一千英尺，从悬崖的边缘，矿桶在无形的缆绳上滑行，出现在天空中，像老鹰一样俯冲，一个接一个地默默落下，然后温顺地消失。像鸽子一样，在一座巨大的、土褐色的磨坊的山墙端，磨坊矗立在溪边的平地上。磨坊外，伊格纳西奥山升起，呈深紫色，笼罩在白云之中。

整个场景是典型的西方，它的能量、它的贪婪和它的信仰。这就是生命——生命和充满活力的健康——当这位年轻科学家理解了矿工计划的大胆和独创性时，他的血液加速了。

“这是你父亲的企业吗？”他问道，希望得到肯定的答复。如有必要，这种品质的人会绞死部长。

“不好了。在到达矿井之前，我们必须爬山并穿过上游盆地。这是来自圣路易斯隧道的矿石。”

她现在很高兴地来到了阳光明媚的世界，带着愉快的微笑，把她的马转入一条狭窄的小道，并对他喊道：“我们爬到这里。”他跟在后面，欣赏着她那圆润身材的力量和优雅，她的马在陡峭的斜坡上蜿蜒而行。此刻，她没有任何问题困扰。她更像是山的女儿，鹰的姐妹。

她停下来一两次，让他找到南边一一耸立的著名山峰，第三次她拉住缰绳时，他已经有一英尺了，她说：“我们快到山顶了。”这个年级的；在盆地更容易。”

“我只想到我的马，”他回答道。 “你看，他背着一个四十磅重的马鞍，而且不像你的那么新鲜。抱歉耽误你了。”

盆地是一个最美丽的山谷，呈碗状，绿草如茵，还有白杨和冷杉树林，洒满了瀑布般的阳光。它的四周都是高耸的山峰，阴影下呈紫色，阳光下呈石榴色、金色和绿色。到处都有一个像疤痕一样的探矿洞，或者一座灰色的、被拆除的冲压磨坊像一个正在解体的滚球一样矗立在黄灰色的无用矿石堆旁边。塞维斯熟悉银矿的兴衰，带着某种满足感看着这个美丽的山谷，因为他能够在毁灭性的人类洪水从东部平原席卷而来之前重建它的美丽。 “大自然正在重新确立她的统治地位，”他大声说道。 “采矿是一项伤人的事业——就像谋杀一样。”

女孩把目光转向南方。 “如果我们一点钟之前到达营地，我们就得快点了，”她喊道，他挥了挥手，示意她屈服于她的领导。

他们追上了一长列驴子，车上载着各种各样的货物，包括机器的零碎物品、钉子桶、铁棒、成捆的螺栓、木材、油和一箱箱的杂货。

“这都是父亲的——都是为了新磨坊，”女孩说，对负责驴子的墨西哥人点点头微笑。 “你好，克林特！”她高兴地向小路稍远一点的另一位骡夫喊道，那是一个棕色皮肤、英俊的年轻人，他高兴地向她敬礼，眼睛里闪烁着崇拜的光芒。

“每个男人都是她的追求者，”瑟维斯心中带着一丝不以为然地想道。 “想想看，那个催促驴子前进的皮革色阿拉伯人会觉得她是什么样子！”他这样说，意识到她的危险，开始让他感到压抑。 “她太漂亮太可爱了，不适合嫁给这些粗野的矿工。”

她似乎并不害怕登山者，因为她对遇到的每一个人都会愉快地点头和说一些漂亮的话，尽管他们中的一些人言语粗暴、肮脏、阴沉。瑟维斯并没有从这样一个事实中得到安慰：最邪恶的人在她可爱的微笑下瞬间变得明亮起来。

最后，在前方很远的地方，他们看到了一座光秃秃的山峰上的磨坊。原本静静地聚集在巨大圆顶周围的白云迅速覆盖了整个天空。十一月的空气变得寒冷。风开始在冷杉中呼啸，带着一种严厉的悲伤，直击那个人的心。但女孩没有停下马，而是展开了雨衣，穿上了，同时用一声优美的、挑战性的、愉快的喊声向她的骑士呼喊。

他们现在已经很高了。沟壑和北侧的悬崖上常年结冰，空气清新而清新。突然，风停了。山谷里笼罩着一片灰色的寂静。溪流中的水失去了鲜艳的绿色，变成了带有白色泡沫条纹的铅色。一座座山峰都被暴风雨淹没了。天空和岩石的世界变得神秘、险恶。但女孩无所畏惧地向前推进，像知更鸟一样歌唱，而雨点从她身上划过，雷声轰鸣，在峭壁之间回响，就像警告枪发出巨大的警报。 “我喜欢这个！”她喊道，她清澈的声音像长笛的音符一样穿透水面。 “你不是吗？”

塞维斯并非没有想象力，这个欢快、无所畏惧、自由自在的年轻女仆与前一天晚上沉默寡言、拘谨的女孩形成的鲜明对比让他感到好奇。 “她就是她自己——大自然的孩子，”他想。 “昨晚她是一个‘臣民’——传教士的玩物。奇怪的是，母亲没有意识到女儿的危险。”

暴风雨来得快去得也快，当他们收紧矿井时，阳光明媚。磨坊坐落在一个光滑陡峭的斜坡上，北面有一群低矮的冷杉遮蔽，看上去像是半个废墟，但实际上正在重建和扩建。周围都是泥土堆，被水弄湿了，还有简陋的工棚和矿棚。所有的建筑都是粗鲁的、阳刚的、功利的，而相比之下，女孩每时每刻都在精致和精致中成长。

听到她的呼喊，一个衣着朴素的男人来到门口，脸上露出惊讶的表情。

“为什么——看这里——女儿！我今天不是来找你的。”

“我还是在这里，”她笑着回答。 “这是一些电报。瑟维斯教授，这是我父亲。”

约瑟夫·兰伯特身材矮小，有一双害羞的蓝眼睛，说话低沉而温柔。他的头稍微向左倾斜，看上去有些沮丧，甚至有些忧郁。然而，他是一个勇敢、沉默、不知疲倦的小个子，在银矿上赚了一大笔钱，却在恐慌中失去了它。他现在正在精明地开采一条含有金线的矿脉，并且像所有矿工一样，正准备进行“罢工”。他因工作而分心，虽然很热情，但此刻无法给他的访客太多时间。

“好吧，现在，维奥拉，你带瑟维斯教授到厨房去喂他。我想你会发现一些剩下的东西。如果没有，你就得刮掉一些东西。”

维奥拉随即带路走进厨房，带着公正、清晰的喜悦和信任，向她遇到的每个人打招呼，无论是厨师还是服务员，当食物端上来时，她毫不犹豫地吃了起来。厨师是个身材魁梧、自给自足的中国人，端着一个瓷杯进来了。

“用这个克卢普——锡克卢普对女士没有好处。”他的声音很粗鲁，他的态度就像一个强迫孩子用餐巾的人。但很明显他很喜欢她。当她向他道谢时，他带着抑制不住的笑容拖着脚步走开了。

这一切都让塞维斯感到不安。对他来说，她就是一只闯入狼群的羔羊。 “她不应该让自己暴露在这些家伙的粗俗评论和寻求的目光之下，”他愤怒地评论道，指责默许的母亲和心不在焉的继父。 “这种孩子般的信任很迷人，但这不是战争。”

她本质上的防御弱点，她的纯真，开始深深地、危险地触动他。他开始明白她是如何向克拉克寻求陪伴的，不仅因为他是一名牧师，还因为他是一个比平常有文化和造诣的年轻人，克拉克的同情和建议在她的孤独中提供了帮助和安慰。 “她不爱他；她只是欣赏他性格的某些方面；她害怕嫁给他，而且这是完全正确的。他病态的信仰会毁了她。”

当他们返回办公室时，他们遇到了年轻的骡车司机，维奥拉介绍他为“先生”。波士顿的沃德。”

他又高又瘦，长着一张精致、敏感、孩子气的脸——粗糙的灰色衬衫、褪色的紧身裤和破旧的帽子掩盖了这张精致的脸。

“先生。沃德来这里也是为了他的健康，”维奥拉解释道。 “所有真正善良的人都是‘一心一意’的人。”

“不难过吗？”沃德严肃地说。 “然而，兰伯特小姐只说对了一部分。我以健康为借口。我来这里是因为我喜欢它。”

瑟维斯敏锐地看着他。 “你看起来不像生过病。”

“我不是。我来到这里是为了逃避大学——以及我父亲的生意。”他笑了。 “但是别背叛我。我应该‘慢慢进步’。”

年轻人倚在门框上，漫不经心地站着，目光落在女孩红扑扑的脸上，他的侧脸有一种鹰般的精致。瑟维斯又经历了一阵嫉妒的痛苦——他们如此年轻，如此俊美，如此充满青春的热情和想象力。此刻，他自己的名声和特殊任务已经不那么重要了。

他们回到办公室后，兰伯特以同样心不在焉、充满歉意的方式迎接他们。 “我刚刚把一些新机器安装到位，没有时间，但你必须尽可能让自己感到宾至如归。维奥拉会带你四处参观。”

瑟维斯抗议说，他不需要娱乐，他并不累，他很满足于坐在门口抽烟，观看山峰不断变化的荣耀，而维奥拉在工人们中认真交谈时，他就这么做了。和她的继父。

“她正在向我解释，”瑟维斯推理道。 “我希望我能听到她说的话。如果能像她看待我一样了解我自己，那会很有趣。我希望她不要认为我人到中年还很聪明。”

兰伯特聚精会神地听着女儿的话，因为大学教授在他眼里就是一个尊贵的人，而他此刻最大的遗憾就是没能对瑟维斯说：“我自己也是一名大学人” ;但他无法做到这一点，因为他父亲的去世使他在三年级开始时离开了班级，并成为一个大家庭的家长，成为养家糊口的人。

“他看起来像一个非常年轻的男人，几乎是一个男孩——太年轻了，不能成为一名教授；但后来”——此时他的眼睛闪烁着——“当我在杰斐逊大学时，所有的教授对我来说都显得很老。他来这里做什么？”

“度假时只是骑着车穿过山。”

“你妈妈觉得他怎么样？”

“她非常喜欢他。”

“好吧，那我就不反对了。”

维奥拉瞪大了眼睛——然后脸红了。 “你是什么意思？”

“怎么，你带他来这里不是为了看看我有多喜欢他吗？”

她用棕色的小拳头捶打着他，眼里充满了羞愧的泪水。 “现在，你别这样了！你在逗我。哎呀，我才认识他三天啊。”

他默默地笑了笑，摇了摇头。 “嗯，有时候事情进展得很快——我怎么知道，但你在东方就认识他了——你们看起来很亲密——”

“你把一切都毁了，”她哀号道，内心深感不安，痛苦地感到不自在。 “你对我很刻薄。”

他立刻就悔悟了。 “好了，现在，你不介意我开玩笑吧。当然我是在忽悠。无论如何，我们之间都是安全的。”

但恶作剧已经完成了。她原谅了他，但她再也不会像以前那样对待他，对待她的母亲，对待那个在冷杉树下抽着烟斗的冷静的年轻人。他 是 年轻——现在这对她来说太明显了；他不像克林顿那么年轻，但也不是她想象中的中年人。

当他们正要踏上回家的路时，瑟维斯找机会说道：“先生。”兰伯特，昨晚我在你家遇见了克拉克这个人，我想说，我认为他对你家庭的影响并不是特别有益。他很病态，而且沉迷于时尚。”

兰伯特回答说：“我知道你的意思，教授，我相信你是对的。我自己并不相信他，也不相信他的任何观点，但我的妻子却相信。不知何故，她认为他是圣约人。我希望你能和她谈谈，试着让她对维奥拉放松一点。我认为他们对她的做法不对。如果她是我自己的女儿，我就会阻止——我会的。”然后他用一种奇怪的语气补充了这一含糊的辩护：“至于维奥拉，如果他们不打扰她，她就没事了。她在某种程度上有我无法理解的天赋。但如果她没有被克拉克的愚蠢所扭曲，她会让某个男人成为一个好妻子。她是一个好女孩，正如我所说，如果她是我自己的孩子，我会通知这个圈子生意应该停止。我希望你能和他们谈谈。我不数——但他们会听你的。我很高兴认识你。我希望你能再次出现。我想和你一起解决这件事；这一切都很好奇，但我现在只是因为工作而分心。”

“我求你不要道歉——无论如何，现在是重新开始的时候了。”

当他们骑马下山谷时，女孩沉默而拘谨，瑟维斯思考着兰伯特的话，这句话显然是针对克拉克的。兰伯特对他的信任增强了他的责任感。 “这样不行，”他决定。 “我必须退出，否则我会发现自己背负着整个家庭的痛苦，还有克拉克的痛苦。”

这个女孩现在充满了令人信服的悲伤。他们每下降一英里，她脸上的阴影似乎都加深了。向上的快乐和浮力消失了。她沉默寡言，拘谨又悲伤。他开始努力让她恢复到早晨的单纯和少女般的坦率。他呼吁人们关注西方天空的奇观。他大喊以引起回声，并向她发起了一场比赛的挑战，在最后一次下降时，她向她挑战，骑着一个矿石桶下来，试图让微笑重新回到她的嘴唇上。

她回应了他的欢呼，但不像以前那样了。有什么东西遮蔽了她清澈的目光——她的笑容很快就消失了，她的头脑也不再那么清醒了。

当他们到达马路，他可以骑在她身边时，他也变得严肃起来。 “我希望我没有冒犯任何人，兰伯特小姐？如果是的话，我向你保证这完全是无意的，请原谅。”

她移开了视线。 “你什么也没做，”她缓缓说道。

“但你似乎对我明显不太友好。我希望你没有把我所说的有关你母亲信仰的话放在心上。我无意攻击她的信仰，但我必须对你说实话——我不喜欢克拉克先生。他身上有一些不健康的东西，你今天告诉我的事情并不能让我放心。显然，他对妻子的去世感到非常难过，这更增加了他自然的精神偏执倾向。事实上，目前他更像唯灵论者而不是加尔文主义者。不是这样吗？”

女孩的脸色变得阴沉而疲倦。 “哦，我不知道，我厌倦了这一切。”

“我想，他没完没了地谈论他的苦差事。在未受污染的大自然面前，这一切看起来是多么愚蠢、多么病态！在这样的阳光下，坐在一间有书墙的房间里，梦想着无法解决的问题而变得毫无血色，这似乎是疯狂的。然而我的一个朋友告诉我，这些城镇，尤其是加利福尼亚的城镇，充满了先知和先知。信徒们说，神秘学在高而干燥的气氛中蓬勃发展。兰伯特小姐，你难道不允许克拉克毁掉你对自然的热爱吗？你属于理智、阳光的世界，他没有权利把他阴暗的观念带给你。你还太年轻，天生就很快乐，不会关心疾病和死亡的问题。你生来就是为了快乐的。”

他最后的语气比他原本打算的更加认真，他的话对女孩的影响非常大。她无法说话；她的眼里充满了泪水，她的胸膛痛苦地起伏着。他对她的无助感加深了，他补充道：“你能允许我和克拉克先生谈谈你和你的计划吗？”

这似乎让她警觉起来。 “不，不！”她痛苦地叫道。 “请不要对他说任何关于我的事情。这不会有什么好处。你不明白，我也不能告诉你，”她气喘吁吁地补充道。

“很好，”他安慰地说。 “但是，请记住，我对你的案子非常感兴趣，你可以随时找我，我很乐意提供帮助。”

她把一张苍白、泪流满面的脸转向他，伸出了手。

“我非常非常感谢你。你 已可以选用 对我的帮助超出了我所能说的。”

在剩下的旅程中，他讨论了泉水、溪流的源头、洞穴和场景的其他自然特征，并在离开她之前看到她脸上的微笑，感到满意。

他回到酒店，感觉自己在她的陪伴下度过了六天而不是六个小时。她吸收了他的全部思想，而他对她的围困的感觉是如此敏锐，以至于他决定去拜访克拉克，以明确他的性格并了解他的动机。 “他的激情或他的怀疑笼罩了女孩的天空，我要查明他的设计是朋友的还是恶魔的。”他此刻有一种感觉，他们是吞噬恶魔。

克拉克的教堂代表了其牧师信仰的衰落。青草静静地穿过从街道通向地下室“书房”的腐烂的木板，正如人类自然的善良和欢乐穿过习俗的障碍重新获得统治地位一样。主楼向阳面的隔板油漆起泡、剥落，其中一扇窗户上贴了一块木瓦来修复破损的玻璃。它看起来像是被忽视的年代。

“传教士是对的——他的教会的信条，和所有其他教会的信条一样，也许在较小程度上，太粗鲁、太机械、太幼稚，无法计算出每天都在觉醒的物质新力量的一代人的理想。 ，一些更广泛的宇宙概念。”

日晒雨淋的书房门上，游客用指关节一按，一道正式而响亮的声音喊道：“进来吧！”

打开门，直接通向一个只有一扇窗户的黑暗小书房，瑟维斯面对着正在绿灯罩下读书的克拉克，在灯的灯光下，他显得苍白，远离阳光，就像中世纪的僧侣一样。

认出来访者后，他迅速站了起来。 “很高兴见到你，教授；请原谅我没有起身。我以为敲门声是我的看门人发出的。请坐。”他从一张黄色扶手椅上抓起一把书，用脚把它向前推。 “您的来访真是恰逢其时。今晚我正在考虑给你的酒店打电话。我想听听你对两三个科学发现的看法，在我看来，这些发现对人类的福祉有着最重要的影响。”

瑟维斯每时每刻都更加敏锐地意识到，他面临着一项需要他所有的机智、沉着和智慧的任务，因为他面前的这个人总是自负，习惯于匆忙地表达自己的观点。言语丰富，而且是一位拥有非凡智力资源的学生。当他坐在书本中时，他的身影非常英俊。他的脸刚刮完，像蓝白色的大理石一样闪闪发光，浓密的黑发被粗心的手指从额头上拨开，散落在耳朵上方，为他匀称的头部增添了明显的雕塑感。他那双又细又长、不安分的手就暴露了这位细菌大师的到来给他带来的兴奋。他急于提问，但他等待着来访者开始提问，他以男子气概的直接方式开始了提问。

“我打电话是想和你谈谈兰伯特小姐的事情。她和她的母亲向我询问关于她在纽约学习的建议，这让我很荣幸，我想知道你，作为他们的牧师，是否为她的这一运动提供建议？”

牧师用有知觉的手指寻找、找到并紧紧握住一把尺子。 “我无法直接回答，”他慢慢地说。 “兰伯特小姐的案子并不简单。你知道，她是一位非常出色的音乐家，但她的才华却时断时续。她有时打得很糟糕。我完全不确定她是否具备在音乐舞台上取得成功的气质。”

“我自己也对母亲说过类似的话。”

“此外，她的利益并不是问题的唯一因素。兰伯特夫人的生命与她的女儿息息相关，没有她，她就会受苦。整个家庭的福祉都反对她离开。”

“我敢说，你也有自己的利益。”

克拉克的眼睛眯了起来。 “你是什么意思？”

“在你的教会工作中很难取代她，不是吗？”

牧师又恢复了他的坦率态度。 “确实会的。她是村里唯一的风琴手，对我来说非常宝贵，尤其是在主日学校。”

“我倾向于考虑她的利益，而不是父母的利益，甚至教会的利益，”塞维斯继续说道。 “我属于那些承认年轻人权利对种族至关重要的人。”

克拉克抓住这一点作为战斗的衡量标准。 “比赛！哦，你们这些无情的科学家！我们关心比赛什么？我们会拯救个人。种族可以照顾好自己。种族只是一个抽象概念——它不会受苦。如果一个人知道这一种族将在一千年后变得完美，这对个人有什么用呢？”

“我们漫步，”瑟维斯断然说道。 “这个问题其实很简单。我们应该建议兰伯特夫妇把他们的女儿送到纽约学习音乐，还是应该建议她留在这儿，嫁给一个善良、诚实的年轻矿工，让自己屈服于普通妇女的命运。她的天赋应该可以决定。”

传教士的脸颊泛起一抹暗淡的红晕，他的目光垂了下来，声音不自觉地变得柔和起来。 “对于维奥拉·兰伯特来说，婚姻还有很长的路要走；她只是个孩子，而且，而且——”他停顿了一下。

瑟维斯笑了。 “我相信，在西方，他们很早就结婚了。而且，她应该有二十岁了，身体也很健壮。”

“在我看来，她只是个孩子，”克拉克重复道，恢复了他的文书态度，他讲话中虚伪的语气激怒了塞维斯，他对自己说：“他是个骗子。他不想让这个女孩脱离他的控制。”然后他大声地重新开始讨论：“这一切都回到了女孩的天赋问题。如果这足以让她在某个更大的社区谋生，她就有权利离开；否则，她就有权离开。如果不是，她当然应该留在这里。我相信每个人都可以拥有尽可能多的生活，而兰伯特小姐的野心是完全合理的渴望。而且，她似乎很想逃离这种生活。她暗示有某种神秘的迫害。她没有详细说明她的麻烦，但我推断是某个不受欢迎的追求者让她的生活变得悲惨。”说着，他锐利地看了克拉克一眼。

“您大错特错了，先生。兰伯特小姐有很多仰慕者，但没有追求者。我已经警告过她不要卷入此类纠葛。我已经展示了他们会如何干扰她的工作。”

“你是说她在你们教堂的工作吗？”

克拉克的双眼再次露出怀疑的目光。 “部分原因是这样，但更多的是因为我希望看到她所做的其他更高的工作。”

“你指的是什么？”

“请原谅，我现在不能谈论这个；我只能说，这是一件初步阶段的作品，在这里可以像在纽约一样通过——事实上，更好。”

“你引起了我的好奇心——”

克拉克突然从沉思中惊醒，变得咄咄逼人。他毅然转移了话题。 “在你走之前我想问你——作为一名化学家，你否认灵魂不朽吗？”

“化学与灵魂无关。”

“你作为一个 男子，否认灵魂不朽？”

“我既不否认也不肯定。我从来没有关心过这个问题。”

克拉克有些畏惧。 “你没有调查这个世界上最重要的问题！”

“是的，因为我很久以前就坚信死亡的问题就像生命的起源一样，是无法解决的，为什么要在无法解决的问题上浪费时间呢？深入研究物质的构成是中世纪主义的一种。我关心的是细菌会做什么，而不是它们是什么。”

“我否认永生问题 is 无法解决！”克拉克回答道，他的眼睛里闪烁着信仰之火。 “正是因为你们科学家忽视了通灵现象，所以你们才对来自另一边的信息一无所知。”

“哪一边？”

“你们称之为‘死者’的领域。”他拿起一本书。 “这是一位比你杰出一百倍的德国科学家的话，这是两位伟大的英国人、皇家学院成员的结论，他们经过调查并确信死者复活。”

“我认识那些人，”瑟维斯冷冷地回答。 “普遍的观点是，当他们写下这些书时，他们就不再是科学家了。所有人都已经过了青春年华，失去了亲人，其中一人几乎失明。在他们开始进行你们所谓的调查之前，他们真正的判断力就失去了平衡。德国人在“第四维度”被认为是疯子。但是这个女孩和你的“死亡王国”或者我对癌组织的研究有什么关系呢？她属于音乐与花朵的境界。我请求你记住这一点。你没有权利把你的宗教困惑的阴影投射到她身上，就像我没有权利向她展示我关于寄生生长的知识一样。青年，尤其是年轻女性，有其权利，其中之一就是快乐。你承认你正在失去信心；为什么要毁掉她的？你的怀疑和绝望不应该影响她。但他们有。她因你对生命的态度而感到困扰和悲伤，尤其是你对世界上死亡存在的坚持。”

这并不是塞维斯一开始要说的，但当他继续说下去时，他有一种被误导的感觉，怀疑自己正中敌人的下怀，这使他无法用语言表达他所抱有的强烈信念。

传教士将手指交叉放在脑后，轻蔑地低垂着眼睑，看着来访者，回答道：“亲爱的先生，您根本不知道自己在说什么。”

居高临下的语气、高人一等智慧的语气刺痛了这位科学家。他从牧师的答复中感受到的不仅是反对，还有侮辱。他的姿势本身就是一种侮辱。

“我不知道你的动机，这是完全正确的，但我可以推断出它们。我应该说，我没有混入不受欢迎的地方的习惯。但既然兰伯特先生和夫人都征求了我的意见，我就给出建议。这姑娘在这里病态又不快乐，我要叫他们暂时把她送走。她有音乐天赋。我会建议他们允许她去东部读书。”

牧师的笑容加深成了冷笑。 “我想我明白 选择您 动机，我会反对她去。有什么可以约束一个既不认识灵又不认识神的人呢？”

塞维斯一开始感到震惊，然后对这种含沙射影的粗俗感到愤怒，本能地握紧了他有力的棕色双手，想要惩罚——报复——但他的愤怒冷却到了言语的程度，他说：“这次采访有更多的内容。”比让我相信兰伯特对你的不信任是正义的。我会再次见到他，并重复我已经发出的警告。”说完，他转身就出去了。

他带着一种惊讶和宽慰的心情重新进入了白天，因为晚霞还没有从天空中消失。前一刻，世界似乎笼罩在午夜的黑暗中，瞧！现在这里是壮丽的山峰，歌唱的河流，都闪烁着金色的光芒。刚才的遭遇很快就过去了，变得令人难以置信，但传教士仍然蹲在他的洞穴里，就像洞穴里的吸血鬼一样。

当他慢慢地沿着街道走时，他感觉到一种越来越沉重、越来越不确定的感觉。在以这样的方式做出承诺之后，他就成为了其中一个他不知道任何令人安心的事情的捍卫者和保护者。他的青春似乎突然变得小心翼翼。他的假期在一片不信任的气氛中结束了。他从一个超然的科学家，堕落到一个道德家和爱管闲事的人，最重要的是，他爱管闲事，干涉一个年轻而迷人的女孩的事务。

塞维斯刚刚给他的妹妹写了封信，信中说：“我将在山上多待几天——我对山很感兴趣。”这时有人敲门，服务员拿着一张卡片。

“博士。布里特！”瑟维斯高兴地喊道。 “请把他带上来，”他自言自语地补充道，“现在我们将对这群了不起的人有一些明确的了解。”

布里特进入房间的方式彰显了其独特的性格。他推门而入，不是偷偷地，而是漫不经心、漫不经心。他也很高，宽大的深色胡须卷曲在粉红色且相当丰满的脸颊上，当他松松地握着主人的手时，他明亮的黑眼睛里闪烁着讽刺的光芒。他的表情是一个永远被逗乐的人的表情，仿佛在期待一个笑话或回忆起一个嘲笑。他的声音和他的四肢一样疲倦，但他的话语却准确无误。

瑟维斯热情地向他打招呼。 “我很高兴见到你，布里特博士；请坐。我通过兰伯特小姐听说过你。”

“我在街上看到你，”布里特面无表情地回答，“所以我查了一下登记册，想知道你是谁。我很高兴见到你。我对你很了解，而且魏斯曼是我们家的老熟人。你在这儿做什么？拜访兰伯特家吗？”

出于某种原因，这种直接的态度让瑟维斯有些不安。 “不——哦不！我刚刚漂过沙漠的分水岭，偶然遇见了兰伯特小姐，非常偶然。在返回东部之前，我降落在卡洛休息并冲洗掉沙漠的灰尘。转身就是公平竞争——你在这里做什么？”

布里特用拇指敲击左胸。 “同样的老故事——肺部破裂。每当你在这里遇到可疑人物时，他要么是‘单枪匹马’，要么是‘汇款人’。”

“这就是让你的国家有价值的原因。”

“我不知道，但你会发现我们很多人都在等待。当你们开发出针对消费‘病菌’的抗毒素时，我们都会回到上帝的国家。”

“我们正紧追不舍，”瑟维斯开玩笑地回答道。

“我知道你是。正如他们所说，我“跟着你读”。事实上，我有一个小“农场”，但我不太愿意自己饲养野兽。我希望你能进来给我一两个提示。”

“很高兴。”瑟维斯由衷地回答。 “那么你认识魏斯曼？”

“我曾经。我的父亲曾经是柏林大使馆的随员，也是让老“头发和护目镜”过来的一个因素；州长总是说，他当时是一头自负的蠢驴，羊毛比脑子多。但州长想为学院做点什么。”

瑟维斯研究了这张卡片。 “我认识你父亲吗？——他还在公共生活中吗？”

“他不是。”布里特的目光转向了。 “我很遗憾地说，州长对托迪酒很感兴趣，我已经让他退休了。夏天他和帕西·克莱恩一起住在怀特普莱恩斯，冬天则复发。”

瑟维斯改变了话题。 “顺便说一句，我想问你关于克拉克这个人的事。他是个什么样的家伙？”

布里特的回答虽然慵懒但足够了。 “三部分是苦行僧，其余部分是狂热分子。”

“我很担心——那么兰伯特一家呢？”

“太太。兰伯特是个可爱的老傻瓜。维奥拉是一个非常聪明的女孩，患有严重的歇斯底里症和自我催眠症。”

“你是什么意思？”瑟维斯尖锐地问道。

布里特检查了一下自己。 “我想我不应该谈论它，但是，由于你是一个陌生人并且可以保守职业秘密，我会解释一下。母亲是一位唯灵论者——多年来一直如此——并且在寻找这一点时，自然地在维奥拉还是个孩子的时候发现了她所谓的“通灵术”。正如迈尔斯所说，通过仔细护理她自己和她的主题中的错觉，她已经能够发展出一种罕见的“潜意识的冲动”。当我来这里接受兰德尔博士的治疗时，我在他的论文中发现了关于女孩发育的详细注释。

“你让我很惊讶！”瑟维斯惊呼道。 “她看起来很正常，又很迷人。”

“事实上，她是我解决过的最非同寻常的谜题。根据兰德尔的说法，这种力量似乎是在她比她小几岁的弟弟去世后不久就降临到她身上的。如果你愿意的话，我会让你看看这些笔记。他们很好奇；事实上，我把这本书带来了——我想听听你对他们的看法以及你对女孩治疗的建议。”

瑟维斯的兴趣越来越浓厚，身体前倾。 “无论如何，让我看看笔记。你开始阐明一些让我困惑的事情。”

布里特从口袋里掏出一本棕色的小书，说道：“你的第一个想法是将这件事与歇斯底里症联系起来，兰德尔的第一个条目就是这样的反映：‘医学图书馆的书架上有很多不确定的文献。 ” “关于歇斯底里症的主题，许多不同的疾病都被扔进这个解释盒子里。”布里特抬起头来。 “他说得对，但他接着对医学界做出了这样的评价：‘孩子的心智，就像任何其他不断扩张、成长的事物一样，往往会偏离常态——显然喜欢给它的祖先带来惊喜。它抓住了所有年龄段、所有种族的潜在倾向，随时可能会因其向意想不到的方向突然扩张以及莫名其妙地未能遵循既定的规律而感到震惊。”说到这里，布里特再次停了下来。 “可见这位老家伙受到的打击很严重。他现在进化了。 “我们都有可能是山羊、色狼和蛇——即使从神经学家的角度来看，我们的思想也是无限复杂的。”

塞维斯说：“这一切都是明智的，但它有意义吗？”

“他正在努力。现在，我们医学界所谓的歇斯底里症似乎是一种暴力的、在某种意义上是无法解释的背离常态的行为，是由于某些抑制的取消——神经结构的某些深刻变化而引起的。例如，一个女孩突然拒绝进食，出现异象，大声喊叫，无法控制地唱歌，也许会说一种不知名的语言——据说她是歇斯底里的。一位母亲听到她孩子的死讯，开始大笑，最后陷入了僵直状态，在此期间，她的喉咙里响起了孩子的声音；这也是歇斯底里。一个四十五岁的人变得忧郁，声称听到了别人听不见的音乐，发展出自动写作，并且在恍惚状态中他能够听到远处的声音，并阅读密封的信件；这也是歇斯底里。事实上，没有任何解释。”

“那又怎样？”塞维斯打断道。 “我们来申请吧。”

“他在下一段中阐述了自己的观点：‘按照这个习惯，当兰伯特夫人叫我去研究她的女儿时，她突然进入了深度睡眠状态，用她祖父的声音说话，我用猫头鹰般的声音说话。重力，宣布她的发作是一种歇斯底里症。 “带她去一次小旅行，”我说，“让她得到充足的营养，多呆在户外，她长大后就会适应的。”

“非常好的建议。”

“确实如此，但请注意续集：'她并没有摆脱它。’他把这句话用斜体字写出来。 “她内心的力量在掌控中获得，最让我感到奇怪和困惑的是，她在其他方面仍然是一个热情、健康的孩子，但有时她似乎是无形力量旋风的平静中心。椅子、书籍、顶针，甚至钢琴，都在没有明显推动的情况下来回移动。她小脚下的地毯上传来电击声，墙上传来大声的敲击声——’”

“啊！”塞维斯惊呼道，并回忆起他第一次来访时的敲门声，当时女孩正在弹钢琴。

“这里他又用斜体字了。 '所有熟悉的通灵媒介的表现形式，都被这位美丽的少女在这座山中的家中一一再现。'“

“天哪，可惜了！”瑟维斯惊呼道。

布里特继续读到：“这位母亲对女孩受到的粗鲁殴打感到愤愤不平和震惊，她不得不隐瞒她家里乱七八糟的行为。石头被扔进窗户，柜子被隐形和沉默的锁匠打开， 我已经看到了这些事情并且无法提供任何解释”布里特合上书。 “老医生在这里失去了勇气，到目前为止，他是一个相当敏锐的观察者。他的下一篇文章显然是几周后，或者可能是几个月后。他说：“慢慢地，我们学会了理解这些现象，但我们无法控制它们，当孩子拜访朋友或坐在学校的座位上时，孩子仍然会因为侵入性的敲击声和噼啪声而感到非常尴尬。她变得害怕独自睡觉，每当有噪音时，她就会可怜巴巴地呼唤灯。”

“可怜的孩子——”

“你完全可以这么说，”布里特回答道。 “她告诉我，她最大的考验是在家人吃完晚饭后，当她坐在书本上时；但兰德尔在描述所发生的事情时变得雄辩起来：“几乎每天晚上七点钟，那些默默无闻的力量就开始了他们不可思议的、看不见的骚乱，最后抓住了孩子，仿佛要摧毁她，迫使她最终入睡。” 。然后她的声音、她的四肢似乎都在受某种看不见的智慧的支配。你看，老人的身体越来越虚弱。他不再说歇斯底里，也没有说要带走女孩。”

“你的意思是说，他也参与了这种错觉？”

“注意他语气的变化。他继续说道：“母亲被她的阅读和书面信息所说服，相信她死者的灵魂正在试图与她交流，因此夜复一夜地坐在那里，既害怕又充满希望，等待来自她的进一步指示。布里特快速地翻了几页。 “听听这个。这是老人改变心意的关键：“今天晚上，孩子开始用男人的声音对我说话。”嘶哑的话语从她喉咙深处发出，这是她正常状态下不可能发出的声音和话语。那个声音据说是我父亲的。这一切都非常独特。我不明白她怎么知道这个声音对我说的话。你看，”布里特说，“他已经不再担任医疗顾问了。”他慢慢地翻了好几页。 “根据兰德尔的说法，这个女孩很快就经历了这些不同的阶段。她用左手写信息，其中她的祖父麦克劳德详细说明了治疗她的方法，兰德尔已经走了很远，他默许了。从十一岁到十五岁，她都生活在这种“控制”之下。这些表现的力量和明确性都增强了。最后的“控制者”是三个——她的祖父、她的兄弟和她自己的父亲。十六岁时，最暴力的表现停止了，女孩去上学了。这时乔·兰伯特进来了——他娶了母亲。”

“他是如何看待这些行为的？”

“他似乎是一个沉默且不情愿的证人；医生只是顺便提到他。女孩在学校时写的一两封可怜兮兮的信，详细描述了“灵魂”的几次令人尴尬的回归，但总的来说，她很高兴。根据记录，她的假期一定是一种折磨，对于“Waltie”来说，这不是 恶鬼，似乎决心弥补失去的时间。他每天晚上都来，让他妹妹的生活变成了地狱。她哪儿也去不了，母亲费了很大的劲才保守了这个可怕的秘密。”

瑟维斯眉头皱起，在椅子上不安地扭动着。 “我以前听说过这些事情，但这是对媒体发展的新看法。我不明白这位母亲的态度。”

“兰德尔指出，当这位母亲确信她死去的父亲、丈夫和儿子回来了之后，她就感到了辞职和满足，目前不会考虑放弃她幻想中的圣餐，特别是当‘向导’不断向她保证时“他们”会保护这个女孩。但请注意兰德尔日记中的这句话的衰老：“玛莎现在定期来找我，我很高兴能重新感受到她的陪伴。”确实，有时我幻想我能见到她。昨晚她向我展示了她的双手；我靠着窗户可以清楚地看到他们。开会后我和兰伯特发生了很大的争论。 “这都是糟糕的生意，”他说。 “当我想到维奥拉将会变成什么样子时，我感到很害怕。在这里，她正在长成一个大女孩，一个漂亮的女孩，她应该出去陪伴——她应该像其他女孩一样唱歌跳舞。她应该像其他女孩一样结婚并幸福，但只要这些事情继续发生，她就不能幸福了。这是不对的。”'”

“不再是这样了，”瑟维斯说。 “这是邪恶的。”

“兰德尔太过分了，甚至无法同意。 “但这并没有伤害她，”我回答道。事实上，这个奇妙的事实让我不得不接受这种做法。我现在无法忍受与玛莎和保罗（我们的宝贝儿子）断绝联系的念头。这就像当着他们的面关上门一样。此外，他们处于控制之中；如果我们尝试的话，我们无法阻止他们利用这个女孩。对于我来说，现在就是我的生活了。我老了。我的朋友，我亲爱的人，都站在这一边。我只剩下几天的生命了，然后——”说到这里，老人停了下来。此后他又活了一两个月，但他没有再做任何笔记，当我到达现场时，克拉克已经控制了局势。我和这家人不熟，也不了解这个案子，直到兰伯特有一天打电话告诉我小屋里发生的事情。他觉得我也许能治好那个女孩。”

塞维斯听着布里特的话，心里越来越痛苦和愤慨——想到维奥拉的毁灭而感到痛苦，想到母亲和她的医生竟然如此自满地加入黑暗的诉讼而感到愤慨。 “当然，你接手了这个案子。”

“我尝试过，但兰伯特夫人和克拉克不承认这个女孩需要我的照顾。他们邀请我以旁观者的身份加入这个圈子，我就这么做了。我仍然只是一个旁观者。”

“你不是说他们还在用她做实验吗？”

“你可以这么称呼它。他们每周定期坐两到三个晚上。克拉克正准备放弃他的讲坛，并通过一本关于“通灵术”（他称之为自己的信仰）的书震惊世界。这个女孩就是他的雷源。”

瑟维斯坐回椅子上，陷入沉思。 “这解释了女孩的一些非常奇怪的言语和行为。她的态度是什么？在我看来，她非常不满和不高兴。”

“她 is 不高兴。她了解自己的处境，也有叛逆的时刻。她知道自己在年轻人的世界中失去了应有的份额，并感到受到诅咒。”

“我能理解这一点，她对我说的几件事证实了你对她感受的分析。但是告诉我——你参加了这些会议——发生了什么——那个女孩声称要做什么？”

“我不知道。我无法确定克拉克在这场骗局中所扮演的角色。这一切都发生在黑暗中。”

“总是这样。它属于那里。”

“专业媒体的许多古老的‘特技’都被复制了。灯光在舞动，吉他在弹奏，椅子的鼻子放在你的膝盖上，双手放在你的脸颊上，等等。”

“你不觉得她是故意作弊吗？”瑟维斯明显有些焦虑地问了这个问题。

“有各种各样的诱因——黑暗、极度焦虑的朋友们。如果她偶尔‘帮忙’一点也不奇怪。”

“这是多么可悲的事情啊！”

“尽管我发现她有欺诈行为，但我不太确定她是否故意欺骗。也许整件事都是从某种幼稚的混乱开始的，这种混乱使她的系统失去了平衡。医学文献中有数百个这样的案例。和以前一样，她“着魔”了一种邪恶的“第二人格”。她可能是左撇子、颠倒着写论文。他们通常都是这样开始的。这位刚刚失去亲人的母亲相信女儿的神秘力量。她怀着这种错觉，围成一圈，坐在黑暗中，当事情发生时抚摸着女孩，当墙壁寂静无声时她哀悼——而你就在那里！再次以小规模的方式“涂抹媒介”。也许女孩一开始并没有打算欺骗任何人，但她却被一个又一个的谎言所折磨，直到最后她发现自己在自己陷入的昏迷中无力回天。她渴望摆脱奴役；她反抗，非常不高兴，但看不到出路。这就是我目前对这个案子的理解。现在，你有什么建议？我能做些什么？我对这个女孩很感兴趣，但我没有权力采取行动。”

“你让我感到震惊和厌恶，”瑟维斯深受感动地说。 “这个女孩看起来太优秀了，不适合这样的诡计。克拉克这个人是谁？”

几年前，他在布鲁克林是一位轰动一时的传教士，但讲坛上的出血事件缩短了他在东部的职业生涯。他来到这里，情况有所好转，但他的妻子心脏不好，无法忍受海拔高度。她死了——这是对她丈夫的牺牲。他是那种需要牺牲的人。妻子去世后，他住在兰伯特小屋里，现在完全掌控了一切。女孩的意志如此薄弱，只是他强大人格掌控下的傀儡。”

瑟维斯现在全神贯注于重建他对中提琴的概念。她的处境对他来说是最令人心酸的，但他似乎没有能力帮助她。尽管她看起来很漂亮，但她还是应该被避开，因为她患有麻风病。第一天下午他的印象是正确的——她被围困了，甚至迷失了方向。

布里特说：“如果这个女孩还未成年，我会向州卫生当局提出上诉——我真的会的，就像我喜欢兰伯特夫人一样——但她已经成年了，更重要的是，克拉克赢得了她的爱和信任，你能做什么？他充满了她的视野，母亲也很宠爱他。他向她讲述了她女儿的“对世界的使命”，以及类似的烟雾，并让女孩自己半信半疑地相信她的僵直状态是神圣起源的。我承认我还没有自由地进行任何真正的测试——你知道，你不能像对待专业人士一样对待她——但她似乎因长期练习而诱发了真正的昏迷，直到施加一些夹子之前我不能说她还是克拉克是主犯。现在你会做什么？

瑟维斯怒火中烧。 “不要再向我透露这种肮脏的事情了。我无法提供建议。如果你，她的医生，和兰伯特，她的继父，都无法阻止这一切，那么我这个路过的陌生人能做什么呢？我不想知道更多关于它的事情。为什么，伙计，这太邪恶了！就这样扭曲并囚禁一个女孩！把那个迷人的生物想象成一个普通的骗子——让我感到震惊。想想看，好人，数以百万计的人，都相信这样的胡言乱语！不可思议！”

“你会对我们在患者中发现的类似病例的数量感到惊讶。自从来到这里后，我就开始在一个小图书馆里查找有关该主题的书籍。每一位医生在执业过程​​中都会遇到一个或多个这样的异常病例，正如兰德尔所说，为了方便起见，我们将其标记为“癔症，”我可以随意地说，我不认为我们已经了解了事情的真相。让我们只为这个女孩吧。有一些观点对她有利。”

瑟维斯提出抗议。 “别再说了。太痛苦了。”

布里特坚持不懈。 “我只是想说，我认为所有这些欺骗行为都有一定的基础。这些媒介并不是从无到有。它们几乎都是从某种异常开始的。一些隐藏的力量像海蛇一样浮出他们的思想表面，这使他们成为先知。好奇的朋友们围了过来，然后谎言就开始了。慢慢地，讨论这个话题是值得的。如果我能住在纽约市，我会自己做。”他起身。 “好吧，我不怪你没有介入这个案子——我希望我自己能清楚地知道这件事——但我希望你有一些经验可以帮助我。”于是话题就转移到了其他的话题上。

布里特出去后，塞维斯坐在那里，对来访者的悲惨遭遇感到不安。他认识维奥拉·兰伯特才三天，然而这些关于她的揭露对他的影响是最痛苦的，也是至关重要的。他对她、对母亲和他们美丽的家的快乐完全消失了，这次熟人的断绝给他的心带来了痛苦。

当然，他把这一切都放在非常普遍的基础上。 “我讨厌对任何人失去信心。得知自己竟如此完全被外表所欺骗，真是令人震惊。克拉克确实是这场欺骗的罪魁祸首。我不敢相信这个女孩故意欺骗，但布里特却很直率，而且他似乎是一个敏锐、冷静的观察者。”

于是他开始收拾行李，准备搭乘清晨前往东方的火车。他决定不再见到她，并贴了一张礼貌的便条，说他不得不返回纽约，并且对无法打电话感到遗憾。

第二天，当他站在火车的后站台上，仰望峡谷，望向卡洛罗闪亮的山峰时，他有一种胆怯的感觉，仿佛在一个无助的年轻女孩最受考验的时刻抛弃了她。

布里特先生是对的。兰伯特夫人非常喜欢克拉克——事实上，已经把他放在心里了。他既是儿子又是精神导师，他的愿望具有命令的力量。如果阿黛尔是她自己的女儿，他的丧亲之痛不会让她更加痛苦，而这种痛苦仍然像迷雾一样笼罩在他们之间，甚至阻止了他即将表白欲望的预感。维奥拉对他妻子的美丽和高尚品格的记忆使她看起来更加像个孩子。因此，当时不时地，有好管闲事的人暗示部长与她女儿有明显的亲密关系时，她就用坦白的一句话将这种隐秘的暗示打消了——“你绝对不能有这样的想法。”

维奥拉也从他们相识之初起，就像塞维斯想象的那样深深地钦佩这位年轻的牧师，并在阿黛尔面前谦卑自己，就像对待一位来自神秘外部世界的非常出色的女士一样，她的举止、衣着和言语都受到了阿黛尔的欢迎。是启蒙的源泉；当她去世后，阴影之地对她的统治变得更加丰富、更加完整。阿黛尔几乎同时在山谷中说道：“我来这里是为了帮助和指导。”

就这样，天地间的所有力量联合起来，使克拉克成为维奥拉·兰伯特小世界的统治者。他站在她和年轻的克林顿·沃德以及所有其他追求者之间——他吸收了她的想法。她钦佩他的天赋，在他黑眸的力量、他富有磁性的双手下颤抖，尤其对他低沉的音乐声音做出反应，当它呈现出情人恳求的旋律时，非常令人着迷。有时，他让她充满了模糊不安的激情，生活变成了一种折磨，因为她正值世界为情人征服的年纪，爱情之歌的节奏意味深长，却又最难理解。但有时她对他感到恐惧，这让她感到不寒而栗。她也在挣扎，野心不断增长，对世界的了解不断扩大，这开始让她变得挑剔——孩子的好奇心正在让位给女人的洞察力。摆脱无形的折磨者并像其他女孩一样的愿望实际上是对她自然自我的被爱和重视的权利的要求，完全不受幽灵之手的触摸。

她很失望克拉克不理解和同情这个愿望，但她从来没有想过他希望她结婚。他是一名牧师，她尊敬他的职位，此外，她认为自己只是一个女孩，太无知，太琐碎，不能成为圣职如此高的人的妻子。

随着年轻教授的到来，一种新的力量似乎进入了她生活中理智的一面。她在他身上认出了一个伟大的外部世界的主人——东方世界，无所畏惧的世界——在与他相处的几个小时里，她至少要服从她的“控制”的决心迅速扩大到了最危险的高度。她觉得他会同情她——他会帮助她。他的言语中明显的积极性、他的健康状况、他的幽默感，每时每刻都在她身上蔓延，她决定下次见面时向他吐露心声。

克拉克推测，这种反抗、这种对抗的一部分，以及阻止她的目的的决心，以及立即完全占有她的欲望，排除了所有其他愿望或计划，而感觉就是与安东尼·克拉克一起行动，因为他是与生俱来的情感体验，火花飞扬。他曾经是一个不理智的​​生物，病态的自我意识——这是自然的，因为在他身上流淌着三个种族的血统。他的父亲是苏格兰人，而他的母亲——西班牙人，父亲是爱尔兰人，父亲是一个反复无常的人——一直是她的一个未解决的问题，甚至对她的丈夫来说也是如此。她的笑声和她的泪水一样毫无逻辑。她的家人永远无法预测接下来的一个小时会发生什么，她的同情如此强烈，她的绝望又如此迅速。她一生都生活在高处或低处，从未有过一天平静的、女性般的、合理的行动，当她去世时，她的去世也充满了同样的情感压力。她紧紧抓住地面，就像身体即将坠入无声的深渊。

她的儿子继承了她所有的热情、反复无常的目标，以及她在压力下崩溃的倾向。从身体上来说，他的身材一直很苗条，肺脏也很弱，他利用这些弱点来摆脱工作和责任。

他不是伪君子——布里特错了。他生性虔诚。他的灵魂有时渴望崇高的事物。他对实际的痛苦抱有同情心，并且对死亡始终抱有病态的敬畏之心。任何一个贫穷、失落、受苦的人一看到就会立即陷入深刻、忧郁的怜悯之中。路上一只死去的甲虫，一只被蜘蛛网缠住的苍蝇，一只被水浸透、脏兮兮的小知更鸟，即使在他还是个孩子的时候，都让他感到震惊，在他的年轻同伴们忘记了很久之后，他用悲伤和疑问的目光思考着它们。他们眼中的光芒逃到哪里去了？他问自己。他不喜欢杀死任何生物，他不止一次用尽自己微弱的力量来保护一只猫不被用石头砸死。然而，众所周知，他曾与家乡最糟糕的年轻人一起秘密酗酒，从而获得了骗子和鬼鬼祟祟的名声以及学士的名声。十七岁时，正当他对酒的胃口似乎无法控制时，正如俗话所说，一位伟大的“复兴主义者”赢得了他的灵魂，二十三岁时，他开始担任第一个牧师。

作为讲坛演说家的成功取决于他迷人的声音和磁性的举止。他的头颅异常英俊，当他说话时，他的脸常常像六翼天使一样光芒四射，所有会众的女人们第一眼就崇拜他，热烈的赞美让他感到尴尬。尽管他如此崇拜他的妻子，但他仍然忠于她，这证明了她伟大的品格之美。事实上，在她活着的时候，她就是他的保护者和每小时的班长。

为了他，她牺牲了东方所有的朋友。她毫无怨言地来到山上，她忍受他，为他加油，以一百种方式支持他——当她去世时，他的世界变得漆黑如午夜。仿佛在一个怪物之中，无尽的洞穴之中，他手中的一颗星光已经熄灭了。一连几天，他用头撞墙，大声咒骂他的上帝。但最终他却陷入了无声的绝望之中。然后，当他被动地俯卧时，他开始听到神秘的低语声和敲击他绝望洞穴墙壁的声音。他站起来听着。他摸索着走向昏暗的灯光。他又回到了男人的世界。他对圣经的信心被削弱了；但他很快发现，对于那些自称是物质世界和精神世界之间中介的人，他的心发生了奇妙的变化。他将注意力转向对死后生命的物理证据的研究。

在那一刻之前，他几乎不相信兰伯特夫人关于她自己改变信仰的半心半意的吐露，而且，由于维奥拉大部分时间都在学校，他忘记了她对母亲的忏悔感到担忧。 。

正如布里特博士在他们都卷入了这起奇怪的案件之后告诉布里特博士的那样，她的力量在阿黛尔去世几天后毫无征兆地突然被公开。 “我和兰伯特夫人坐在一起悲伤地交谈，寻求她的帮助和安慰。维奥拉坐在灯罩旁的一张矮椅上，膝上放着一本书。她在听我说话。当我用充满激情的语气说完“我愿意为阿黛尔的一声低语而献出我所有的生活希望”时，房间开始变暗。起初我以为影响是在我自己的大脑中，但过了一会儿我发现光线实际上已经开始减弱。我们都默默地看了一会儿，然后兰伯特夫人说道：“维奥拉，玛丽忘了给灯加油。”

“就在她说话的时候，一阵凉风吹过我的头，吹过我的手。火焰跃入空中，房间一片漆黑，只有从街道上射出的苍白光芒落在地板上。一阵微弱的沙沙声响起，一只手触碰了我的脸颊，柔软的嘴唇拂过我的耳朵，一种让我心跳停止的低语开始了。起初是含糊不清的低语；但最后我清楚地听到我的精神妻子温柔地责备道：“托尼，托尼，我永远和你在一起。”

”低语声停止了。手被拿走了。耳边传来一声深深的叹息。我的阿黛尔不见了！狂喜的时刻结束了。我震惊地坐着，一动不动，我的大脑因这次经历的深远意义而旋转。还没等我站起来，兰伯特夫人就实际地、不受打扰地打开了门，让街道的光线照进来。直到那时，当我看到维奥拉躺在床上，脸色苍白、表情呆滞时，我才第一次意识到：以任何方式将她与我与阿黛尔的甜蜜交流联系起来。

“然后，就像一道快乐的光芒照射在我的灵魂上，我确信她就是我的阿黛尔说话的媒介——她为我打开了沉默之门。

“我不再是身体——我是一个悬浮在无形的力量海洋中的大脑。这就是宗教的现实。这就是对人类痛苦呼喊的答案——对我的祈祷的答案，而希伯来圣经却无法给出答案。那里 是 坟墓之外的生命。灵魂 做了 肉体腐烂后依然存在。在这个小房间里，当我绝望最深时，证据来了，它的美丽让我眼花缭乱。

“然后我说：‘维奥拉，你给了我一生中最美妙的时刻。你带来了我的阿黛尔，把她的手放在我的手上。通过你我再次听到了她的声音。神已拣选你去做一项伟大的工作；我感觉到了。你不应该排斥这些力量；你的礼物可能对成千上万——不，是数百万——失去亲人的灵魂来说意味着最美妙的安慰。

“我对她的回答如此激烈、毫无道理感到惊讶。 “我不想要它！”她哭了。 '我恨它！我不会再坐下了！然后我试图说服她相信她的伟大使命，但没有结果。第二天晚上我来了，我们恳求她再和我们一起演戏，但她仍然热情地拒绝了。 “为什么他们不来找你或妈妈，”她抱怨道，“而是来找我？”对此我说：‘没有答案。他们把你当作他们的工具，你有责任遵行他们的意愿。”

“那天晚上，小客厅变成了战场。兰伯特夫人求助于她的父亲唐纳德·麦克劳德，也就是这个女孩的“控制者”。维奥拉几乎拼死抵抗。仿佛有一只有力的手扼住了她的喉咙，命令她服从。我担心她会被撕成碎片，最后我抗议了。 “她承受了太多的痛苦；让我们让出座位吧。但兰伯特夫人平静地说：“这是她自己的错。”她因为她的固执而受到惩罚。父亲正在管教她——他不会伤害她。”最终，力量战胜了，女孩又沉沉地睡着了，她的呼吸似乎永远静止了——她的双手冰冷而毫无生气，她的脸像大理石一样苍白。

“你为什么不干涉？”布里特严肃地问道。

“当母亲和女孩的‘控制者’不这么想时，我怎么能这么想呢？此外，我开始相信这个女孩的使命——我开始理解她工作的巨大价值。我的上帝，布里特博士，如果我拥有那个女孩的天赋，我就能吸引全世界。我会在坟墓上写下这样的话，让死亡看起来像婴儿的睡眠一样甜蜜。我会让坟墓成为通向光明的大门。我要消除地球上的悲伤。圣经不再令我满意。我想要的不仅仅是打印页面上冰冷的黑色字母。我想知道！我想用新的信息让世界兴奋不已；现在，在我手边，有一个媒介。我永远无法拥有这种力量——也许它只赋予婴儿和乳儿，但我可以传播光明。你，布里特博士，会帮助我的。让我们研究一下这个奇妙的礼物。让我们集中精力解决这个最重要的问题。我会记下发生在我们身上的一切，我会写一本燃烧的书——一份将传遍全球的启示，引导和愉悦每个人类的灵魂。想想看！地球上没有比这更伟大的使命了。这个女孩可以而且必须成为成千上万绝望灵魂的救世主、带来希望的人！”

对于这种热烈的呼吁，布里特始终保持冷漠和冷漠的批评——直到克拉克变得冷漠和排斥，收回了他的信心。两人仍然偶尔在兰伯特夫人家里见面，但他们的对立已经加深为真正的仇恨。布里特无能为力，早已不再抗议，甚至不再向女孩本人抗议。因为他知道，她的每一次反抗都会带来更剧烈的痛苦和更深的羞辱。他开始对这个课题进行研究，但到目前为止，还没有发现什么可以激发女孩治愈疾病的希望。

克拉克也把自己身边的每一本书都讲述了人类经历的这些令人困惑的阶段，并让自己接触了每一个为研究神秘现象而组织的社团——在他黑暗的小书房里，日夜沉思着这些问题。模糊地理解了看不见的宇宙的法则。他离开学业只是为了和维奥拉在一起，维奥拉对他来说就像他每天的食物一样不可或缺——就像空气一样不可或缺。她既是他的希望，又是他眼前的帮助。如何留住她，如何塑造她以符合他的意愿，如何利用她实现他消除世界对死亡的恐惧的伟大目标——这些成了他时时刻刻关心的事情，他唯一的兴趣。

为了达到这些目的，他努力用他的歌声、他的演讲和他对诗歌的热爱来迷住她，但他很清楚，不断地敲击她的“使命”的严厉弦会引起她的反感；她就这样陷入了困境，陷入了困境，放弃了她的叛逆，把自己交给了她的指导者，直到这个面色红润、强大的科学年轻人来到她的世界，让她充满了摆脱精神奴役的新决心。

克拉克爱这个女孩，当然不像他爱阿黛尔那样，但也很人性化。她的通灵能力对世界如此重要，在他眼中如此神圣，却增加了她的吸引力。 “我的一切，以及我希望成为的一切，都与拥有这个可爱、美妙的孩子息息相关，”他在承认自己的发现时说道。他现在以一种非常微妙的方式理解了这个女孩的变化，并且意识到他的目标、他每天的幸福、他的未来是多么完全依赖于她，他从座位上站起来，决心不仅建议她不要离开，而且要声称她就像他自己的——他的妻子。

“我的妻子！”听到这句意味深长的话，阿黛尔那张恳求的脸生动地浮现在他面前。在她责备的目光面前，他羞愧地扭动着，大声喊道：“但我不能独自生活！然后考虑一下——我将能够每天，也许每小时，与你见面，当我自己在灵魂的恩典中成长时，我可能会不需要任何媒介来见你。我并没有对你不忠，阿黛尔。我承认我爱这个女孩；但不是因为我爱你。你是我真正的妻子，是我唯一的配偶——你充满了我的灵魂。我对这个女孩的爱是父亲——老师的爱。我需要她——哦，我的阿黛尔，我承认，在你通过这个孩子回到我身边之前，我已经厌倦了这个世界，准备用暴力结束我的痛苦。维奥拉再次将你的手放在我的手上——她让我听到你的声音。我无法忍受失去那些宝贵的时刻，但如果她离开我，我就必须这样做。我渴望她的存在难道没有道理吗？到我这里来;今晚告诉我你要我做什么。仁慈一点，我的天使配偶。记住我空虚、荒凉的心。请记住我为自己所做的工作的伟大之处。哦，我可爱的精灵，如果你能用手臂搂住我的脖子就好了 现在，没有任何其他灵魂介入！到我这里来，对我低语——现在！当我独自一人绝望地坐着时，请让我知道你的存在——”

他不再祈祷，低下头靠在书桌上，在充满希望的痛苦中等待着——等待着，直到黑暗加深，河水那美妙而永恒的歌声宣告了人类的徒劳和愚蠢。一只蟋蟀唱着撕心裂肺的欢呼声，仿佛在说：“我明天就会死，但我从不绝望。”但没有丝绸的沙沙声，没有低语的声音来平息从受诱惑的人嘴里涌出来的苦涩叹息。

兰伯特夫人面临着一个几乎同等时刻的决定——事实上，她正在制定令她困惑的问题，以便她可以将其提交给她无形的指导者考虑。她刚刚在一块石板上写下了这样的话：“我应该带维奥拉去东部，还是我独自送她去？”当门外传来克拉克的脚步声时。她赶紧把石板藏起来，起身去迎接她的访客。

他的脸色非常苍白，从他的眼神中她看出了他的呼唤不是什么普通的意图。

“维奥拉在哪儿？”他突然问道。

“她和一个朋友一起去了街上。她很快就会回来。”

“我很高兴你孤身一人；我想和你谈谈。我不喜欢维奥拉今天的精神状态。这位东方教授的到来似乎又激起了她想要离开的不安。我想不出这个，朱莉娅；她对我来说太珍贵了，不能失去。她已经成为我心血的一部分，我不敢让她离开我的视线。她很年轻，很容易受影响。如果她进城去，我们可能都会永远失去她。是时候告诉你我爱她了——不完全像我爱阿黛尔那样，而是深深地、热情地。我想要她成为我的妻子。我请求你同意今晚告诉她这一点。你会同意吗？

兰伯特夫人惊讶地抬头看着他，以至于他直截了当的恳求在接近尾声时减弱了。她对他声音中强烈的激情感到不知所措，同时也惊讶于他在失去痛苦后不久就转向另一个人——转向她的女儿，一个孩子。最后，她低声说道：“什么会发生？” 他们 你说，安东尼？”

这个问题他已经预料到了，他的回答也已经准备好了。 “他们 我相信会建议的。因为这不符合他们的目的吗？我的伟大著作难道不依赖于维奥拉的日常合作吗？我无所畏惧 其 回答;我担心她会说什么。”他开始在房间里来回踱步。 “什么，从 其 从这个角度来看，她的音乐教育有意义吗？想想看！她掌握着死亡之门的钥匙。数百万人的希望寄托在她身上。她是这个世界上最奇妙的有机体——在所有其他方面都如此正常，如此值得信赖。她会说服所有来到她面前的人；那么，她的“控制者”不是选择我向全世界公布他们的发现吗？我们注定要以这种方式一起工作。她绝对不能去纽约，那个毁灭一切精神的大锅。只有当她受到那些爱她、了解她精致的天性和天赋的人的严密守护时，她才应该去。有一天我会带她去那里。独自一人，她将无法完成她的伟大使命，她的信息将丢失，她的信仰将被摧毁。难道你看不出她不能走吗？

“为了留住她，我已经尽力了。”

“我知道你有，”他很快回答道。 “现在你必须给我对她的权威——一个丈夫的权威。我愿意今晚对整个事情进行检验。她知道我爱她，我认为她尊重我——也许她可能已经爱我了，尽管我不值得。”

母亲现在开始颤抖。 “我不知道，安东尼；我不知道。”她认为——我们都明白——你——”

“我知道你的意思，”他恼怒地喊道。 “你为什么要坚持误读我？我对阿黛尔并没有不忠。难道你看不到我对她的忠诚依然存在，我对维奥拉的尊重并不是对死者的背叛吗？阿黛尔会明白维奥拉对我来说是多么重要、多么必要，因为她难道不知道如果维奥拉走了我什至无法与她交流吗？我并不像男孩那样爱维奥拉，而是作为一个了解自己和她的男人，一个了解她的职责的人。这是一种不同的爱，但同样真实，而且是崇高而神圣的。没有她我就会发疯。她把我从绝望中救了出来。她与我的结合将使她成为地球上数百万人的福音。”

母亲对女儿权力的披露既感到受宠若惊，又感到敬畏，于是同意了他的要求。与他的婚姻将为维奥拉提供安全的庇护，使她在生活中安定下来，也将推动她的工作，她也认为这比她生活中的任何其他问题都更重要。

“我不知道她的想法，安东尼，”沉默过后她说道。 “她最近反对我们所有的计划，这让我感到担忧和困惑。但我不认为她对她认识的任何年轻人有感情。尽管如此，她并不是一个会谈论这些事情的人。如果她同意的话——”

“等她来了，就把她交给我吧。”他回答道，恢复了自信。在这个男人自私的灵魂深处，有这样的想法：“我知道这个女孩为什么焦躁不安——我知道她为什么向远方求索；我知道她为什么要向远方求索。”这是因为她认为我和阿黛尔有着不解之缘。当她发现我爱她，我想要她做我的妻子时，她就会来——她模糊的叛逆就会停止。她的渴望将包围我——”

当门打开，维奥拉走进房间时，她那么高大，那么生动，那么充满生机，他的欲望的力量使克拉克显得谦虚，驱使他假装悲伤，说出凄凉的虚弱。母亲留下他们后，他开始低声说话，语调低沉。

“维奥拉，我有重要的事情要对你说。我对你重新决定离开感到非常不安。面对你要做的伟大工作，我不明白你怎么能想到把它扔在半空中，可以这么说，去执行一项本质上自私的差事——也是最不明智和最全面的差事。的危险。我不明白你为何又如此焦躁不安。”

女孩的脸色阴沉起来，因为她刚刚得知瑟维斯的离开，深受伤害。她从帽子上拔下别针，默默地把它放在桌子上，这个动作体现了战士摘下笨重的羽毛头盔的决心。 “很简单。”她简短地回答。 “我想暂时离开这里。我再也无法忍受这里的生活了。”

“为什么不？你怎么这么不高兴？”他带着严厉责备的语气问道。 “这是一片美丽的土地——你和自己的人民在一起，你有你的音乐，你的工作，而且你很年轻。你应该感到高兴。”

“就是这样，”她非常激烈地打断道。 “因为我还年轻，所以我想做点什么。今天在我看来，我似乎正在这个小镇上失去一生中最美好的时光，我想离开。我 必须 逃离！”

“你觉得我的工作没有价值吗？”他那双闪闪发亮的眼睛寻找着她的目光。他走近她。 “我让你厌烦了吗？我是不是很烦人？”

她的脸色软了下来。 “不，你帮了我很大的忙。没有你和我的音乐，我无法忍受这种生活；但另一种生活——这些静坐——我无法再继续下去了。”

“你不觉得你必须这样做吗？难道你没有感受到它们的巨大重要性吗？”

“不，我不！我开始怀疑自己——怀疑所有人。有什么 他们 为了你，为了任何人，我应该为他们和他们的愿望牺牲整个生命吗？

“他们给我带来了治愈；他们让兰德尔博士在晚年感到快乐；它们是你母亲每天的安慰；他们将通过我们的机构安慰数百万人。”他向她弯下腰。 “维奥拉，我的女孩，上帝为你和我设计了比这更紧密的结合。你说我安慰过你，说我让你生活得更幸福。今晚我来是为了告诉你我爱你，我希望你成为我的妻子。”

女孩因他的手的触碰而退缩，发出一声惊讶的、疑问的低声叫喊。

他继续说道：“是的，我已经变得比其他人更关心你了。你是我的员工，我的依靠。上帝派你来治愈我的精神。要不是为了你，我真该发疯。”他用一种充满激情和命令的眼神看着她。 “你千万别想离开。你属于我。”她的脸警告他，他的呼吁被误解了，他很快补充道：“我知道这对你来说是突然的，但你一定已经感受到了我的爱，你一定已经读懂了我的心。”

“不是那样的，”她低声回答。 “我以为你——我一直都明白——”他所承认的痛苦，以及他经常表达的对死去的阿黛尔的崇拜的记忆，让她感到震惊，让她充满了怀疑的风暴，她无法完成她的指控。

他接住了她掉下的线。 “我 做了 爱阿黛尔，我仍然爱她——一种神圣、神秘的爱——一种你无法理解的爱；我对你的感觉有所不同，但同样强烈。这是一个孤独、凄凉的人的哭声。到我这里来，维奥拉；不要质疑；跟随你内心的指引，就像我一样。”她那双充满指责的年轻眼睛里的光芒刺穿了他防御的盔甲，他跪倒在她面前。 “我无法解释，但这是真的，维奥拉。我没有欺骗你。我爱她——我仍然爱她。她在我的生活中至关重要。我所说的一切都是真诚的；但你是肉体，她是灵。你没看到吗？你可以安慰我——帮助我，和我一起工作，因为她做不到。”

当他热情地恳求时，女孩感到一种受伤和幻灭的感觉。她厌恶他的头碰触她的膝盖。 “你不可以那样跟我说话——你是她的。”她把他推开。 “起床。离我远点。我现在恨你。”

她的厌恶姿态中透露出一种如此最终、如此坚定的意味，以至于男人低下了头。他捂住脸，发出一声呻吟，然后静静地躺着抽泣，而她低头看着他——在那一刻，他已经长大了。他的热情让她产生了怜悯，而不是爱，她轻轻地将他放在一边，一声不吭地离开了房间。她的主人，她尘世最高的向导，从高处跌落下来，跪倒在她的脚下。这个概念，模糊却又巨大，压迫着她的心，像一顶铅帽一样压在她的大脑上。

此刻她也对生活感到绝望，不知道该向哪里寻求帮助。

科利尔医学院的细菌学系此时矗立在老东区的一条十字路口，距离科利尔公园不远。那是一座巨大的老式砖房，门槛破旧，排列得像马车谷仓一样难看。它的入口只是墙上的一个缝隙，窗户是长方形的开口，可以让光线透进来。整个外观看不到一丝色彩或优雅，看不到任何端庄的线条。它是为了使用而建造的，而不是为了装饰。

从内部来看，它也同样实用。它的大厅空荡荡、冷清，脚步声回响，像军营的大厅一样令人厌恶。来访者感到寒冷、失望，仿佛遇到了一位冷漠女主人的傲慢仆人。它似乎是数学、机械和材料的家园；但这是一个错误。这是一座梦想之家。只要敲一扇丑陋的门，就会让人走进最快乐、最有学问、最有想象力的人面前——细菌人、诗人、梦想家和实验家，全神贯注地追求着他高不可攀，关注有机生命的终极结构，困惑不解，却因热爱自己的工作而不懈努力，而世界上的病人则相信他是利他主义的天使。

世界上遥远的河流都已被穿越和绘制过，但人类动脉中的血流却充满了未知。爱斯基摩人的习惯、中非矮人的习俗、苏门答腊狒狒的生活方式都被详细记录下来，但吞噬细胞的战争仍然不确定、无法解释。细菌学家现在正在用显微镜检查血液的组成部分，分离、繁殖和仔细研究发烧细菌、肿瘤生长和人类寄生虫的其他基本形式，以发现它们的拮抗作用、它们的作用。喜好；因为在这些肉体的丛林中，种族战争的进行就像在亚马逊森林中一样——白细胞对抗红细胞，吞噬、毁灭。

这些光秃秃、荒凉的门后面的人是不知疲倦的工人，也是先知和圣人。他们（以低得离谱的工资）辛勤工作，公开宣称希望消除疾病。他们不会因无法解决的事情而沮丧而停下来。他们——或者说像他们这样的人——发现了治疗天花、恐水症、白喉和黄热病的方法。他们和他们的同类给临产的妇女带来了氯仿，给受伤的士兵带来了乙醚。他们通过抗菌敷料大大减少了战场上的死亡人数，并通过一项又一项的发现降低了婴儿疾病的破坏性。他们已经控制了黄热病，并且即将根除伤寒，但他们说“我们的工作才刚刚开始”。

在这里，人们实现了他们的梦想。尽管他们的言语平静而克制，但他们的内心却对未被发现的事物充满热情。他们就像那些寻找地球理论上的两极的人，不畏无尽的失败。他们呼吸急促，看着电子燃烧并坠落，看到物质的最终构成几乎就在他们的掌握之中，但他们不允许自己的梦想蒙蔽或削弱他们疲惫而无望的追求。

他们也有对人类的英雄主义。当他们近距离探究腐烂的原因和病态生长的秘密时，他们面对面地面对死亡。某些细菌比狮子更危险。血液中毒对于外科医生来说比饥饿对于北极探险家来说是更持久的威胁。这些学生永远不知道他们可能会无意中释放出什么驱逐舰。异常组织的横截面比玫瑰叶更迷人，一簇杆菌比雪花更美丽。这些冷静的年轻人超越了所有的信条，但他们却在未知的不可言喻的威严面前屈服。对他们来说，希伯来圣经只不过是人类童年时期吟游诗人的故事，穆罕默德是一个毫无根据的梦想家，而基督只是战争时代爱的化身。他们所设想的造物主太深奥了，无法承认任何属性。他既不思考也不感觉，在第一个微弱细胞底部跳动的生命是把恒星与它们绕转的太阳结合在一起的同一力量的一部分。

尽管他们每天都会接触最可怕的疾病和死亡病例，但他们还是轻快地来来去去，在楼梯上开玩笑地打招呼。他们每晚回到家中读书、抽烟斗，表现得像普通的父亲、兄弟和丈夫。她们甚至像其他男人一样做爱；但是，尽管如此，他们可能会像炼金术士一样被缪斯所超越，像孩子一样受到恐惧和希望的影响。对于商人来说，他们的方式是沉默和巫术的方式。他们隐藏的信念与所有基督教救赎理论相悖，他们王国的现实比任何战争或和平的浪漫故事都更令人震惊。对他们来说，物质就像它所产生的变革力量一样不可溶解。他们玩弄神经，揭露生命跳动的心脏，永远寻找，却永远失败。

莫顿·塞维斯在对沙子、星星和消失的人类洞穴进行了八周的研究后，回到了这座空荡荡的大建筑，来到了其中一间贫瘠的房间。他从无限孤独、巨大而美丽的世界中隐居出来，潜心研究无限渺小的生物的习性，倾听原生动物蜂拥而至、逐渐减弱的喧嚣。他回来时，和往常一样，皮肤黝黑，机敏，目光敏锐——渴望工作，对新的胜利充满信心，因为他是体重的调查员，在年轻的科学家中名列前茅。在街上，他与其他有良好社会地位的温文尔雅的年轻人没有什么区别。在他的实验室里，他是一位大师，全神贯注、沉默寡言、计划精确。

他的首领是个身材矮小、头发花白、驼背、粗鲁的德国人，他心不在焉地微笑着迎接他，简短地评价了他的健康状况，然后他们就开始工作了。三十秒后，他忘记了沙漠，忘记了维奥拉的脸，他所有的精力都集中在眼睛下方的癌症部分上。一种新开发的细菌，其高度只有蚊子脚趾的千分之一，将科洛罗河谷拒之门外。他一整天都在管子、罐子和铜炉的荒野中走来走去，凝视、观察——从某种意义上来说，他很高兴。

但到了晚上，当他独自在书房里拿着烟斗时，薰衣草色的沙滩、紫罗兰色的山峰、鲜艳的藏红花色的天空又带着力量回来了。维奥拉也回来了，让他从阅读中着迷，让他的微观世界的阴暗物质和实验室的气味变得令人讨厌。

他再也没有听到她的消息。布里特写过一两次，但没有提及克拉克或兰伯特夫妇，瑟维斯也懒得特别询问他们。对他来说，最好不要再关心这个女孩的奇异历史。他讨厌不守规矩、自命不凡。他自己的生活如此清晰，如此有条不紊，让她每天的表演显得更加怪异。回想起来，这一切变得如此愚蠢，以至于他没有提起这件事，甚至对他的妹妹也是如此。

他对纽约的了解并不完全正确，因为他的妹妹赖斯夫人——一个有两个孩子的寡妇——掌管着他的房子，或者更确切地说，他的双层公寓，她是一个社交灵魂，不仅仅是四处走动。自由，但定期娱乐。他们生活得富丽堂皇，他们所生活的世界充满了责任和理智的快乐。他们在餐桌上招待来自巴黎的艺术家、柏林的学者和伦敦的文学名流，他们享受这一切，羡慕这座城市更富有、更炫耀的家庭，同时鄙视赫斯特街的穷人。他们坚持要求客人具备的一项品质是聪明才智。也许他们对无聊有点严厉。

他们的道路与所谓的工业领袖和泽西岛的农民一样遥远，布罗德街的轰鸣声距离他们如此遥远，但就像窗玻璃外黄蜂的嗡嗡声一样。对于西藏探险家来说，这种生活是狭窄的。对于第五大道上的同性恋晚宴来说，这似乎很乏味。对于华尔街的铁路破坏者来说，这无疑是微不足道的。对商人来说，这是无利可图的，但他们却对此很满意，并以同样善意的蔑视态度看待熙熙攘攘的时尚人群和喧嚣的商业世界。

“我们不可能都是生物学家，”塞维斯习惯说，“我想一定有人会继续偷窃和谋杀。”

这些服务人员出身优良，他们知道这一点，也感受到了这一点。他们的头型、形状优美的双手，尤其是漂亮的鼻子都体现了他们的教养。 “我们倾向于粗短，这是真的，但我们有贵族的鼻子——他们可以追溯到多瑙河的雅利安人，”赖斯夫人对一位朋友说。 “莫顿不能考虑一个出身可疑的女孩，无论她多么富有或多么迷人。我们相信股票——不是家庭，而是 应变;一个家庭是一个偶然，一个应变是一个形成。莫顿家族和瑟维斯家族是 株。他们在我兄弟身上的结合仍然会让人感受到。”她对他的力量有着绝对的信心。 “他是那个时代最伟大的年轻人之一。时间会证明一切，”她补充道，似乎是为了巩固她的论点。

他们的熟人圈子首先包括——当然——科学团体，然后在不断扩大的浪潮中包括一般文学和教育兄弟会、艺术和音乐界，最后他们与老纽约家庭保持联系，他们自己的同学和朋友以及相关的人。莫顿把生活中社交方面的所有细节和职责都交给了凯特，她作为女主人的机智、技巧和魅力，使得周二下午她的房间里挤满了一群快乐的男女。他们既聪明又杰出，而且不拘礼节。在这些人群中，塞维斯像他的任何客人一样超脱一切责任，发现与聪明人的接触是他一生中最大的乐趣之一。

这些不同的圈子远离了主义。他们为自己的平衡、常识和比较思想储备而自豪。诚然，一些女性或多或少公开地接受了基督教科学，但她们认为没有必要改变信仰。政治信条只是开玩笑地讨论。提倡任何特殊的信仰都会让自己感到厌烦，尽管严格意义上的大学圈子里的一些人有时确实在谈话中变得很麻烦。然而，这被像瑟维斯这样的年轻人视为“老顽固主义”，他们微笑着轻蔑地提到“职业独白的时代”。与他们交谈是一种消遣的方式，而不是对任何特殊主题的启发。

彻底的唯灵论者从未涉足过这些圈子。说实话，这些现代主义者不允许未来让他们感到敬畏或恐惧。他们中的一些人去了教堂，但他们是平静、耐心地去教堂，就像是为了一种庄严的仪式，有些人有时可能会通过印刷品祈求的媒介进行祈祷，但总的来说，他们已经达到了一种哲学上的冷漠，就像天堂还是地狱这一一度紧迫的问题。他们远非默许道德只不过是肮脏的破布这一格言，而是将善行和纯洁的思想看得比任何宗教都高。

赖斯夫人幽默地说：“不，我不想被拯救。”我没有迷路。我不知道，因为我关心永生。永远是一段很长的时间——我可能会感到无聊；无论如何，未来必须照顾好自己。”

在他朋友们的所有客厅里，莫顿·塞维斯都是最受欢迎的客人。他坦率、孩子气的作风，他随意的着装，他从不装腔作势，他本质上的良好友谊欺骗了他的大多数熟人，让他们认为他只是一个科学的涉足者，一个自娱自乐的有钱人；但有资格了解情况的魏斯曼说：“他有毅力、专注、敏锐的头脑、清晰的眼睛和敏锐的洞察力。” 非常丰富 体质。”

此外，他属于富有想象力的人，不属于那些写书或写诗的人，而是属于那些挖掘山脉、建造巨大桥梁、发明新发动机以及像丝带一样玩弄电流的人。小说家以他对人性的了解为基础，将自己投射到未知之中，就像科学家站在前人的发现之上，在黑暗中寻找新的星星、新的力量一样。然而，正如克拉克和他的党派愤怒地宣称的那样，“小说家和科学家都忽视了对我们所有人来说最重要的问题——灵魂死后生存的问题”——忽视它，直到某个亲人去世，然后他们也秘密地痛苦过了一会儿，他们才起身回去工作，隐藏着他们那一小时的痛苦给他们带来的信念。

也许不是偶然，而是深层的设计，让这位精力充沛的年轻调查员面对一个亟待解决的谜团——当然，看不见的力量用年轻的几乎不可抗拒的诱惑来引诱他们的钩子，这并非没有技巧。和热情的女孩。如果阴影中有逻辑的话，那么命运就站在维奥拉一边。

三月下旬的一天早晨，当瑟维斯还在处理早上的邮件时，布里特博士的卡片进来了，带来了对卡罗罗的即时、生动的回忆。在那里度过的美好时光并没有从他的脑海中消失，尽管他已经成功地将他的浪漫故事放在他工作的大脑的背景中，并且放弃了再次见到维奥拉的所有想法。

他最诚挚地向布里特打招呼。 “原来你终于出现了！肺怎么样？这对你来说不是一年中最原始的时刻吗？”

“嗯，是;但我父亲几天前去世了，我不得不赶过来，在附近我跑进去看看你和‘虫子’相处得怎么样。”

“哦，我们正在蓬勃发展。他们的方式非常吸引人。你自己的‘农场’怎么样？”

“一切都成了废墟。事实是我忽略了这些可怜的小畜生。在我开始研究‘幽灵’之后，我就没有时间去理会细菌了。”

“你该不会告诉我你已经成为了灵魂调查员吧！你发现了什么？”

“没什么。”这是我解决过的最难以捉摸的问题。你还记得兰伯特一家吗？

“很好。我正想问问他们的事呢。”

“他们现在就在这里。”

“这里！在纽约？”

“是的。他们去年秋天去了波士顿——正如你所知，波士顿是恐怖活动的温床。他们在那里与弟兄们一起度过了冬天，现在来到这里寻求改变。”

“他们会得到的。那女孩在做什么？

“主要是吓人。这就是她的“指导者”允许她做的全部事情。在幽灵般的祖父——一个冷酷的老家伙的帮助下，克拉克仍然统治着这个家庭。他们现在定期举行‘降神会’。”

“你不是这个意思！”瑟维斯的脸色变得更加严肃。 “我本来希望他们能让她免受这种羞辱。我没有在报纸上看到过她的名字。”

“噢，他们还没有走到这一步。这些圈子“非常精选”。只邀请该信仰的牧师和他们的朋友——不收入场费——你明白吗？”

“我对此很高兴。如果让这个孩子扮演托钵僧和养钱人的双重角色，那就太糟糕了。但是，告诉我，你对她的通灵这个话题有什么新的了解吗？

“嗯，是。我稍微改变了我的观点。我倾向于认为这种信仰通常有一定的基础。该主题的文献数量巨大，其中一些文献与任何物理论文一样经过验证。我确信兰伯特小姐没有欺骗的意图——她不可能有这样做的动机——但克拉克有，但我无法将他与这些现象直接联系起来。”

“她的健康状况如何？”

“显然，非常好。她和你看到她时一样绽放，而且在心智上更加成熟。”

“她已经屈服于自己的生活了吗？”

“有时她是，有时不是。她对影响非常敏感，有时当克拉克在附近时，她几乎和他一样热情，有时她会痛苦地抱怨。我试图将她从克拉克手中解救出来，但她不给我必要的权力。”

“你是什么意思？”

布里特回答时，脸上带着悲伤和嘲讽的表情：“我提出要娶她——我不是很慷慨吗？她拒绝了我谦虚的提议，暗示我和克拉克以及幽灵之间只有很小的选择。不，我老实说，她对此非常友善，并补充说也许克拉克先生是对的——她在这个世界上的职责是“让人们相信力量的真实性”，或者类似的东西。 “我永远不会结婚，”她补充道，以减轻打击，而且她确实看起来是一个与众不同的人。

瑟维斯低头看着他的书。 “我想她想象自己患了致命的疾病。我承认我有时也会这样想她。我不明白为什么她的父母——”他检查了一下自己。 “他们停在哪里？”

“他们住在河滨大道附近，里面住着一位狂热的狂热爱好者，他有很多钱，就是老西蒙·普拉特。”

“我听说过西蒙——记者在‘华尔街’上称他为西蒙叔叔。我现在记得他的唯灵论。他的妻子死后，他经历了一些非凡的经历——她被淹死了，不是吗？

“你不能对西蒙的悲伤感到不确定，医生，因为它们造就了他现在的样子。我发现这些信徒的起点都差不多。西蒙的妻子和两个女儿在英吉利海峡失踪。西蒙在接下来的周一——或者也许是周二——成为了信徒。”

“我现在还记得他的人生故事。这一切都非常悲惨。我奇怪他没有变成疯子。”

“有些人认为他做到了，”布里特干巴巴地回答。

“所以他们和西蒙在一起。有人告诉我，他生活得很华丽。”

“就像一位孤独的美国客人住在巴黎一家每天二十法郎的酒店里。是的，他们在那里很舒服——除了那个女孩。如果我是一个判断者的话，她是不满和不高兴的，并且日夜被哀悼的信徒围困，更不用说某些多情的男性了。”

这让瑟维斯感到很痛，于是他转移了立场。 “她还继续她的音乐吗？”

布里特又笑了，但笑得并不幽默。 “她在黑暗中弹奏竖琴。”

“你的意思是-”

“她采用了更多的规则技巧——具体化花朵、石板书写、不用手演奏音乐等等。”

“你不是这个意思！我很难将这种行为与她联系起来。”他的声音里夹杂着悲伤和愤慨。

“我向你保证，我昨晚在一个‘圈子’里，这些事情是在克拉克担任领头的情况下发生的。没有一点原创性——都是同样的旧磨坊，同样的旧谷物，但我不认为她有任何有害的责任。我不敢相信她是故意耍花招，但她现在被一群喋喋不休、脾气温和的女人和钟楼里有蝙蝠的男人包围着，他们团结起来向她保证，必须培养她的上帝赋予的力量。他们已经切断了她与任何体面婚姻的联系——她实际上是他们一时兴起的俘虏。我不知道他们接下来会诱导她做什么。我打算在这里待上一两个星期，看看情况如何。”一阵剧烈的咳嗽打断了他的话。当他回过神来时，他侧头看了看。 “这不是桃花气候吗？你难道不认为他们至少会建造一座大城市，让微生物无法靠天才来养肥吗？”

“是什么让克拉克同意离开西方？当我在那里时，他强烈反对她去。”

“哦，这很简单。他写了一本书 不朽的物理证明，并且，出于对出版商的渴望，他撤回了对她计划的反对，并宣布自己愿意去波士顿——费用由兰伯特承担。

“他不在教会里吗？”

“绝对地。你应该听过他的告别讲道。这确实是我听过的最戏剧性的演讲。他接着宣称，希伯来人并不是唯一的先知，灵感的泉源还没有干涸，今天的启示正等待着每个人，他是在悲伤的指引下在钥匙孔旁聆听的。 ， 等等。我为女孩的秘密而颤抖，但他掌控着自己，没有背叛她。没有人确切知道她的异常情况是什么。”

“兰伯特怎么样？他为什么不拉手？”

“他似乎对这一切感到困惑，并对克拉克和女孩的‘控制’感到震惊。 “对我来说，这一切都超出了界限，”他说，但他有点不喜欢他们的离开。他对克拉克破坏他的家感到愤怒，如果这个女孩是他自己的，我想他早就停止了生意。然后有一个年轻人，克林顿·沃德，他为兰伯特工作，一个优秀的年轻人——”

“我记得他。”

“嗯，看来他的父亲是波士顿一家出版公司的合伙人，克拉克试图利用他来出版他的书，我相信他的公司会接受它。与此同时，年轻人爱上了维奥拉，愿意娶她并冒险，但他的家人却感到非常震惊。维奥拉知道这一点——或者出于其他原因——拒绝了他。你就在那里！这个女孩似乎各方面都受到了诅咒，最糟糕的是，她每天都要忍受克拉克和他的胡言乱语十二个小时。”

“她和克拉克是什么关系？”瑟维斯犹豫地问道。

“好吧，现在我不知道了。有时我觉得他用某种地狱般的催眠力量控制着她；话又说回来，从她自己的一句话来看，我认为她认为自己的思想有病，不可能与任何人结婚。”

“我不明白这位母亲怎么能袖手旁观，看着女儿的生命被烧毁。”

“而她，似乎成了死者的奴隶。她经常告诉我，她父亲的精神指引着她的每一个动作。”

“那个特别的鬼魂就是克拉克——你不这么认为吗？”

布里特的眼睛眯了起来。 “我不知道。我从来没能将他与这些显现中的任何一个直接联系起来，但他一定是其中一部分的根源。”

“那么，一切都会回到女孩本人身上。”

布里特不安地站起来。 “我再说一遍，我完全茫然了。我研究了老兰德尔笔记的每一行，直到我自己都“傻了”。所有的一切都让这个女孩变得歇斯底里——让她陷入了某种该死的精神弱点。如果我能在两年前阻止它，她可能已经长大了。现在，每一年都让她更难以摆脱它——不管它是什么。”

“太残暴了！”瑟维斯惊呼道。 “没有人有权采取行动吗？”

布里特耸耸肩。 “如果父母（生者和死者）都同意，你会怎么做？只有丈夫才能介入，而克拉克似乎即将夺取这个位置。不，我看不到这个女孩的希望。毕竟，她加入克拉克也许是对的。”

瑟维斯站起来，释放了他四肢一直处于的紧张情绪。 “你不知道他们现在的计划吗？”

“不，只是克拉克即将出版。”他环顾房间。 “与我的时代相比，这是多么大的发展啊！细菌学和汽车运输在惊人的扩张中并驾齐驱。”

于是，他们放弃了对兰伯特夫妇和他们的审判的所有提及，转而将注意力转向吞噬细胞和其他贪婪的螨虫，它们的好恶虽然微小，但比大炮更具破坏性。

瑟维斯那天的工作就结束了。布里特走后，他无所事事地坐在办公桌前，脑子里满是他听说的维奥拉所唤起的令人作呕的画面。 “他们正在摧毁一个美丽的灵魂，”当他回忆起前往矿井的路上她迷人的脸庞和声音时，他痛苦地喊道。 “他们强迫一个迷人的女孩过上令人厌恶的生活，他们把她的道德品质扭曲成丑陋和死亡——而克拉克就是这个计划的狂热魔鬼。”

想要见到她、与她交谈、衡量她的变化的愿望变得非常强烈——强烈到他想打个电话，但想到克拉克，这个决心在完全形成之前就被打断了。 “也许布里特是对的——克拉克腐烂的灵魂已经致命地感染了她。”

当魏斯曼进来时，瑟维斯转向他说：“医生，我想问你一个非常不寻常的问题。”

“继续吧。”老人回答道，说话时不时带着一点德国人的味道。

“你对招魂术的主张有何看法？”

魏斯曼并没有像塞维斯预料的那样微笑。他变得严肃起来。 “我没有资格评判。总的来说，我想说有很多阶段需要考虑。有数百万人相信它——这从一开始就证明了一些小的事实基础。另一方面，这些人的轻信行为也应该被考虑在内。”

“你的意思是他们是那些失去亲人并急于相信的人？”

“恰恰。再说一次，总的来说，我发现在这个神秘的世界里几乎没有什么是不可能的。借用一个古老的比喻，如果我在这蒲式耳的谷壳中发现一粒麦子，我不会感到惊讶。世界上每一种真实的现象都与其他每一种现象都有联系，我相信唯灵论假说的真假可以根据物理科学来确定。如果我像你一样年轻、强壮，我就会致力于研究这种妄想。它应该由像你这样的人来研究——对于你来说，死亡并不近在眼前；至于我，我已经死了两个儿子和一个妻子；我的判断力将因此而失效。你没有死人；你会成为这些精神声音和迹象的令人钦佩的学生。”

塞维斯虽然对老人出人意料的严肃态度感到有些敬畏，但还是继续冒险。 “你亲眼目睹过克鲁克斯和佐尔纳列举的这些不负责任的行为吗？”

“我把它们放在我自己的房间里。”老者眼睛里闪烁着光芒。有一次，一天清晨，当我在床上打瞌睡时，一朵淡淡的云，像一股烟雾，开始在我的头顶上形成。它变得下垂，向我伸出来，从中伸出了一只手。我说：‘这是幻觉——非常奇怪！我会触摸它，它就会消失。我伸手——我抓住了那只手——它温暖而坚固！ 我大叫一声从床上跳了起来。”他因自己清晰记得的尴尬而咯咯地笑了。

“你怎么解释？当然，这只是一种幻觉。你以为这种错觉只是视觉上的——它延伸到了触觉上。”

魏斯曼的眼睛里闪烁着思索的光芒。 “我们就这样让它过去吧。正如我们所知，感官世界和精神世界奇妙地混合在一起。”

“但据我所知，这些表现是非常愚蠢和幼稚的——”

“唉，那么多愚蠢幼稚的人都去了另一个世界了。死亡并不是智慧的开始。我已经是个老人了，塞维斯，我的许多亲人已经去世了。我愿意相信他们仍然有知觉，也许他们是。我是德国人。我的血管里流淌着康德的血液。”他似乎在自言自语。 “我不再像以前那样乐于教条主义。由于我不知道物质的本质，因此假设我能够了解精神的深度，那将是愚蠢的。科学本质上的绝望让我变得谦卑。招魂术当然是一种令人舒服的信仰。如果可以的话，我很乐意拥抱它。我暂缓判断。这种对另一种生活的渴望可能只是一个更不合理的时代的残余，我们会随着年龄的增长而超越的。”

瑟维斯对他的上司的态度深感惊讶。他原以为他的问题会得到一个大的、平静的、带着轻蔑的答复。他在做出决定时遇到了怀疑、犹豫，这暴露了他的软弱。鲁道夫·魏斯曼虽然伟大，但他也是无数失去亲人的人中的一员，他们的判断被激情所蒙蔽。他也已经老了，他那包罗万象的头脑已经屈服于幻觉。

年轻人对他的首领的尊敬并没有减少，但是当他意识到另一位著名的、无所畏惧的调查员即将结束他的伟大用处时，一种悲伤的感觉席卷了他，而他那清澈的蓝色钢铁般的智慧已经生锈了。年龄开始下降。事实上，他早期训练的力量、他对康德及其学派的崇拜仍然至关重要。

然后他思考着自己的话。 “如果我是像你这样的年轻人，我就会研究这个东西，”并回忆说，没有哪个科学年轻人曾致力于此。 “他们都是在晚年、在丧亲之痛之后才意识到这一点的。”

失去亲人的人！整个巨大的错觉似乎都建立在失去亲人的人对他们所爱的人的强烈渴望之上。信徒中伟大而善良的男女（他愿意承认有这样的人）前来调查，他们因悲伤而变得虚弱，因损失而变得不合逻辑。他们把理智的判断、力量和冷静的耐心放在一边，急切地抓住给予他们的安慰。他们不仅被欺骗了，还因为他们的盲目、对安慰的渴望以及他们的轻信而发展出欺诈行为。他还很年轻，能够拥有不可阻挡的理论——能够全心全意地忠于自己的信条。对于他这个一元论者来说，灵魂（作为身体之外的实体）并不存在。意识是高级神经中枢的身体紊乱，被认为是大脑的分泌物。他承认水晶和莫内拉之间没有分界线，而且人与动物之间（当然）也没有鸿沟。宇宙是一个整体，它的所有形式和力量都对一种物质进行了区分，而这种物质太神秘了，无法分析或命名。在这样的哲学中，不可能存在任何假设，哪怕是斜视二元论，或者允许像个体性死后持续存在这样幼稚的概念。

然而，他并没有把他那顽固的原则带到他朋友的家中，也很少允许他们干扰他享受美酒或美食、剧院或客厅。从愤世嫉俗的角度来看，这一事实证明他的信仰就像主教的信仰一样真实地属于他的实验室，斯宾塞、达尔文、科赫和海克尔是其文章的创始人。

那天晚上，他回到家，脑子里混杂着魏斯曼和布里特的话，强烈地想把维奥拉的故事告诉他的妹妹，以博取她对这个可怜的女孩的同情。

但碰巧凯特满脑子都是去吃饭的事，直到他们上路之前他才来得及打开这个话题，到那时他已经决定不要把她卷入他的困惑之中。

巧合的是，晚宴上的一位客人讲述了几年前他有幸与一位“通灵者”分享的一系列经历，给整个公司带来了一丝期待。他眼中带着笑意，言语中充满活力，讲述着他的神秘感，但塞维斯刚刚开始关注这个话题，他不得不对在场的每个人表现出的强烈兴趣感到惊讶。 “无论我们如何掩饰它，”叙述者说，“这个关于死后生命的问题是我们所有问题的首要问题。毕竟，这是至高无上的谜团。”

对此，女主人说道：“我希望 we 可以看到其中一些东西。你让我们美味地颤抖。你能不能找个时间带上这位出色的年轻女子——她们总是女人，不是吗？”

“噢，不，”年轻人笑着回答。 “我见过的最有趣的‘特技’之一是华盛顿一个人的表演，他在幕布后面拉着你的双手弹奏班卓琴。”

“为什么 do 神灵会做出如此愚蠢的事情吗？我认为他们会为表现得如此‘轻浮’而感到羞耻。”

“他们总是像印度人一样说话，不是吗？真遗憾。为什么他们不端庄、不真诚呢？”

年轻的讲故事的人继续说道。 “就是这样。媒介在创造这些奇迹时表现得如此冷漠，以至于无法令人信服。为什么，当我拿着一块石板以便他们可以在上面写字时，我只关心时钟的滴答声，他们让我对他们的骗局如此粗心。耳边的声音无法让我惊慌，现在没有任何东西，绝对没有任何东西可以“惊动我的头发”。你把一个土豆放进炉边的灰烬里，它最终会变成可以吃的东西。你把媒介放在黑暗的地方，她会让你灵魂的神经感到刺痛。”

在所有这些玩笑中，瑟维斯察觉到了一种兴趣的脉搏，这种兴趣抓住了最小的孩子最秘密的希望和恐惧，并以基本的恐惧和渴望震撼了最大的孩子。就好像怀疑和惊奇之海的闸门已经打开，淹没了十几个迄今为止像草坪一样维护得很好的头脑。问题像软木塞一样突然弹出，答案也像酒的潺潺声一样活泼，但话题仍然不确定——争论没有结论。

在回家的路上，瑟维斯对他的妹妹说：“你有没有注意到，当拉尔夫开始讨论神秘学时，沉默变得多么深刻？”

“总是如此。”

“是不是真的？我没有特别注意到这一点。”

“那是因为人们不敢在你们科学家面前谈论这些事情。哎呀，那里的每个女人都看过手相师或读心术之类的东西。”

“你让我很惊讶。你？”

“当然！我每隔一段时间就去一次只是为了好玩。我们都假装不相信它，但我们确实相信。每次我去新的地方我都会害怕——它们都是如此令人毛骨悚然的生物。我上次去的那家确实很奇怪。”

服务很严厉。 “凯特，我为你感到羞耻。想想看，你这个洞察力极强的女人，竟然与像我这样具有罕见智慧的人交往——”

“但是你们这些聪明人为什么不去调查一下这些事情呢？当你可以如此轻松地指导我们并保护我们时，为什么你要让我们这些可怜的未经训练的情感生物遭受愚弄呢？”

“因为，虽然我们可以轻易地证明你被愚弄了，但你仍然会追随你的锯末偶像。我们更愿意将您从您的 身体 虚弱和传染病，因此对你的思想做出反应。”

她笑了。 “你真是太聪明了，也太正派了。与你的细菌待在一起，夺走我们的疾病，但留下我们，哦，留下我们的美味 惊险刺激！”她变得严肃起来。 “事实是，莫顿，我们都有感觉到死者存在的时刻。我愿意。父亲和母亲似乎从未离开过我们格雷斯兰的金库；有时他们似乎和我一起在房间里。你可能会说，这完全是一种幻想，而且非常愚蠢，但我相信当乔治生病时，母亲确实会来帮助我照顾他。有时在深夜，我会感到兴奋，仿佛她触碰了我。”

他并非没有同情心，他说道：“你以前从来没有暗示过这一点。”

“我害怕这样做。如果母亲以某种空灵的形式存在于某个地方，为什么她不能回来呢？为什么她的思想不能作用于我的思想并产生她存在的感觉？”

“也许可以。只是没有证据证明它曾经发生过。”

“现在听着，莫顿，只要我们最后讨论这个话题，我想问你，你相信母亲已经消失了——彻底消失了吗？”她在紧张的沉默中等待着，当他们经过一盏路灯时，灯光落在他的脸上，他似乎突然变得苍白。 “你相信达尔文、斯宾塞和维克多雨果已经化为虚无吗？”

“不，我内心深处无法这么想，但从理论上讲，我无法想象除了身体之外还有任何灵魂的存在。想想看！如果母亲还活着，那么所有数十亿的食人者、黑人、布须曼人也都活着——你不能划清界限并说‘不朽的灵魂从这里开始。’”

“这不是问题。我不相信父亲、母亲和海沃德已经消失在一把尘埃中，我坚持相信他们活着的自我，不是因为主教和祈祷书这么说，而是因为我自己的思想这么说。我不会交出他们，仅此而已。”

“然而，源自这种愿望的信仰并没有充分的基础。我想告诉你我去年夏天遇到的一些人。他们会让你感兴趣的。”于是他想象出了他与维奥拉的第一次会面。他描述了母亲和克拉克。他讲述了他对布里特的采访以及兰德尔对维奥拉生活的揭露。 “现在他们已经说服了这个女孩，让她相信她应该扩大自己的势力范围，并用她的诡计来影响这座大都市。”

“你怎么知道这是骗局？”

“布里特说——”

“我不在乎布里特说什么。你发现这个母亲很可爱，你也承认这个女孩很迷人。在这种事情上我会相信你的直觉，莫特；你从来都不是一个追赶邋遢者和风流女子的人。她的眼睛很好看吗？”

“美丽的眼睛，沉稳，蓝灰色，充满渴望。一开始她让我着迷——”

“那你还对她有感情吗？”

“我从来没有说过我对她有感情。”

“我不在乎你说什么。从你的声音我可以看出她是一个迷失的甜蜜的梦。你想要我做什么？”

“没有。”

“是的你是。你想让我见见她，看看她在这里做什么。凯特来救援了！我明天会去。”

“你太急躁了！你可以等一下，了解我的想法。”

“我已经明白了你的想法，我相信做事要积极。另外，你也勾起了我的好奇心。经过这么多年的等待，看到你对除了你的“虫子”之外的东西感兴趣！——我很高兴知道你是人类，并且世界上有一个女人可以让你呻吟。你被击中了——别否认！你一直对那个女孩耿耿于怀。我知道你被打了，但我想我会等到你愿意说话为止。我一见到她就疯了。我马上行动。”

“对你的要求有点过分，但我希望你能考虑到我——”

“如果你的理论是正确的，那么这个女孩应该在这个城市的神秘主义者、怪胎和阿谀奉承者彻底宠坏她之前被带走。无论如何，我会以我自己的名义调查她的案子。”抱着这样的决心，她蜷缩在马车的角落里，沉默不语。

瑟维斯发现，与妹妹分享他的经历极大地增加了他怀疑的分量和重要性。维奥拉和她独特的围攻突然变成了一个至关重要的问题——需要立即解决，他漫不经心地补充道：“公平地说，兰伯特家族不需要为了任何‘精神力量’的展示而拿钱。” .’”

突然，凯特坐了起来。 “假设那个女孩真的 具有 这些权力？”

“那是不可能的！”

“为什么不可能？你们科学家假装知道吗 所有 有什么知道的吗？

“当然不是；但想想这样的承认涉及什么。”

“不管 什么 它涉及。你不会问 X 光检查涉及什么；你会问。你首先要问，这是事实吗？如果这个女孩有这些能力，那又怎样？你连她的主张是什么都不知道吧？”

“不详细。”

“好吧，那么，在你知道你为什么谴责她之前，不要谴责她。”

“凯特，你让我很惊讶。我以为你会赞扬我冷静的判断力、我的理智，你瞧！正如塞琳娜阿姨所说，你已经成为女孩的拥护者和科学的攻击者。”

“一点也不。我只是说你们科学界人士不应该如此侮辱性地认为有信仰的人都是傻瓜。”

“我们不说傻瓜，我们只是说被误导了。”

“无论如何，你让我对这种媒介感兴趣——”

“看在上帝的份上，如果你要见她，就不要这么叫她。把这样的名字用在那个可爱的孩子身上是一种侮辱。”

凯特的声音兴奋地喊道：“现在我知道你爱上了她。”

“太太。赖斯，你是一个非常聪明的女人。”

“我希望我不会发现你是一个非常愚蠢的科学家，”她回答道，在言语和语气上都暗示着优越感。

妹妹的直言不讳让莫顿直面自己。他的心被维奥拉触动了，他的想象力被维奥拉激发了，因此他对她生活中不可爱的一面感到不满和愤怒。正是对她的记忆，让他对凯特所推崇的几位在他的圈子里美丽的女性的主张三心二意。

现在，他的大脑（本来应该完全被细菌所控制）充满了一个人的面孔和命运，这个人要么生活在谎言中，要么患有大脑发育异常。对于一个决心以冷静的远见缓慢行动的人来说，这是一种奇异而悲伤的困境。而且，他的爱所生活和感动的整个世界是令人厌恶的、愚蠢的、病态的。自从与她见面后，他试图阅读一些专门介绍她信仰的期刊，发现它们极其空洞——印刷肮脏，措辞潦草，充满了亚里士多德、哥伦布和孔子的信息，这会令人沮丧。在一个十二岁的男孩身上。这些措辞、那些黑话让他感到恶心。 “通灵者”、“世界著名灵媒”、“手相学家”、“钟表学家”以及只有魔鬼自己才知道的其他广告，让他充满了厌恶，让他对病态的人性本已很糟糕的看法更加糟糕。维奥拉现在成为了这些人的一部分——作为一名女演员，她分享着嫉妒、吹牛、自私、公然为成功而奋斗的经历，这些都反映在戏剧杂志的广告专栏中。他逐一查看了“展示广告”栏 精神世界，胆怯地，几乎期待看到“神奇的通灵者维奥拉·兰伯特小姐，山里的女先知”的通知——等等。

经过更深入的思考，他发现这些论文巧妙地抓住了人类最弱点、最不设防的时刻；他们有杂技演员的勇气，知道观众眼中的盲点。它们占据了与世界上所有其他期刊不同的领域。科学、文学和艺术仅在触及、阐明或加强对“彼岸”的信念时才与他们相关。它们就像贸易期刊一样特别——事实上，对于 靴子新闻 偶尔印刷书籍评论，在其页面中可以找到一些令人钦佩的故事，并排显示有关“抛光机”和缝纫机的注释。

对圆圈、静坐和“降神会”的描述——上帝啊，他多么讨厌这个词！——几乎是滑稽的，但一想到维奥拉和她亲切的母亲关心这些会议，甚至作为旁观者，他就充满了愤怒的厌恶。 。

根据布里特的说法，这个女孩往好了说是一个自欺欺人的苦行僧，往坏了说是一个习惯性的、歇斯底里的骗子，热衷于出名。不管是哪种情况，她都是一个被污染的、麻风病般的东西——一个被每一个珍视尊严和健康生活的男人所回避的女人。允许这样的生物闯入他的工作，让他的注意力从阅读中转移，这比愚蠢更糟糕。尽管如此，她仍然继续做这两件事。

第二天早上，当他离开家去办公室时，他走进餐厅，在姐姐身边坐下。

“凯特，”他声音严厉地说，“你不许拜访兰伯特小姐。”

“为什么不呢，莫顿？”

“因为这对你来说是一个陷阱，对我来说是一个尴尬。她是一个特别有魅力的女孩。没有人可以面对她并指责她。布里特说她比我见到她时成熟多了；他这样说的意思是，她即使不狡猾，也变得聪明了。尽管她很有魅力，但恐怕她身上有一种不好的倾向，你最好别打扰她。从最仁慈的角度来看，她是歇斯底里的，正如布里特所说，她的欺骗可能源于患病的大脑。无论如何，她都不适合你认识。”

“但是你说她有一双好眼睛？”

“她有。她美得令人着迷，但这只会让她的案子变得更加扑朔迷离。何必为她烦恼呢？”

“无论如何，我要去拜访她。我不害怕。我很高兴看到一个能让你如此心烦意乱的女孩。你不高兴;我理解了。”

莫顿笑了，笑得很悲伤。 “这是一个很好的、女性化的理由，对你来说可能就足够了；但是，如果你去，请理解，凯特，这违背了我的意愿。我不想再了解更多关于她和她的问题的事情；她已经过多干涉我的工作了。”

她深入他的灵魂，然后采取了另一种策略。 “好吧，那么，带上这个布里特吧；他是控方唯一的证人，不是吗？我们请他吃晚饭吧。我想审问他，正如律师所说。在我对一个拒绝他的女孩采取行动之前，我想知道他是一个什么样的人。他可能只是患有黄疸。”

“他是他们的家庭医生。”

“我不管他是不是，他可能是想报复那个女孩。”她用手臂搂住他的脖子。 “你这个可怜的孩子，那个女孩的麻烦让你心烦意乱。我很高兴发现你如此人性化的浪漫——如果她不那么可疑的话，至少我会这样。但我们会发现的。在我对布里特有更多了解之前，我会站在她一边；此外，我不确定她的神秘力量是不是真实的。”然后她就不再那么关心地打发他走了。由于她对友谊的冲动和热情，她是一个理智而有力量的女人。

布里特很快就来吃晚饭，很高兴有机会穿上晚礼服。凯特很高兴地接待了他，但被他慵懒优雅的举止吓了一跳。他看起来确实很尊贵，她急忙解释道：“我们的晚餐只是家庭事务，布里特博士。我们想拥有你们所有人。”

“对我来说，没有什么比这更好的了，赖斯夫人，我向你保证，”他殷勤地回答。 “正式的晚宴会让我感到尴尬。我在山里呆了这么久，感觉自己像个长岛隐士。从 Colorow 到包厘街，这是一个遥远的呼唤。”

“从包厘街到卡洛还更远。这就是为什么你们西方人对我们东方人如此有趣。”

“请不要让我成为西方的光荣之子，赖斯夫人。我出生在新泽西州。”

“你确实是吗？噢，真是抱歉。”

“我自己都后悔了。西方会给我配备更好的肺。”

当凯特可以涉水过去时，她从不绕过去。所以，他们一吸到汤的味道，她就开始审讯了。 “我对神秘事物非常感兴趣，布里特博士，我哥哥告诉我你是这位杰出的兰伯特小姐的家庭医生。给我们讲讲她吧。”

布里特考虑了一会儿。 “确实，兰伯特夫人向我吐露了心声，并允许我参加维奥拉的会议。但我很难被称为她的医生。首先，这个女孩的身体看起来非常好，不需要药物，而且我也从来没有她的信心。说实话，我认为她讨厌看到我。”

“那是为什么？”

他好奇地斜视一眼。 “嗯，我长得不漂亮，然后，我估计她以为我在调查她。”

“我希望你是。”

“是的，但我没走多远。”

“是什么阻止了你？”

“嗯，首先，几乎所有事情都是在黑暗中发生的。”

“总是如此，”凯特惊呼道。 “我想知道为什么？”

他耸耸肩。 “他们都说‘光与力量是对立的’。”你可以自行推论。”

莫顿讲话了。 “我永远无法理解为什么他们不做出特别的努力来避免这种批评。”

“好吧，告诉我们发生了什么事，”凯特喊道。 “我饶有兴趣地坐在椅子边上。”

布里特看着莫顿。 “这就是奇怪的事情，不是吗？人们 ，那恭喜你， 感兴趣的。事实上，我们都暗自希望鬼故事是真的。”

凯特笑了。 “你说得完全正确。我们都嗤之以鼻，但如果所有的精神足迹最终都是老鼠滚坚果的话，我们会非常失望。但请快点——不是 任何 这是真的吗？

“现在，我要坦白地说——”

听到这里，莫顿饶有兴趣地向前倾身，凯特欣喜若狂。 “好的！现在它来了。尽可能坦诚。”

布里特若有所思地继续说道。 “有一天晚上，当我坐在维奥拉和关闭的钢琴之间时，幽灵，或者无论什么东西，在琴键上上下跑动——现在在高音上，现在在低音上——与我的口哨保持一致。”

莫顿打断道。 “你是否 知道 盖子是关着的吗？”

“是的，我一边敲琴键，一边把手放在上面。”

“兰伯特小姐在哪儿？”

“显然在我的左边，正在睡觉。她在哪里并不重要，因为盖子已经放下了。当灯亮起时，她显然处于深度恍惚状态。以这种方式演奏封闭式钢琴这一事实仍然令人费解。”

“就这些了吗？”凯特非常失望地喊道。

“不好了。令人毛骨悚然的奇迹确实存在，但这才是我真正看重的。”

莫顿很快回答。 “如果条件适当的话，这就足够了。理论是——我一直在阅读——我们这些幽灵般的弟兄以不同的方式攻击他们的怀疑者。权力们知道你是一个崇尚唯物主义且相当有条理的思维习惯的人，因此进行了一次物质测试。也许是一只老鼠？”

“还是猫？”凯特建议道。

“那么，他们一定很有音乐天赋，而且智力非凡，”布里特插话道，“因为他们按照我的要求在键盘上上下弹奏，并保持着《Yankee Doodle》的节奏。”

凯特欣喜若狂。 “你对此有何看法，莫顿？如果其中一个是真的，那么一切都可能是真的。”

布里特继续说道。 “不。无论是什么力量，它都是由人类智慧控制的。它符合我的意愿。”

“你对此深信不疑。”莫顿的目光很敏锐，比他想象的还要敏锐。 “如果你承认这些表现之一是真实的，你就为女巫打开了大门。”

布里特有点恼火。 “所有这一切都正如我所描述的那样，当然是在黑暗中发生的。但一种感觉，即触觉，控制了整个情况——听觉占据了其余部分。”

“这一切都表明人类证据的不足。你不能指望任何人相信发生过这样的现象。就像我们听到的鬼屋故事一样。前几天，我的一个朋友告诉我，去年他去的澳大利亚平房里经常出现一个鬼魂。他说：“我看到花瓶在光天化日之下从壁炉架上扔下来。在明亮的房间里，我听到看不见的脚踩在我的椅子上。我当然不相信他。事实是，我们不知道自己被欺骗的能力。我们每个人都是一个缩影——我们所有祖先的总和，而在我们大脑的晦涩之处，有穴居人的细胞，那些被阴影困扰、充满奇怪噪音的角落。如果你以正确的方式接近我，你可以在我的脑细胞深处激起可怕的回声；但这只是远处哭声的回声——甚至不是哭声。”

布里特摆好姿势。 “让我告诉你这一点。我已经开始了解这件事了。这不是一系列随意的欺骗，我此刻对此深信不疑。在我看来，最令人惊奇的考虑是： 系统 在他们的愚蠢把戏中。我指的不仅仅是兰伯特小姐，我指的是所有最真实的表现形式。正如你所说，他们知道如何攻击公众；那些不这样做的人就会暴露并退出；但是，一般来说，他们会顺利进行，因为他们知道什么可以安全地尝试，什么不能。现在，在兰伯特小姐的案例中，同样的系统也出现了。她所谓的现象符合这个计划，她的发展是根据唯灵论者霍伊尔的。不允许有原创性，因此不会产生效果。”

“但我哥哥告诉我她很年轻而且很迷人。”

“身体非常迷人，其他思想也非常天真。”

莫顿嘲讽地插话道。 “你认为她已经建立了这个最复杂的欺骗系统？”

“有人有。我把其中很大一部分交给了克拉克，但大部分都归咎于歇斯底里和 真理的旗帜 和其他类似的床单。”

“但在克拉克到来之前，大概在她读到之前，她已经有了所有这些表现 真理的旗帜设立的区域办事处外，我们在美国也开设了办事处，以便我们为当地客户提供更多的支持。“

“他们这么说。我不知道。兰德尔的笔记中提到了许多技巧。”

“兰德尔是谁？”凯特问道。

“他们的家庭医生——我的前任。她的一些现象让他信服了。他在笔记中将自己记录为皈依者。然而，那是在他妻子去世之后。”

“当他们的妻子去世时，他们都会变得虚弱。”

“不是全部； “有些人并不急于弥合鸿沟，”布里特轻松地回答道。 “我听说克拉克与他死去的妻子的交流现在就像友谊一样酷。”

凯特面对着他。 “布里特博士，公平地说，我也是‘失去亲人的人’之一，如果我看起来比我的兄弟对这些信息更热情，你就会理解。我丈夫两年前去世了。”

“赖斯夫人，请您原谅，如果我的热心解释显得过于严厉——”

“哦，我不是一个害怕真相的人，”她很快回答道。 “我来自一个爱提问的家庭。只是偶尔我会动摇——一会儿。我丈夫说如果可以的话他会回到我身边，而我一直抱着一半的希望——并不是真的期待，你知道——”

她的话没有说完，莫顿语气里带着温柔的责备。 “我深受启发，凯特。你为什么不告诉我？

“因为这只是一句玩笑的话。我本来不想让你知道的。我不知道我是怎么让这句话从我嘴里溜走的。说来奇怪，他再也没有回来。我感受到了母亲的感觉，但从来没有感觉到海沃德。”

他们达到了一个非常温柔而庄严的停顿——女人的承认是如此的自我暴露——布里特正在看着他的盘子，而他的女主人又带着假装的明亮开始了。 “好吧，现在来说说这个女孩。你能带我去见她吗？她让我最感兴趣。”

“当然。我应该感到高兴。但你哥哥认识她——我毫不怀疑，她会很高兴见到你们俩。”

“我哥哥认为她是个骗子，不想见到她——”

“我的知识来自于你，布里特博士。”

布里特没有受到打扰。 “我认为她也是一个骗子，但非常迷人。”

“这应该让她更有说服力，”凯特说。

“而且更加危险，”布里特回答道。 “当我与她面对面时，她让我感到困惑。”

“他们要对她做什么——把她展示给公众看？”

“目前还不行。克拉克这一年来一直在勤奋地做笔记，并准备出版。他现在想要一些大人物，比如西蒙·普拉特叔叔，帮助他的书蓬勃发展。兰伯特一家不是为了钱——请相信他们这一点——至于母亲，她是完全诚实的——她坚信自己的精神。”

“这让女孩处于一个可怕的境地——如果她 is 欺骗，”莫顿插话道。 “想象一下，如果她意识到她自己的母亲已经依赖她的欺骗系统，她的心态会怎样。这个想法太可怕了。”

“这也同样糟糕，”布里特回答道。 “你看，这位母亲多年来一直与她的丈夫、她的小儿子和其他死去的人保持着密切的日常交流——正如她所认为的那样。她的日常生活一半是在这些快乐中，另一半是在她的女儿身上。那堵墙挡住了我。我无法向母亲表达我的疑问。我无法使用夹子。我干脆就退出了。只要母亲还活着，我就不打算把这件事追究到底。”

莫顿的脸因痛苦而变得阴沉。 “让我们放弃兰伯特家族这个话题吧；他们太痛苦了，尤其是当我看不出有什么办法可以帮助他们时。你什么时候回来？”

凯特默许了哥哥的转移话题，但一个小时后，布里特正要走时，她抓住机会说道：“你一定要带我去见这个女孩。我一生中从未对任何人如此兴奋过。明天你不能带我去吗？”

“我完全为您服务。假设我四点打电话——可以吗？

“完美。我非常感谢你。”

“希望你不要来咒骂我。我警告你，这女孩太有说服力了。她可能会迷恋你。”

“不用担心，”她大声喊道，语气充满挑战。 “我没那么容易被骗。”

她重新走进图书馆，脸上满是激动的红晕。 “莫顿，我感觉自己好像参与了对人类灵魂的解剖。”

他举起手，做出痛苦和绝望的姿势。 “不！我只能希望那个女孩绝对是坏人。否则她就是魔鬼的玩物。帮我忘记这整件离奇的事。”

“你错了，”她坚定地说。 “正是像你和魏斯曼博士这样的人，才应该从这桶精神泥沼中夺取真理的珍珠。”

“凯特，这句话说得非常好——要是我能确定那颗珍珠就好了。”

他实在是没有退路了。他的思想完全怀疑维奥拉声称产生的现象，因此只剩下另一种解释。她是一个骗子和自动催眠师——就像传说中的女人一样，一方面很公平，另一方面却完全肮脏和腐败。在他的沉思中，她那灿烂的、容光焕发的、肉体的自我越来越近，当他看着她甜美、清澈的眼睛时，他的大脑因对自己的怀疑而感到怀疑。如果世界上有任何诚实的眼睛，她是无辜的，并且是一个遭受酷刑的受害者，正如凯特很快就决定的那样；他的职责就是击退企图吞噬她的势力。

“心灵是一个晦涩的王国，遭受着莫名其妙的反抗和突然的混乱，”他想。 “妄想很容易煽动，而且就产生它们的心灵而言，最终与事实无法区分。这个女孩的身体还年轻，但她的大脑可能已经被腐朽血统的罪恶和谎言腐蚀了。”这个想法很可怕，但比其他选择更令人反感——没有其他方式可以解释和原谅她的生活。无论如何，她像犯罪一样果断地放弃婚姻，这对她来说是非常有勇气的。她一定是这么做的，因为根据布里特的说法，就连克拉克迄今为止也没有成功起诉。这个女孩身上某处有一种英雄气概。现在将她从侵蚀她灵魂中心的精神坏疽中拯救出来是否为时已晚？这个问题只有重新认识、仔细研究才能解决。

在妻子去世之前，西蒙·普拉特一直只是一个生意人，胃口大，无情，自给自足，只顾自己——这种人经常被和蔼可亲的批评家描述为“一个严厉的公民，但善良的人”。对他的家人，你知道，”好像他没有殴打妻子的事实就足以成为铁路破坏的借口。

人们可能会看到他每个工作日早上在八十六街乘坐 7.49 路火车，腋下夹着一捆报纸，下巴下垂，肚子突出，从来不给任何人让座，也没有想到会受到如此礼貌的对待。其他的。他身材魁梧，像头猪一样自私，常常被那些厌倦了工作的女性所指称，当他全神贯注地阅读市场报告时，他强迫她们站着。

他的同事们向他点头打招呼，面无笑容，态度生硬，普拉特大楼的电梯维修工也小心翼翼地避免用肘部撞到他。他有着狼般的贪婪和老熊般的脾气，但他的商业能力却无可否认地赢得了人们的尊重。他所做的一切都有一定的影响力。他在战争中并不吝啬或卑鄙。相反，他鄙视小小的报复；但在与同侪的冲突中，他却是无情的——他将对手逼到了最后的沟渠，然后无情地陷入了泥沼，就像山体滑坡一样。

他本性中所有的温柔，他对善良和美德的所有信仰，他都保留在他的家中。对于他的妻子（一个品味简单、天生文雅的女人）和孩子们来说，他是一个二十多岁的聪明而丰满的女孩，他是一个慈爱而粗暴的纵容者，对新礼服和派对几乎没有提出异议。他没有儿子，这对他来说是一种隐秘的悲伤，并导致他将所有父亲的骄傲和关怀都集中在女儿身上。当他们哄骗他时，他无法否认任何事情，而且他们几乎总是幽默而厚颜无耻地试图“让他工作”，正如他所说的那样。只有一件事他是花岗岩般的。他有办法在公园东侧建房，特意选择了河滨大道，以表达他对第五大道上层社会攀登者的蔑视，无论是微笑还是泪水都无法改变他的计划。

他的房子外表庄严，但里面却是由他的品味主导，而不是由他女儿们的品味主导，女儿们的习惯一旦定下来就很难改变。他拒绝考虑他们关于家具的建议。正如布里特所说，内部装饰与一家非常华丽、正式的法国酒店没有什么不同，这种相似之处是因为他曾经在这种房子里享受过愉快的住宿；但他也曾在这种房子里住过一段愉快的时光。当装修师提交了一些“方案”时，他选择了给他留下最愉快印象的方案。

餐桌上有三个女人，他习惯性地负责晚餐，控制菜单和装饰。外人看到他与领班和管家喋喋不休地协商，而他的贵宾却徒劳地试图继续他已经开始的故事，但他的妻子却默默忍受着，这很有趣。简而言之，西蒙的行事方式与他在餐馆或俱乐部里所做的一模一样，他的家人站在远离他的肘部的地方，女孩们狡猾地耸着圆圆的肩膀，妻子温顺但无效地抗议他篡夺了他的权力。她的领域。

他在政治上没有野心，作为纽约市默默无闻的百万富翁之一，当死亡降临到黑貂手中时，他的骄傲和自信彻底受到打击——他的妻子和女儿都死了。一艘船在法国海岸沉没。

当他坐在办公桌前时，他得知了这场灾难的消息——晨报没有任何暗示。 “我不相信，”他平静地说，然后开始按办公桌上的按钮，语气就像市场对他不利时那样。消息来来往往，电线因他专横的焦虑而跳动。轮船公司经理的回答是——否认。消息得到证实，都是为了同一个目的；那天晚上，当西蒙·普拉特从办公桌上站起来时，他的下巴松弛下来，他高大的身躯弯下腰，摇摇晃晃，仿佛突然又把二十年的岁月压在了他的肩上。他回到了他辉煌而孤独的宫殿（那里的仆人们挤在一起，窃窃私语，匆匆忙忙），喉咙里有一个坚硬、干燥的结，他的眼睛沉重、灼热、无泪地面对着他被毁坏的祭坛。一天之内，他就从令人恐惧的人变成了最荒凉的人。

使者追赶他。尸体被找到。他下令用第一艘船运送它们。在电光的照耀下，他用可怕的凝视的眼睛和僵硬的嘴唇咒骂着自己和上帝。他咒骂自己让他的财宝从他身边消失，他咒骂上帝允许这种对正义的暴行。最后他沉默了，但直到第二天结束他才睡觉、吃饭。然后他起身，像往常一样乘坐7.49的火车，回到办公桌前——胡子没刮，衣服皱巴巴的，头发灰白、饱受折磨，靠着习惯支撑着，在工作中寻求解脱。

他的同事们强装高兴，对他的归来表示高兴，但小心翼翼地避免提及他那令人震惊的损失。对于那些谈论此事的人，他没有回复任何一句话，也没有看一眼。他用笨拙、粗壮、无力的手指拿起了他那行的紫色字母丝带。他用昏暗的眼睛盯着市场报告，口述笔记和订单，但表现很糟糕。即使是那些讨厌他的人，因为他是一个粗俗、不可爱的角色，也对他萎缩的身材和灰白的脸颊感到震惊。当死亡给予这样的打击时，失败者就会获得某种威严。

渐渐地，老人恢复了计算和组合的能力，并与他的伙伴们谈论家里的事务。但他那浓厚的兴趣、他的迅速决断都消失了。他出现在办公室只是习惯的结果。事实上，他正在等待载有他珍贵粘土的轮船归来。

这艘船因暴风雨而延误了三天，这位破碎的金融家无法留在办公室，在布罗德街和鲍灵格林之间来回走动，在轮船公司的办公室出没，直到冷漠的经理紧张而恼怒地离开他从椅子上避开了他，无法忍受看到他憔悴的面容和怜悯的眼神。

当船到达时，西蒙用自己的游艇迎接了它，并以钢铁般的决心回归，站在一边保护他希望的坟墓，因为它们滑过栏杆。然后，他命令所有的灵魂都离开小屋，在棺材旁边坐下。他 知道 他的亲人就在那里，但他却没有意识到。他充满了想要证明这一切都是错误的渴望，但恐惧——那些被毁容的面孔的确定性——阻止了他。

他把他们带回家。没有什么比那个皮肤松弛、头发灰白的老人更令人悲哀的了，他独自坐在华丽华丽的客厅里，而他在这个世界上所爱的一切都被红木和银子与他隔绝开来。当最后一个脸色苍白、浑身发抖的仆人离开房间时，父亲发出一声长长的、嘶哑的、令人窒息的哀号，脸色苍白地倒在地板上，彻底绝望了。

当他站起来时，他平静了一些。他开始下令举办一场豪华的葬礼，以他熟悉的方式负责每一个细节。典礼盛况空前，感人至深。大教堂里的每个人都流下了衷心悲伤的泪水，非常人性化地同情这位伟大的银行家。但他自己并没有哭，他软弱无力地坐着，眼睛盯着地板，内心的情感发呆。但是，当金库的门在他的死者面前关上时，他发出了最后一声可怕的哭声，这是一个彻底意识到没有爱的生活和没有希望的晚年的空虚、徒劳的人的哭声。

他对物质世界、对贸易战的兴趣消失了。他的巨额财富仍然会给他带来红利，他的职员和合伙人仍然会咨询他，仍然要求他签名，但那些让所有这些事情值得去做的人已经消失了。

生命似乎毫无用处，徒劳无益，但当他还在与对死亡的恐惧和对当今时代的仇恨作斗争时，一个自称与死者保持共融的代表团带着他妻子的问候来到了他身边。这条信息中的话语让他吃了一惊。他被说服去寻求确认。他被说服了，并成为最狂热的唯心论者。他的身形抬起来，眼睛闪闪发亮。一个新世界为他打开了。他宣布他打算将自己的巨额财富用于使他感到安慰的信仰。他为看不见的事物建造了一座宏伟的神庙。他聘请了演讲者和音乐家来娱乐和指导那些前来聆听的人。他寻找并招待了许多灵媒、通灵者、敏感者、灵性演讲者和自然治疗师——所有人都在他的壁炉旁受到欢迎。他可能曾经被称为“鹰身女妖的猎物”，但既然他现在对这些事情感兴趣，而且他有足够的手段来娱乐自己，他肯定不是一个失败者。诚然，他多次被假先知所欺骗，被欺诈性的先知所冤枉，但他仍然享受着在条件有利时妻子的声音所带来的美妙安慰。他不再绝望了；相反，他复活了，在精神世界的信仰中焕然一新。女儿们很少来和他说话，但当她们来的时候，她们用她们欢快的话语让他黑暗、冰冷的心焕发光芒。有时他似乎可以伸出双手，触摸他们柔软的脸颊，他们是那么触手可及，他们的声音是那么亲密和熟悉。

渐渐地，他过去的商业精明的一部分在这些无形的事情上发挥了作用，他开始区分并驱逐那些出没在他家里的卑鄙和寄生的巫术者。他变得越来越有洞察力，能够从麦子中除掉稗子，有了这种洞察力，他坚信自己有责任以暴力揭露那些试图欺骗他的人。他让欺诈者感到恐惧，他对这个或那个表演者的强烈谴责引起了反对的风暴。因为似乎没有一个骗子，无论多么卑鄙，都会有追随者。他的目的很明确。在狡猾的建议的帮助下，他开始把自己想象成一个被召唤去执行伟大使命的人。他顺从了自己的命运，致力于以一切可能的方式推进精神世界的统治。

正是在这个破碎但仍然强大的男人手中，维奥拉·兰伯特被说服将自己交出来，而西蒙通过实验相信了她的力量，并被她少女般的优雅和尊严所迷住，将所有其他看门人推到了门外。他的家里一片寂静，从而引起了强烈的谴责；因为这些女预言家在经过劝说之后，在痛苦和愤怒中才放弃了他的奢华餐桌和慷慨的钱包。

维奥拉与普拉特的会面是由克拉克促成的，克拉克通过信仰的特殊机构意识到，这位伟大的商人和发起人不仅对新的安慰来源的渴望无法满足，而且对他的安慰者也极其慷慨。他一得到女孩的同意就写信给普拉特，邀请他在波士顿与他们见面。由于没有收到任何答复（普拉特深受此类信件的困扰），他再次写信，详细描述了他所做的实验，并强调了这样一个事实：通灵者是一位富裕的西方矿主的女儿，她是一个有教养的年轻女孩，她的母亲（这一事业中一位杰出的福音传道者）甚至对她的女儿进行了一系列绝对令人信服的测试。他还提到了他的书，该书即将出版，他希望这本书能在科学家中引起轰动。

西蒙没有回复这封信，但派了一名代表前往卡洛调查作者的说法。侦探回来说，“当事人”已经去了波士顿，但他们在该地区享有盛誉，而且父亲是一位富有且考虑周到的公民。 “没有人知道这个女孩的任何情况，”间谍补充道。

西蒙现在热切地想要找到维奥拉并考验她。找到她并不容易，因为克拉克在波士顿时十分谨慎。与编辑协商后 招魂师，并且根据他的建议，他只给一些非常谨慎的朋友举行了几次非常私人的会议。然而，这些夜晚非常成功，那些被允许参加的人都小心翼翼地守护着他们发现的宝石，自私地敦促继续保密。尽管如此，这个圈子已经扩大了，维奥拉显然已经屈服于她单一的职能，夜复一夜地耐心地坐在闷热、黑暗的房间里，而克拉克则一如既往地生动，一如既往地铿锵有力，以充满激情的节奏宣扬着新时代的承诺。通灵术以“这个奇妙的有机体”的信息为开端。事实上，他已经制定了一个精心设计的攻克波士顿的计划，但当西蒙·普拉特递出他的名片并要求看看这个女孩能做什么时，他立即放弃了这个计划。他要求坐下，就像马贩子要求主人把提供的动物赶到他面前，以便他可以判断她的步伐。他无意冒犯；相反，他立刻充满了焦虑，生怕这个出色的年轻人拒绝表演。

维奥拉被他的第一态度深深地冒犯了，冷冷地说道：“我不是为了钱而坐的，我也不会为任何人做展览。”

西蒙最后恳求她再坐一会——短短一小时；但她拒绝了，他垂头丧气地走了，因失败而变得软弱无力。第二天他又回来了，这已经是第三次了。最后，为了博得她的同情，他告诉她他是如何进入信仰的，并用破碎的声音和颤抖的嘴唇表达了他的悲伤。

他的弱点发挥了作用。他一生的彻底悲剧让维奥拉热泪盈眶，彻底融化了她的反对。她以新的眼光看待他，了解了他的真实面目，一个孤独、破碎的老人，匆匆走向坟墓，出于怜悯，她同意了。

他报告说，随后发生的现象是他所经历过的最奇妙的现象。 “我的大女儿珍妮（Jennie）通过扩音器讲了一个多小时，详细描述了她的死亡情况，下令处理他们的珠宝和小饰品，并以其他方式让我完全满意她的身份。”

他从坐姿中站起来，感到无比的安慰，感到无比的幸福，非常高兴，准备好拥抱这位使他度过了甜蜜的时光的幸福女孩。他的家、他的私家车、他的游艇都由她支配。没有哪个女王，无论多么强大，都无法赢得他如此的敬意。 “你一定要来我家，”他说。 “我会扩大你的工作。我会满足你们‘指导者’的每一个愿望。”

在克拉克和母亲的支持下，他取得了胜利。维奥拉同意作为他的客人前往纽约，前提是她的秘密权力不被泄露。 “我不会做广告，”她说。 “现在来看我的人太多了。如果你发表我的言论，我就再也不会坐了。”

这个威胁让西蒙陷入了恐慌。 “当然，你会保密。你将成为我的客人，就像你的母亲一样。除了我的家人之外，没有人会知道你的神奇力量。我会尽力做到这一点。”

也许他的承诺是诚实的，但他招待“阿拉伯女祭司”、“水晶凝视者”和其他具有非凡天赋的女性的习惯是众所周知的，不允许履行他的协议。维奥拉一看到他的马车出现在车道上，他的朋友和随从就开始微笑着说：“西蒙有了一个新的女巫。我想知道她是谁？”这些言论引起了无处不在的新闻工作者的好奇。此外，当然，必须告知寺庙的主管们，而其他被她们曾经崇拜的守护神所忽视的女先知则不需要被告知；因此，早在塞维斯得知她到来之前，维奥拉与西蒙驯养的消息就在信徒中广泛传播，他们立即赶去迎接她。

这些求道者面带笑容，脚步匆匆，走时却迟缓地走开，并责备庙主是自私的畜生。有些人被录取了，留下来，并见到了女孩和克拉克——因为克拉克公平地分配了荣誉，他是那么生动，那么风景如画。他毫不犹豫地谈论他的伟大工作，一项震惊世界的工作，并宣布了西缅为圣殿所做的伟大演讲的标题。这是他竞选活动中的第一枪，这是他引人注目的演讲。但他必须征得维奥拉的同意才能使用她的名字——她也同意与一群被选中的城市伟人坐在一起，以便对科学提出挑衅性的挑战。他希望从这些特别的会议中演绎出他的书的最后也是最伟大的一章。

在这次公开的权力测试中，维奥拉仍然退缩了，但克拉克不断强调的普拉特的财富和权力，让她震惊地默许了。远非穷人、默默无闻的人的信仰、潜伏在黑暗角落、避免人们直接凝视的信仰，来自一座辉煌寺庙大门的招魂术似乎不仅值得尊敬，而且是胜利的。从这个天使力量的神圣聚会场所，从普拉特富丽堂皇的家的窗户，她眺望着这座城市，对自己的使命比她以前所知道的更加满意——只有一个深深隐藏的愿望困扰着她，想再次看到这座城市。在他们骑马进入马歇尔盆地时，这个男人的健康状况和微笑的眼睛给她留下了深刻的印象。

但这种权力安全感并没有持续多久。随着她在普拉特家里地位的新鲜感逐渐消失，她发现自己的职责令人厌烦。她憎恨成群结队的好奇或忧郁的访客，并开始认识到一个痛苦的事实——她毕竟只是一个仆人，为普拉特和他的朋友们提供欢乐。她自己的时间很少，即使开车去公园兜风也无法逃脱她的主人——他们中的一个或另一个总是在她身边。

她试图撤回对使用她名字的同意，但克拉克、导游，甚至她的母亲坚持要进行测试。在她所有的朋友中，只有布里特站在她的恐惧一边。他们是正式的通信，当他到达城市时，他直接去找她，急于想知道克拉克的实际计划是什么。她对他说话比以往任何时候都更加自由，表达了她对克拉克即将向她发出的耀眼光芒的恐惧。

布里特严肃地听着。 “有一种逃避的方法，”他最后说道，脸上带着嘲讽又温柔的微笑。 “我并不是假装说你也这么认为，但我想提醒你，我的报价仍然有效。如果你给我必要的权力，我会猛然停止这场十字军东征。”

“我很感激你，布里特博士，真的，但我不能按照你的要求去做——甚至不能——”她犹豫了一下，陷入了沉默。

“甚至不是为了拯救你我的生命。我不怪你——我只是一个可怜的东西。”

“我不是那个意思。我非常非常尊重你；但你必须知道安东尼依赖我，而且，也许它 is 我有责任登上平台。父亲和祖父都说是。在他们看来，当我想在自己的家里快乐而数百万人却无人安慰时，我似乎显得渺小和自私。但是哦，如果我能过自己的生活就好了 部分 的时间！如果我能在七分之一的某一天摆脱这种可怕的体重就好了。”

布里特看着她清澈的眼睛，对她有了新的信心。 “告诉我，兰伯特小姐，你真的相信你的父亲会以这种方式来找你吗？”

“我不敢怀疑，”她回答道，眼神闪烁。

“有些信息并不特别——”

“我知道，”她颤抖着默许。 “邪灵也有善灵，有时坏灵也会来。我不明白祖父为什么允许他们利用我。他说，如果圈子里有坏人，他总是没办法。这也是我害怕这次公开测试的另一个原因——不知道邪灵会让我说什么或做什么。如果这对安东尼来说意义不大，我会拒绝——即使祖父要求这样做。”

“我今天见到了瑟维斯教授。”

“你是否？”她的眼睛瞬间就亮了。 “你在哪里看到他的？他知道我们在这里吗？”

“直到我告诉他，他才知道。我拜访了他的实验室。”

“你告诉他我们在哪儿了吗？”

“是的;他和我一样觉得这对你来说不是一个好地方。普拉特以娱乐轰动人物而闻名，如果你不被媒体利用那就是一个奇迹。”

她的脸色再次阴沉起来。 “哦，我厌倦了人们看着我、耸耸肩、低声说话。我厌倦了让这种不正常的事情反映在所有访客的眼中。我希望我能变得平凡——没有丝毫奇怪的地方。有时我想服下一剂毒药来结束这一切。”

“不要这样做，”布里特清醒地回答道。 “你连这种话都不许说。我希望我能帮助你，但只要你的父母和克拉克本人是你的向导，我看不出有什么办法；但如果你在任何时候给我权力”——此时他的声音变得严厉——“我会确保你不会受到任何外界影响的困扰。”

“你真好。”她说，但她的脸上只表现出一种困扰的喜欢，他双手握住她的手，默默地走开了。

年轻的克林顿·沃德也来寻求，孩子气，热切，轻蔑地寻求任何像她向他承认的恍惚事实这样虚幻的障碍。她的话几乎没有在他的脑海中留下深刻的印象，他轻率地回答道：“这对我来说毫无意义。你不可能成为我不喜欢的任何人。你们住得太近了，你的神经有些疲惫。你需要的是一段愉快的时光。回到波士顿，忘掉这件事。来吧，我想让人们认识你。我妈妈知道我对你的感受，并且很高兴见到你。”

“如果她知道我告诉你的话，她会说什么？”她苦涩地问道。

“她不会介意的——在她见到你之后，”他忠诚地回答。 “如果没有——没有——哦，别管了，维奥拉，你知道我的意思。当你爱一个人的时候，什么都不重要。我想要你，不管别人怎么说。而且，除此之外，我不明白为什么你不能放弃整个蓬勃发展的业务。只要你敢说，我就把克拉克从窗外扔出去。他只是想利用你，而且——”

“你不可以那样说话，克林顿。”

“为什么不？这是真的。”

“嗯，因为——”她犹豫了一下，然后说道，仿佛要结束自己的不确定性：“我承诺这一生——也承诺他。我的路已被指明，我必须走在其中。”

年轻人受到了沉重的打击。他坐着，用惊愕和敬畏的眼神看着她。他想说话，但有一会儿说不出来。最后他进行了第二次审判。 “你的意思是——你 别 意思是-”

“是的，我是说——你以为我是说的，”她回答道，然后她的毅力就消失了，她转过身去，眼里充满了滚烫的泪水。

他笨拙地站起来，所有的自信都消失了。 “我吃药了。没关系。我希望你会幸福——”他嘴唇颤抖地打断了。

“我永远不会幸福，”她说，她平静的声音直击男孩的心。 “我已经放弃了一切希望，除了成为一个工具之外——一个其愿望不重要的东西。再见，克林特，”她伸出了手。

他接过它，用力按了一下，然后走到街上，在他收到的启示的重压下摇摇欲坠。

维奥拉喜欢克林顿——他简单、健康、无忧无虑的天性吸引了她——然而正是这种天真、这种自信，让她自己的生活和日常习惯显得更加令人生畏。她现在明白了在她自己和正常世界里那些粗心的年轻人之间存在着不可逾越的障碍。

在这个抑郁的时刻，就像在其他许多时刻一样，她的思绪转向了莫顿·塞维斯。布里特提到这位年轻科学家的名字，似乎让他离他很近，她第一百次想知道他是否已经完全忘记了她。既然他得知她在城里，他会打电话吗？她知道（几乎就像他写的一样）他匆忙逃离卡罗罗的原因，并且知道他认为她是一个怪胎，如果不是更糟糕的话，她不能写信给他，尽管她仍然有他的卡和地址。

与他访问他们的山区家园时相比，他是一个更伟大的人，因为他写了一本被评论家称为“对疾病及其用途的伟大而坚定的研究”的书。她没能读到它，但她很珍惜它，渴望再次见到他，向他陈述自己的情况，征求他的建议，不是关于她是否应该继续她的音乐，而是关于是否应该继续她的音乐。她的生活值得继续——因为有时她会暗自考虑结束它的道德。正是为了把他再次拉到她身边，她要求克拉克把他列入科学家名单中，克拉克计划在分娩后向他们寄去他的演讲和挑战的印刷本，并寄给她的母亲。说：“如果我知道 Serviss 博士是委员会成员，我就不会那么紧张了；”我知道他会公正、体贴，即使他确实鄙视媒介。”

“他就是那个人，”兰伯特夫人热情地回答道。 “我想知道托尼没有提起过他。我相信爷爷一定会很高兴的。”

凯特·赖斯和布里特博士在约定的时间面向被“寂静之屋钥匙守护者”奉为圣地的西蒙大门。

“故事情节围绕着这个女孩而变得更加复杂，”布里特带着一种嘲讽的轻快说道。 “太太。兰伯特现在已经做到了！”

他们已经到达了相对安静的十字路口。 “她做了什么？”

“她把她的母羊羔交给了华尔街的这只古老的狼，后者会为了小红帽而吃掉她。我一直在调查普拉特的记录。据我所知，他有一种令人愉快的方式，对待他的“通灵者”就像对待橘子一样——挤压它们然后把它们扔到街上。他对外界的嘲笑变得如此敏感，以至于他害怕自己“完了”。在获得了灵媒所能提供的一切之后，他精心地“揭露”了她，让她随波逐流，这样就可以避免可能被指控受骗的指控。如果对媒介的权力有任何疑问，他可以拿出一张卡片，上面写着：“我知道某某是个骗子。”我两年前——或者两个月前——曝光了她。我在这里看到了女孩的结局。”

“这个可怕的老头子！这件事，姑娘知道吗？”

“我不认为她这样做，但她应该这样做。我讨厌看到一个本来可以让某人成为迷人妻子的好女孩却被用于这些邪恶的用途。压在她头上的至高无上的耻辱将在报纸上占据整整一页。 周日爆炸——“又一个鹰身女妖暴露了”——它会来的，赖斯夫人，我确信这一点。普拉特现在在她面前相当阿谀奉承。她是他的公主，他的女先知，他的掌上明珠；但如果她令他不高兴或不能满足他的要求，她就有祸了。”

“你让我感到震惊，布里特博士。至少应该有人警告她。”

“我已经这样做了；但由于母亲、克拉克和普拉特的反对，此案似乎毫无希望。此外，她在某种程度上相信自己。她永远不会沦为那些从一个城市到另一个城市向愚蠢的女人和顽固的男人玩耍的邋遢者，但她肯定会被腐蚀。如果她嫁给克拉克，她的未来将是悲惨的。她已经进来了，我不知道她还能如何退出。为了他和她母亲，她一定要坚持下去。”

“她爱克拉克吗？”

“这个我还无法确定，但她是在他的控制之下，不然她也不会在这里。”

凯特耳边响起这句阴沉的话，走进冰冷的大客厅，等待主人的到来。

“普拉特是你首先要尊敬的人——他是主人，”布里特警告说。 “要求看看他的收藏——这总是让他很高兴。如果你允许的话，我就带路。”

“我信任你。”

“你可以这样做。”

普拉特很快就进来了，他是一个厚脸皮、白胡子的男人，穿着麻袋套装和老式的翻领。他随意地与布里特握手打招呼，疑惑地看着凯特。 “这是谁？”他直率地问道。

“我的一位朋友，赖斯夫人，她想看看您收藏的精美石板和画作。”

普拉特的语气稍微软化了一些。 “我很乐意向他们展示，”他说，“但不是现在。我现在不得不请你原谅。我正在与我的董事协商。”

“当然，”布里特说，普拉特出去后，他补充道：“这意味着克拉克将发射他的霹雳。他将在自西塞罗以来最激动人心的演讲中挑战科学界。”

这时，两位女士，穿着华丽的衣服，走下楼梯，准备上车，其中一位说：“自从我们认识西蒙·普拉特以来，我认为像流浪汉一样被拒之门外是一种耻辱。” ！”

“哦，我不怪她，”另一个说。

“一些来电者感到失望，”布里特说。

过了一会儿，另外几个好奇的人也被带进了客厅。布里特保持着低调的评论。 “所有这些笨蛋都是来看这个女孩的。你会惊讶地发现有多少人偷偷相信这些启示。”

找到西蒙·普拉特（Simeon Pratt）是一个奇特的情况，他是一群无所事事的好奇者的大管家，当他带着匆忙和忙碌的样子回来时，布里特以一种新的眼光看待他——一个贫穷的、孤独、破碎的老人，厌倦了生活，却每天都希望与死者交流，心中充满梦想和妄想，机械地走来走去，只对死亡感兴趣。

他忘记了凯特的名字，但他记得她想看看他的宝藏。

“来我的图书馆吧，”他说； “但首先让我请你注意这幅非凡的画作。”

这幅画——或者更确切地说是黑白水墨画——在西窗的光线下悬挂在三角钢琴上。西蒙解释说，它的形状是球形的，代表着“光明与黑暗的战争”。地球的一半被深色阴影所笼罩，奇怪的是，另一半却被浅色的部分所困扰。上面栖息着一只雪白的鹰。下面盘旋着一只神秘的蝙蝠，它张开巨大的翅膀，眼睛像火点一样闪闪发光。

“仔细看，”西蒙命令道。

即使在地球较暗的一半，更仔细的审视也能发现许多用钢笔和墨水勾画出来的相互交织的形式。浅半球的人像天使一样美丽，头发上有淡淡的星星。所有人都在唱歌。其他人，黑暗的居民，在痛苦中扭曲变形，每个人都被画得如此确定，以至于形成一个人手臂的线条勾勒出另一个人的头。它们有数百幅，整个作品的设计就像钞票上的雕刻一样复杂，并且充满了象征意义——根据西蒙的注释——人们可能会研究好几天。 “观察一下，”他说，“两个世界的分界线形成了无数的面孔。拿着这副眼镜。”

凯特通过他强加给她的强大仪器，能够发现数百张肉眼看不见的面孔。 “这真是棒极了。谁干的？”

“一位瑞典女仆，”西蒙对房间里的每一个人大声回答。 “她不会写自己的名字；但当拉斐尔的精神控制了她时，她闭着眼睛也能做到这一点。世界上没有像那张照片那样的东西。这是任何有血有肉的艺术家都无法复制的。”

“那不是梦，”布里特低声说道。

普拉特催促他们，经过许多其他同样精彩的画作，来到他的图书馆，当他的客人鱼贯而入时，他面对着他们。 “我将要向你展示的东西在任何地方都是无与伦比的。它们花了我好几年的时间才收集起来，并且花费了我超过十万美元。我只能给你看一些。”

图书馆是一个金碧辉煌的房间，充满了西边的阳光，它的布置立刻让凯特·赖斯觉得不寻常，因为书架就像管家的食品储藏室一样。它们从离地板大约四英尺开始，一直延伸到天花板，里面装满了精美的、被忽视的书籍，而在一个宽大的书架下面，在它们的底部，有一排小黄铜把手，每个把手都代表一个浅抽屉。每个抽屉都有一把锁和一个小盘子，上面有一个字母和一个数字，就像钱币学家的柜子一样。

“世界上只有两把钥匙。”西蒙满脸闪亮地解释道。 “我现在持有的那个，也是我安全库里的那个。除了我的秘书和我本人之外，任何人都不允许进入这个房间。”他沿着房间走到柜子和大桌子之间。 “这是哥伦布发来的消息。”他打开锁，拉出其中一个抽屉，放在桌子上。它制作精美，里面有两块普通的铰链式学校石板，里面可见，但有一块厚重的玻璃板保护着。 “这个信息是在测试条件下通过安吉莉卡·考克斯传达给我的，”普拉特进一步解释道，凯特弯下腰去。

“你所说的测试条件是什么意思？”布里特问道。

“我的意思是，先生，我买了这些石板并将其带到媒介上，并在写下这条信息时将它们握在手中。”他的声音里带着恼怒。他更换了抽屉。 “但这是伟大艺术家穆里略的一幅画。他画了一位古人的脸。”他把另一个抽屉放在沉默的听众面前，里面有一张纸板，上面有一幅相当精美的粉彩画，画的是一个穿着睡衣的阿拉伯人。它的绘图薄弱且错误，这会导致业余爱好者尝试复制彩色雕刻。 “这是在光天化日之下发生的，当时我把干净的纸板放在头上，”西蒙解释道。

布里特看着凯特。 “画家可能已经倒立了，”他亵渎地低声说道。

于是，主人穿过了那间华丽的房间，展示了拿破仑的信件、玛丽·安托瓦内特的鲜花、苏格兰玛丽女王的诗句，以及许多历史上同样杰出的人的父亲的建议。

“你有很好的陪伴，”凯特大胆地说。 “你有莎士比亚的作品吗？”

“当然;还有埃德温·福雷斯特、林肯和格兰特。”

“基德海军上将有什么消息吗？”布里特问道。

“还是玛丽·简·福尔摩斯写的？”凯特补充道。

西蒙沉默地看着小丑们，不确定他们是不是想陷害自己。 “不，我只保存历史上最杰出的人的话语，除了我自己的家族之外——我有他们的精彩见证。”

“啊，请给我们看看那些，”凯特喊道。

他犹豫了一下，思考着布里特的脸，最后说道：“我会给你看一些具体化的东西。”然后他带路走向一些装满压花的箱子。 “这些来自印度和西藏，”他解释道。

凯特感到无聊，但布里特似乎对普拉特和展览很着迷。 “想象一个人拥有这样的收藏——痛苦地收集它。太漂亮了！”

“但是那个女孩——请他让我们见见那个女孩，”她催促道。

“别着急；他不能偏离自己的最佳状态。”

提到抽屉里的宝藏，西蒙继续展示其他奇迹。他拥有一枚从圣城拉萨带来的硬币，并从天花板掉进一个封闭的盒子里。 “西半球没有其他已知的，”他说。 “大英博物馆愿意给我一千英镑买下它。”

在他看来，所有这些石板、图画和鲜花都证明了伟大的阴影对使西蒙普拉特皈依信仰的工作感兴趣，这些信息旨在稳定他的信念，并为他提供材料让世界接受他的看法。这个人的信仰就像疯狂一样——没有一丝幽默感。

在任何其他时候，这座令人惊叹的博物馆对凯特来说都是最吸引人的研究，但她却渴望了解这位年轻的女先知和她的母亲。 “他们一定是什么，”她问自己，“才能与这种白痴混在一起？”

最后，当有利的暂停到来时，布里特向普拉特解释说，赖斯夫人是一位在西方认识维奥拉的人的妹妹，她非常希望能见见这位通灵者。

“我想兰伯特小姐已经订婚了，”西蒙闷闷不乐地回答道。 “但我会看看，”他带路来到同一层楼的一间小客厅。 “留在这儿，我会把你的名片寄过来。”

“告诉她瑟维斯教授的一个妹妹。”

西蒙迅速转身。 “瑟维斯——他不是克拉克所说的委员会成员之一吗？你是他妹妹吗？”

凯特鞠躬。 “是的;我哥哥在西部遇见了兰伯特小姐。”

普拉特的脸色变得清晰起来。 “好吧！我马上送她下去。你的兄弟就是我们想要接触的那种人。”他走出去时补充道。

“现在，布里特医生，”凯特坚定地说道，“我希望你在我和这些女人谈话的时候让那个无聊的老人有事可做。我不想让他划桨。”

“我会尽力而为，”他很有男子气概地回答，“直到堵住他的嘴为止。我不能同意命令他离开家。”

凯特饶有兴趣地坐在椅子边上，听到裙子的窸窸窣窣声和悦耳的低语声。当维奥拉脸红了，微笑着，穿着漂亮的礼服，伸出手走进房间时，她一蹦一跳地站了起来，从她精心策划的矜持是通过女孩的温暖和魅力打招呼的。她将戴着手套的手掌亲切地放在那只充满信心地伸出的纤细的手上。 “很高兴认识你。我哥哥对你的评价非常热情。”

维奥拉的脸更红了。 “他有吗？我向你保证我们经常谈论他。我想他太忙于他奇妙的微生物而没有时间来看像我们这样可怜而平凡的生物。”

“他 is 很忙，但他前几天才知道你的存在。”

维奥拉转过身来。 “妈妈，这是赖斯夫人，瑟维斯教授的妹妹。”

凯特也很喜欢兰伯特夫人，因为她穿着一件图案简单的黑色礼服，显得格外英俊。 “如果她们是冒险家，她们的着装就非常聪明，”她内心评价道。 “我不奇怪莫顿会被迷住。”她随即说道：“你不能带我去你自己的房间吗？我想和你谈谈秘密。”

“是的，让我们这样做吧。”维奥拉转向她的母亲。 “我们带赖斯太太去客厅吧。”

兰伯特夫人怯生生地答应了，飞快地瞟了一眼西蒙，后者正在喋喋不休地向布里特讲述瑞典厨师另一幅画的奇妙之处。

普拉特看到女人们站起来，走近了。 “你要去哪里？”他问道，声音里带着一丝不耐烦。

“到我的房间去。”维奥拉坚定地回答，然后默默领路上楼。但当他们在楼上的大厅里听不见时，她痛苦地喊道：“他监视我所做的一切。他几乎不会让我离开他的视线。我开始讨厌他了，他太没有礼貌了。”

“维奥拉！”警告母亲。

“我不在乎。”女孩挑衅地反驳道。 “我们为什么要忍受他——我们并不依赖他。他对待我们就好像他拥有我们一样，我对此感到厌倦。我希望爸爸能来带我们回家。”

“他可能很无聊，但他像皇室一样招待你，”凯特扫视了一下维奥拉和她母亲所住的套房，说道。它占据了房子三楼的整个东端，整个装饰都是帝国风格的，有豪华的四柱床和一间最豪华的浴室。

“哦，是的，它很漂亮；但我宁愿此刻待在我们西部的小木屋里。”女孩带着渴望的悲伤回答道。 “噢，这些温暖的日子让我想家了。当我在那里的时候我讨厌它，现在我渴望回去。我好像老了五岁——这个冬天对我来说太漫长了。”

“好吧，现在，锁上门，”凯特兴奋地喊道，“告诉我关于你自己的一切。从头开始。布里特医生告诉了我一些事情，但我想知道一切。你什么时候第一次知道自己拥有这种力量？这是第一个问题。”

兰伯特夫人以重述一个老故事的语气开始。 “直到我的小儿子沃尔特去世的那天，维奥拉就像她这个年纪的其他女孩一样——健康、漂亮——一个非常漂亮的孩子。”

“我可以相信。”凯特的目光钦佩地盯着这个女孩。

“我和我的丈夫都是优秀的长老会教徒，我从来没有过多考虑过灵魂或招魂术，但在我们的小男孩去世后，罗伯特开始学习，每次我们去城里，他都会去看通灵者，这让我很困扰。作为一名优秀的教会成员，我认为他不应该这样做，所以有一天我说，“罗伯特，我认为你应该告诉麦克莱恩先生”——那是我们的牧师——“你在做什么。”拜访灵媒和去教堂也是不对的——其中一个都应该放弃。他说——我记得他的原话：“没有我儿子的这些安慰信息，我就活不下去。”他们说他很快就会现身——就在我们家。”我记得那正是他的表情，因为我想知道他要表达什么。就在那天晚上，事情就开始了。”

凯特的眼睛猛地一亮。 “什么东西？”

“嗯，沃尔蒂有一把他喜欢的小椅子——一把小芦苇摇椅——我丈夫总是把这把椅子放在他读书的地方附近。那天晚上，我看到椅子开始自行摇晃——但不知何故，它并没有吓到我。 “罗伯特，你搬动沃尔蒂的椅子了吗？”我问。 “不，”他说。 '为什么？' “因为它震动了。”罗伯特扔下书，看着椅子。 “肯定是维奥拉移动了它，”他说。 “维奥拉坐在桌子另一边她自己的小椅子上，”我说。 “那么肯定是那只猫了。”

“然后，就在我们都看着它的时候，它又开始移动，就像沃尔蒂在里面一样。它也嘎吱作响，就像他摇晃时一样。”

“我应该吓坏了，”凯特惊呼道，她的眼睛开始睁大。

“从那以后发生的事情都没有给我带来这样的转变。罗伯特跳了起来，摸索着椅子，确信维奥拉在上面绑了一根绳子——但她仍然不是一个会耍花招的孩子。然后罗伯特在椅子上弯下腰，椅子停了一会儿，然后向后滑到桌子下面，就像我们自己的孩子过去所做的那样。他喜欢玩帐篷。罗伯特抬头看着我，脸色苍白如死人。 “这是沃尔蒂，妈妈；他回到了我们身边，”他说，我也相信了。”

凯特不由自主地浑身发抖，她敏锐地、完全地理解了那一刻令人兴奋的喜悦和恐惧，而维奥拉则无精打采地坐着等待她母亲的解释结束。显然，这对她来说是一个令人厌烦的故事。

兰伯特夫人接着说：“从那以后，他每天晚上都来，很快敲击声就开始了，最后我们和父亲取得了联系，他告诉我们要耐心等待，沃尔蒂就会和我们说话。”然后，力量控制了维奥拉，把她吓得几乎要疯了。”

少女明显颤抖了一下，眼神垂了下来。

“事情是怎么开始的？”凯特好奇地问，气喘吁吁。

“我们首先注意到的是她的左臂开始抽搐，以至于她无法控制。然后她开始用左手写字，就像我父亲的笔迹一样。十二岁之前她就可以写二十种不同的文字。这些信息都有署名，都说她要成为一名伟大的灵媒。然后开始了最奇怪的行为。我的顶针会被偷走并藏起来，花瓶会从壁炉架上掉下来，椅子会摇晃。有几个晚上，那里一片混乱。他们常常打破东西并敲打门；然后突然这些事情停止了，维奥拉陷入了死亡的恍惚状态。我永远不会忘记第一个晚上。我们以为她死了。我们看不到她的呼吸，她的手脚就像冰一样。”

女孩站了起来，脸色灰白而僵硬。 “不要，妈妈，不要！”她低声说道。 “他们在这里！” 她摇摇头，仿佛对着空气喊道：“不，不，现在不行！不，不！”

母亲说话了。 “她正在着迷。有人给你留言吗，赖斯夫人？

凯特第一次对母女俩产生了怀疑。女孩的这个举动显得太合时宜，也太戏剧化了。现在，她那双美丽的眼睛被蒙蔽了，她对自己失去了信心，在等待的过程中，她变得冷漠，对接下来发生的事情感到厌恶和恐惧。

母亲轻轻地站在女儿一边，反对控制，然后握住她的双手，平静地说：“现在不行，爸爸，现在不行。”但徒劳无功。女孩僵硬地坐回椅子上。 “赖斯夫人，他们有话要说，”兰伯特夫人沉默片刻后说道。 “是给赖斯夫人的吗？”维奥拉脚下的地毯上传来三声巨响。

“好亲切！那是什么？”凯特惊呼道，脊背发凉。

“是我父亲，”兰伯特夫人相当平静地回答。 “你不会写字吗，爸爸？今天对维奥拉要宽容点。——出于某种原因，他非常渴望与你交谈，赖斯夫人。”

一阵令人毛骨悚然的兴奋再次让凯特的头发竖了起来，她咬住了指尖。 “我在做梦吗？”当她听到母亲对着空气说话时，她问自己，回应的却是桌子上的敲击声和椅子上的重击声。 “这一切是多么荒唐，多么幼稚啊！”她想。

当这个念头闪过她的脑海时，房间似乎变暗了，空气变得凝重。女孩骄傲的年轻身体沉下去，变成了两倍，直到她看起来像一个老太婆，苍老，枯萎，但充满欢乐。她撅起的嘴唇发出冷笑。她的双手颤抖着，钩住了凯特。眼睛深陷，无眼睑，闪烁着恶意的光芒。一个乌鸦般的声音响起：“你得到了我的钱，基特——但你并没有得到全部。”从那张年轻扭曲的嘴唇中，发出令人作呕的笑声，这种笑声让凯特的血液都结冰了，她的舌头也僵硬了，让她无法叫出声来。她喘着粗气，坐回椅子上，声音继续说道：“你认识我。我一直恨你——你浪费了我的钱——你毒害了我的宠物——我恨你的丈夫——他欺骗了我一次——除非你还清这笔债务，否则你不会从我的钱中得到任何快乐。”

凯特呆呆地坐着，目瞪口呆，听着这个充满报复、无情的声音继续说道。只有当它停止时，她才意识到母亲等待的平静态度，以及对出现不愉快场面的礼貌的遗憾；然后女孩的嘴唇恢复了甜蜜，美丽的手松弛地放在她的膝盖上，抬起头，转过身来，安静地靠在椅子的垫子上。桌子剧烈摇晃起来。上面的一个小装饰品跳到空中，落在凯特的腿上。她惊呼一声，跳了起来，把那东西甩开，就像它是一只蟾蜍一样，正要逃跑，兰伯特夫人的声音让她一动不动，她是那么漠不关心，那么完全是事实。

“你认识那位灵魂访客吗？”她问。

随着这个问题的出现，凯特的恐慌消失了。她的敬畏、她的恐惧转变成惊奇和惊讶。

“这就像我的姨婆，”她气喘吁吁地承认。 “但是，哦，太可怕了！为什么 do 你让她陷入这样的境地？

“我们无法控制这些表现。嘘！他们还没有完成。他们即将为你写信。”

女孩仍然懒洋洋地躺着，将一只手举到桌子上——对凯特来说，这只手似乎是由某种外部无形的力量举起来的——然后它停在那里，仿佛疲倦而沉思。当它停下来时，女孩睁开了眼睛，她坐在那里看着它，仿佛它属于另一个入侵的自我。兰伯特夫人拿来一支铅笔和一张纸，把它们放在架子上。

突然，那只手醒来，动作剧烈。像狗抓住骨头一样抓住铅笔，它开始缓慢而坚定地书写，而维奥拉静静地、超然地看着它，仿佛它是完全与她的大脑分离的东西。最后，它把叶子从垫子上撕下来扔到地板上。

兰伯特夫人接了起来。 “这是父亲寄来的，”她说。 “但这是给你的。”

凯特接过那张叶子，上面用坚定、圆润、老式的字体写着这样的字：“你的姨妈在这里，要求你和你的兄弟偿还她的债务。她很生气，因为事情还没有完成。”

“我不知道有任何此类债务，”凯特说。 “我不明白这个。”

那只手又开始写字了，忙碌而平静，维奥拉的脸上又恢复了血色。当凯特等待时，她的敬畏开始消失，怀疑又涌上心头。这一切有些滑稽。

Again the hand flung its message, and again the mother picked it from the floor.

“This also is from father,” she announced, with more of excitement than she had hitherto betrayed.

The message began abruptly: “The doubter may be convinced if he will but put himself in the way of it. The life of my granddaughter is more valuable to-day than that of any king or queen. Her mission is to open the door between the two worlds. She is here ready for the test. Let the men of science come to her and be convinced of the life beyond the grave.” It was signed with an elaborate rubric “McLeod.”

“Who is this message for, father?” asked Mrs. Lambert. “Mrs. Rice?”

A violent thump answered “No.”

“Maybe it’s for my brother,” suggested Kate.

Three tremendous thumps upon the underside of the table gave affirmative answer.

Kate was quite restored to her ruddy self. “Very well, I will see that he gets it.”

Viola now spoke wearily, but quite in her natural voice again. “There is no test in that kind of a message. I didn’t write it—I had nothing to do with it; but you or Professor Serviss would be justified in thinking I did. Grandpa wanted me to go into a trance. This kind of writing is a compromise.”

“But what of my aunt who spoke through you?” asked Kate.

Viola stared at her blankly, and her mother laid a warning hand on Kate’s arm. “She knows nothing of these impersonations,” she said.

“What did I do?” asked Viola. “I hope nothing ridiculous.”

“Mrs. Rice’s aunt spoke through you, that’s all,” answered Mrs. Lambert, reassuringly.

“Tell me more,” said Kate, eagerly. “It is all so unreal to me—I want to see more. Dr. Britt has told us wonderful things of you. Do you really believe the dead speak to you?”

“They are with us all the time,” placidly, yet decisively, answered Mrs. Lambert. “We are never alone. I can feel them always near.”

Kate shrank. “I don’t believe I like that—altogether. Don’t you feel oppressed by the thought?”

“Yes, I do,” answered Viola; “they take all the joy out of my life.”

“Dearest!” warned the mother.

“It is true, and I want Mrs. Rice to know it. Since I was ten years old I have not been free of the thing for a day—only in the high mountains. There I could always draw a long breath. I am glad you’ve come, Mrs. Rice. I want you to ask Professor Serviss to come and investigate me. My only hope is in the men of science. Tell him I want him to help me understand myself.” She was speaking now with force and heat. “I want him to padlock me and nail me down. I want to know whether I am in the hands of friends or enemies. Sometimes I think devils are playing with me. All my life I’ve been tortured by these powers; even at school they came banging about my bed, scaring my room-mates. They disgraced me before my teacher, the one I loved best. They interfered with my music, they cut me off from my friends, and now they’ve landed me here in this strange house with this dreadful old man, and I want some one, some good man who knows, some one who is not afraid, to come and test me. Mamma never doubts, Mr. Clarke is entirely satisfied, and this Mr. Pratt is worse than all. I don’t believe in his pictures, I don’t believe in what I do—I don’t know what I believe,” she ended, despairingly; then added, fiercely: “This I do know, I want to be free from it—free, free—absolutely free. I pray to God to release me, but He does not, and my slavery grows worse every day.”

The girl’s intensity of utterance thrilled Kate to the heart. Here was the cry of a tortured soul, the appeal of one in bondage. Dr. Britt was right, she was a victim.

“You poor thing. I begin to understand. I will help you, and so will my brother. He is already interested in you. He is just the one to advise with you. If any one can help you he can. He is so keen-eyed, so strong.”

“I know he is. Have him come soon, won’t you?”

The mother interposed. “But, dearie, you know Mr. Clarke says—”

“I know what he says,” the girl answered, her face sullen and weary again. “He and all of you have no regard for me. You pretend to have, but you are all willing to sacrifice me to prove a theory. I don’t care whether spiritualism is true or not, I want to have one single day when I can be sure of being myself, free to come and go like other girls. I feel as if I had a band of iron around my neck. I shall go mad with it some day.”

Kate, usually ready, blunt, and fearless, sat in silence, perfectly convinced by the fury of the girl’s protest, stunned by a belief in the complete truth of her indignant accusations. These devotees, these fanatics, were immolating a beautiful young life on the altar of their own selfish faith. The virgin was already bound to the rock, and the priest, torch in hand, was about to apply the flame.

“什么可以 I do? I want to help you—”

An imperious knock at the door interrupted her, and for an instant Kate thought this another spirit message, but Mrs. Lambert called out, “Is that you, Anthony?”

A deep voice answered, “Yes, it is I. I have something to tell you.” Clarke opened the door and stepped within, a handsome, dark, theatrical figure.

Mrs. Lambert rose to meet him. “What is it, Anthony?”

“We’ve decided on the date. I am to speak on the second,” he answered exultantly.

Viola started up. “You shall not use my name. I forbid it!” Her hands were clinched, her eyes blazed with the fury of her determination, and she struck her heel upon the floor. “I tell you I forbid it!”

Clarke pushed Mrs. Lambert aside and strode to the centre of the room; his face was hard, his tone contemptuous. “You forbid it! What is your puny will against the invisible ones? You forbid it?” His voice changed as he asked, “Who has influenced you to Free Introduction childish revolt?” He turned to Kate. “Have you, madam?”

Kate Rice was not one to be outfaced. “If I have, I shall be most happy,” she answered. “Who are you that demand so much of this poor girl?”

“I am the one chosen by her ‘control’ to convey their message to the world.”

Kate recoiled a little. “Oh, you are? Well, I don’t care if you are. You have no right to use her name in this way without her consent.”

“Her consent! What she desires or what I desire is of small account. We are both in the grasp of the invisible forces, making for the happiness of the race. She can’t refuse to go on. It is her duty. There are millions of other women to sing, to dance, to amuse men—there is only one Viola Lambert in the world. Nothing in the annals of the occult exceeds her wonderful mediumship. She 必须 give herself to the world of science. She 必须 help us to prevail over the terrors of the grave. Her mission is magnificent. Her fame will fill the earth.”

Kate stoutly confronted him. “Perhaps the fame you give her will destroy her. It sounds to me like notoriety rather than fame. This poor child has a right to herself, and I will help her assert it.”

Clarke’s eloquent hand fell to his side. Something in Kate’s calm, matter-of-fact speech reached his shrewder self. He perceived here no mean antagonist. “You need not take the trouble, madam. I am guarding her. 他们 are guarding her.”

It was plain that both Mrs. Lambert and her daughter were profoundly in obedience if not in terror of this wild young evangel, and Kate, to test her divination, said, “Suppose she refuses?”

“She dare not refuse. Her ‘control’ would cut her down where she stands. She has no choice where they are concerned. The hands are upon her this moment,” he ended, triumphantly.

A shudder of despair went over the girl. “It’s true; I feel them here.” She touched her throat. “They are all against me—the living and the dead,” and she fell into her chair with a moan of despair, her beauty, her shining garments adding to the pity of her fate. Kate’s heart went out to her without reservation as she knelt beside her.

“I am for you, my dear, and so is my brother; we will help you, I give you my word. Be brave. You must see Morton and Dr. Weissmann. They will know what to do.”

Viola turned upon her mother with a wail of supplication. “Take me home, mother, take me home!”

Mrs. Lambert herself was weeping now. “I dare not, dearie, not till 他们 consent. Be patient—they have promised to release you after this test.”

Over the girl’s face a stony rigidity spread, her eyelids drooped, her head rolled from side to side, a pitiful, moaning cry came from her pinched lips, and then, at last, drawing a long, peaceful sigh, she slept.

Kate, in terror, stood watching, waiting till the lines of struggle, of pain, smoothed out, and the girl, doubly beautiful in her resignation, lay like one adorned for the angel of death. Then Clarke said, solemnly: “She has ceased to struggle. She is in good hands, in the care of those who love her and understand her; when she wakes she will be newly consecrated to her great work. Come.”

Kate, awed and helpless, permitted him to lead her from the room, but when fairly outside she turned upon him fiercely: “Don’t touch me. I despise you. You are all crazy, a set of fanatics, and you’d sacrifice that poor girl without a pang. But you sha’n’t do it, I tell you—you sha’n’t do it!”

And with that defiant phrase she swept past him down to the street, forgetting Dr. Britt in her frenzy of indignation and defeat.

Meanwhile Morton, with an armful of the publications of “The Society for Psychical Research” before him, was busied with the arguments of the spiritists and their bearings on Viola Lambert’s case.

The thing claimed—that the dead spoke through her—he could not for a moment entertain. Such a claim was opposed to all sound thinking, to every law known to science—was, in short, preposterous.

He had acquired all the prejudices against such a faith from Emerson’s famous phrase, “rat-hole philosophy,” down to the latest sneer in the editorial columns of 支柱, to the latest “exposé” in 爆炸. Upon the most charitable construction, those who believed in rappings, planchettes, materialized forms, ghosts, messages on slates, and all the rest of the amazing catalogue, were either half-baked thinkers, intellectual perverts, or soft-pated sentimentalists, whose judgment was momentarily clouded by the passing of a grief.

“And yet,” said one author, “go a little deeper and you will find in the very absurdities of these phenomena a possible argument for their truth. A manufactured system would be careful to avoid putting forward as evidence a thing so childish and so ludicrous as a spirit tipping a table, writing in a bottle, or speaking through a tin horn. Who but a childlike and trusting soul would expect to convince a man of science of the immortality of the soul by causing a message from his grandfather to appear in red letters on his arm? The hit-or-miss character of all these phenomena, the very silliness and stupidity which you find in the appeal, may be taken as evidence of the sincerity of the psychic.”

To this Morton took exception. “I don’t see that. There has never been a religion too gross, too fallacious, to fail of followers. Remember the sacred bull of Egypt and the snake-dance of the Hopi. The whole theory, as Spencer says, is a survival of a more primitive life and religion.”

Finding himself alone with Weissmann during the afternoon, he said, carelessly:

“If you were called upon to prove the falsity or demonstrate the truth of the spiritualistic faith—how would you set to work?”

Weissmann was a delicious picture as he stood facing his young colleague. He was dressed to go home, and was topped by a low-crowned, broad-brimmed, black hat, set rather far back on his head, and floating like a shallop on the curling wave of his grizzled hair. His eyebrows, gray, with two black tufts near the nose, resembled the antennæ of a moth. His loose coat, his baggy trousers, and a huge umbrella finished the picture. He was a veritable German professor—a figure worthy of Die Fliegende Blätter.

“I can’t say exactly,” he replied, thoughtfully. “In general I would bring to bear as many senses as possible. I would see, I would hear, I would touch. I would make electricity my watch-dog. I would make matter my trap.”

“但是如何？”

“That, circumstances would determine. My plan would develop to fit the cases. I would begin with the simplest of the phenomena.”

“Do you know Meyers’s book?”

“Bah! No.”

“And yet they say it is a careful and scientific study.”

“They say! Who say?”

Serviss smiled. “The spiritualists.” Then lightly added: “What would you and the rest of the scientific world do to me if I should go into this investigation and come out converted?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled and his mustache writhed in silent enjoyment. “Burn you alive, as we did Bent and Zöllner.”

“Of course you would. What you really want me to do is to go in and smash the whole thing, eh?”

“就是这样。”

“Clarke, that crazy preacher, said we men of science were just as dogmatic in our way as the bishops, and I begin to think he’s right. We condemn without investigation—we play the heretic, just as they did. Could you—could any man—go into this thing and not lose standing among his fellows?”

“No.” The old figure straightened, and his mustache bristled sternly. “No; he who goes into this arena invites a kind of martyrdom—that is also why I say you, a 年轻 man—you might live to see your vindication, but I would die in my disgrace as Zöllner did.”

So they parted, Serviss admiring his chief’s blunt honesty and vast learning, Weissmann busy with the thought that his eyes were failing, and his work nearly done, “and so little accomplished,” he sadly added.

Kate met her brother at the door in a kind of fury. “Something must be done for that girl. I have had a perfectly nerve-racking time. We must get her out of that house before they drive her crazy.”

The sincerity of her rage froze the smile on his face. “Is it as bad as that?”

“It is as bad as you can imagine. That man Clarke has some kind of baneful influence over her. He seems able to control her by just waving his hand at her. And the mother is such a dear old silly—she trusts to him completely. But go and dress and we will talk it all over. I’m all of a-tremble yet with what I’ve seen. I feel as if I had been to an insane asylum and witnessed a strangling.”

He went away to his room, deeply perturbed, resentful of all this ill-regulated human nature which could so upset his sane sister and come between his own mind and his work. He believed in orderly and humorous human life. Why should this teasing, tormenting girl from the mountains come with her trances and tricks to make life furious and antic where it had been amusing and accountable? To what would a closer acquaintance lead? What would become of his studies if he gave himself to her case? “To disillusionment, I sincerely hope,” he said.

As he joined his sister at dinner, he began, “Well, now, sis, I’ll listen.”

Kate had lost a little of her excitement under the influence of her toilet-table, but she was still tense and flushed, as she hesitated, her heart overflowing with sisterly admiration, so handsome, so strong, and so very established did Morton appear at the moment. His tone still further calmed and reassured her, and she began:

“In the first place, I like the girl very much; she is very pretty and much more 顺便说一句 than you had led me to suppose. Her manner is extremely good. The mother is dear and sweet, but deluded. Clarke and that old man Pratt ought to be in an asylum—or the calaboose.”

Morton laughed harshly. “Your succinct statement puts me in complete possession of the case. They’re all fakirs together.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. They’re all fanatics. You should see the spirit-paintings and the slate-writings in that house! It was like a journey to a far country. Really, Morton, it staggers belief to think that within twenty blocks of where we sit such a man and such a home can exist. They do exist, and it only makes me realize how small a part of the city we know, after all. And some things I heard there to-day make me wonder if science 不 shutting its eyes—as these people say—to a world right under its nose. Morton, those people 相信 what they talk. That girl is honest; she may be self-deceived, but her sufferings are real. I can’t believe that she is wicked.”

“Weissmann practically advised me to go into a study of these morbid conditions.”

“He did? Well, that from Rudolph Weissmann, after what I’ve 看到 to-day, unsettles my reason. Maybe those people really have a message. But, Morton, you really must do something for that girl. Her condition is pitiful. One of the plans of that lunatic Clarke is to issue a challenge to the world of science and to throw that girl into the arena for you scientists to tear.”

Morton started—stared. “No! Not a public challenge.”

“Isn’t it pitiful? Yes, he’s going to speak on the second of next month at the Spirit Temple, and he’s going to publicly describe Viola’s powers, and, as her manager, challenge the world to prove her false.”

As Morton’s mind flashed over the consequences of this challenge, his face paled. “Good God, what an ordeal! But the girl, does she consent?”

“She does and she doesn’t. As a sweet, nice child she shrinks from it; but as a ‘psychic,’ as they call her, she has no choice. These inner forces seem able to take her by the throat any minute. They seized her while I was there. Morton, she impersonated Aunt Dosia, and delivered the most vindictive message—she scared me blue. You never saw anything more dramatic—more awful.”

“消息是什么？”

“Something about a debt she wanted us to pay. She was furious about it. I don’t know of any debt; do you?”

“No. How did the message come?”

As Kate described it, the impersonation grew grotesque, lost much of its power to horrify, and Morton, though he writhed at thought of the girl’s depravity, blamed the mother and Clarke for it. Kate made end by saying: “It 是 horrible to see, and it startled me. Then the other messages, those written ones, came through her hand—”

“Automatic writing, they call it. That has no value—none whatever. The whole programme was arranged for your benefit.”

“No, it wasn’t. The girl was carried out of herself. She is somehow enslaved by Clarke, and she wants help. She wants to be investigated; but she wants it done privately. She wants you to do it. She begs you to do it.”

“Begs me?” His eyebrows lifted.

“Yes, she passionately desires your advice. The poor thing made an appeal that would have touched your heart. She wants to be cured of this horrid thing—whatever it is. She wants to escape from Pratt and Clarke and all the rest of those queer people. You must take it up, Morton. 完全 must make up a committee and take charge of her.”

“Clarke is mad. No reputable man of science will go on such a committee. The girl will fall into the hands of notoriety-seekers—men of position do not meddle with such questions.”

Kate flared forth. “Why don’t they? It is their duty just as much as it is Viola’s duty to offer herself. That is where I lose patience with you men of science. Why 别 you meet these people half-way? Women wouldn’t be such bigots—such cowards. If you don’t help this poor girl I’ll consider you a bigot and coward with the rest.”

“Your whole position is most feminine,” said Morton, arguing as much against himself as against Kate. “You’ve only seen this girl once—you have witnessed only one of her performances, and yet you are ready to champion her before the world. I wish you’d tell me how you arrived at a conviction of her honesty. Think of it! She assumes to be the mouth-piece of the dead. The very assumption is a discredit.”

“I don’t care; she has good, honest, sweet eyes.”

“I bow to the force of the eyes, but over against her claim I put the denials of science. The phenomena these fanatics base their hopes upon science has already proven to be tricks, illusions, deceits.”

“I don’t care, her story, her own attitude towards the thing, convinced me that she is 诚实的设立的区域办事处外，我们在美国也开设了办事处，以便我们为当地客户提供更多的支持。“

“It’s the rogue who looks like a gentleman who runs the longest race.”

“Well,” ended Kate, rather helplessly, “see her—see her before you condemn her.”

“但是我 已可以选用 seen her—I’ve spent more days in her company than you have hours.”

Kate looked at him with new interest. “You didn’t tell me that before. You said you’d met her casually.”

“She is enormously interesting, but”—his voice changed to earnest protest—”but, Kate, the thing the girl claims to be is out of key with all organized human knowledge. It is a survival of the past. It belongs to a world of dreams and portents. It is of a piece with the old crone’s tales, fortune-telling, palmistry, and all the rest of the hodge-podge or hocus-pocus which makes up the world of the unlearned. I’ve given a great deal of thought to her fate. My heart bleeds for her, but what can I do? She really needs the care of a great physician, like Tolman. She should be snatched from her unwholesome surroundings and sent away to Europe or back to her hills. When I saw her last she was as sweet and blithe as a bobolink—we were on the trail together, so far above the miasma of humankind that her girlhood seemed uncontaminated by any death-affrighted soul. Why don’t she go back? She is vigorous and experienced in travel. Her step-father is not poor; he is rich. Why don’t she pull away and go back to her valley?”

“Do you know what a ‘control’ is?”

“I believe that is the name they give the particular spirits which assume to advise and guide a medium. Why?”

“Well, that poor thing is in mortal terror of her ‘control,’ who is her grandfather. She was quite defiant till Clarke reminded her that her guide would cut her down in her tracks if she refused. Then she wilted—went right off into death-like sleep. It was pitiful to see her. Clarke was terrible when he said it—he is a regular Svengali, I believe, and the mother is completely dominated by him. One of the spooks is her own father, the other her first husband. It seems that they are willing to sacrifice the girl to 其 science, for it seems they are leagued to dig a hole through to us from their side, and Viola is their avenue of communication. Then, too, the girl believes in it all. She rebels at times, but she has been having these trances ever since she was ten years old.” As the memory of the mother’s tale freshened, Kate changed her tone. “You needn’t tell me, Morton Serviss, that these people are frauds. They may be mistaken, but they’re horribly in earnest. They believe in those spirits as you do in germs, and Viola is absolutely helpless in their hands, if you can say they have hands. They can throw her into a trance at any moment. They’ve made her life a misery. She is absolutely enslaved to them.”

“That, too, could be a delusion—medical science is full of cases of auto-hypnotism.”

“Viola Lambert is not a medical case. It’s astonishing what a blooming beauty she is in the midst of it all. In fact, her health gives Clarke and the mother an argument—they say ‘it hasn’t hurt her, you see.’ But what future has the poor girl? Think of going through life in that way!”

Morton’s eyes were sad as he said: “Her future is a dark one, from our point of view, but she may be earning a crown to be given in the land of shadows. She is beautiful, but it is the beauty of a blighted flower.”

Kate regarded him with affectionate eyes. “I don’t wonder that she has bewitched you, Morton. She can never be anything to you, of course. But we must help her, just the same, and I confess I am crazy to see one of her ‘performances,’ as you call them.” Her face lightened. “How would it do to invite them to dinner and have a séance afterwards? You could judge then of her truth.”

“Sacrifice her to make 我们的 holiday, eh? Kate, I thought better of you than that. Isn’t that precisely the poor girl’s complaint that everybody wants to use her as a sort of telephone connection with the other world? No. If you invite her here, receive her as a lady, not as a pervert. But, now, let us see. You say Clarke is going to issue his challenge soon?”

“On the second.”

“And that she has consented?”

“Consented? Poor thing, she has no choice.”

“If he issues that challenge, she is lost.” His brows knitted. “To defy the world of science in that way will make her fair game for every charlatan in the city. The press will unite to destroy her. I will see Clarke and Pratt myself. For the sake of their own cause they must not enter on such a foolish plan. Unless this life has already eaten deep into the essential purity of the girl’s nature, she will be corrupted. This public-test business will drive her into all kinds of artifices and shifts. Her exposure will be swift and sure. Yes, I will see Clarke. If necessary I will undertake to secure a purely private investigation of her claims—”

Kate rose and came round to his chair. “Will you? Oh, that will be good of you, Mort. I can’t begin to tell you how that girl’s face has worked on me to-day. I feel that it would be criminal in you not to do something when she expects it of you. She looks to us to save her. She passionately desires your help. Go over there to-morrow. Don’t delay; they may issue that challenge any minute. Clarke was angry and alarmed at my attitude, and may send out the notice to-night. Do go, Morton. You can’t afford to stand on ceremony when a soul is in danger.”

He rose. “Very well, I will go; but I never embarked on an enterprise that seemed more dangerous, more futile. My heart says go, but my reason is against it.”

“Follow your heart in this instance.”

“If I did that wholly, I would go straight to this dragon’s den and snatch the fair maiden home to my castle.”

“That would be romantic, but a little too daring, even for my enthusiasm.”

“You may be reassured. No one really follows the heart in these days—at least, those who do land in jail Of the almshouse.”

As he lit his cigar he observed that his hand trembled. For the first time in his life his nerves were over-charged and leaping with excitement just above control.

The following evening, after much debate with himself, Serviss, armored in scientific reflection, set forth towards the unknown country wherefrom his sister had brought report of a maiden dwelling in the power of giants, pitiably ensnared by evil-minded enchanters. The errand, in Kate’s mind, was as chivalric as any of the olden time, but the knight’s progress was lit by the green and red lamps of trade, and threaded only the brazen jungles of traffic. For dragons he had but the overhead monsters of iron and brass—monsters too intent on their own mad game to take account of such small deer as this footman picking his road beneath. It was half-past eight of the night-watch.

Serviss began to realize that his reawakened interest in this girl was not purely impersonal and scientific. It had become, indeed, a most disquieting, intimate concern, and every step towards the West sharpened the sense of his folly. Had it not been for the memory of that ride up the mountains—his keen remembrance of that day of joyous youth—he could have easily dismissed Viola’s case from his mind; but as he permitted himself to dwell upon her rosy, rain-wet face, her bird-like ecstasy of voice, her splendid defiance of the sun and wind, a desire that was as fierce as anger actuated him, making his proffer of aid not a gallantry but a duty. “I will defend her from herself. Though a liar, she is still worth redemption. In a certain sense the despicable rôle she is playing has been forced upon her.”

As he mounted Simeon’s steps he observed that awnings covered the adjacent carriage-block, and that some young people, all in party dress, were entering—a merry, chattering group—whereas the Pratt mansion towered gloomily, unlighted, unalluring as a prison.

He was about to touch the bell when the door opened and a porter softly greeted him. “The meeting has begun, sir. Step right in, sir. This way, sir. Softly, please.”

Before he was fairly aware of his attendant’s meaning Serviss found himself thrust through a heavily curtained archway into a large room dimly lighted by a single lamp at the farther end. It contained about twenty people, and he hesitated in embarrassment and some amazement at the threshold.

Beneath the light, on a reclining-chair, lay a woman with closed eyes and folded hands. Beside this figure stood Clarke in the midst of an address, every word of which was made dramatically effective by a forced calmness, an elocutionary trick.

“Some of you, my friends, may never have seen any of these mysterious things. So many people say to me, ‘Nothing supernatural ever happens where I am.’ To you I repeat my answer to them. Have you ever tried to enter the right conditions? Here is a caravan of Arabs on the desert. The road, hard-beaten, is wide and dusty, the necks of the camels sway, the drivers shout, there is the smell of sweat, of leather, of oil. The alkaline dust blinds and blisters. Physical weariness and suffering shut out all else. This is no place to look for heavenly visitors. You would be a fool to expect a demonstration there. But at night when the beasts are at rest, when the cool, starry sky bends close, when the tent-flaps are closed, then the old men sit about and commune with their dead—as all primitive, natural peoples do.

“So with you. You say to me, ‘I have no heavenly visions in my life.’ I answer: Do you expect them on Broadway or in your business office? You are on the dusty, weedy, noisy high-road, my friends, and you will never hear a spirit voice or catch the flutter of a hand till you retire to the dusk and the quiet. Enter the land of meditation. Manifest a willingness to meet the angel visitors half-way, and then the wings of the unseen will rustle about you, the cool and scented winds of the invisible universe will kiss your cheeks. Shadowy voices will be wafted from the dark. Song will break from the silences to comfort and heal you.

“We see only what we 将 to see—that is a known law of psychology. Electricity was a force in the world six thousand years before man really saw it. Now we hear it crackle in our hair and stir in our garments. By studying the conditions of its manifestation we are able to call it forth in giant power. So of these invisible ones—they are all about us, eager to bless, to prove their presence. They are here now. Around each one of you there are throngs hovering to manifest their love; they will do so, by the aid of this wonderful psychic who has consented to sit for us to-night. Let me repeat that she does this because the dead demand and the living beseech her to act as their intermediary.” With abrupt, almost ludicrous change to a matter-of-fact tone, he added, “Henry, turn the light a little lower.”

As the attendant glided to his task, Serviss was mightily moved to rise in his seat and cry out against the foolish, profaning business. They were putting the girl into the exact attitude of the paid trickster. At college he had attended a few of these séances, where vulgar and immoral women had furthered their trade; and to see Viola, whom he still believed to be essentially sweet, or at least reclaimable, thrown into this most dubious posture, disgusted and angered him. “But I am an uninvited guest. My rising would precipitate a scene, involving Viola,” he reasoned, and so kept his seat, though his hands clinched and his teeth set with the effort at control.

Some one commenced to play softly upon a harp, and a little sigh like a breeze passed over the group. The women had begun to respond to the manager’s emotional appeal. “I can feel them gathering,” he called, softly, from his seat beside the motionless girl. “The spirit host are about us. I can almost hear the rustle of their wings.”

The harpist stopped abruptly, and an echoing strain of faint music continued to sound, seemingly from the ceiling—a fairy harp exquisitely clear. “That is my Adele,” announced Clarke, in a voice so convincing in its tone of satisfied longing that the women of his audience again rustled with ecstasy.

“I think he is beautiful!” exclaimed one.

“A voice is whispering to me,” Clarke continued. “It is asking for some one—I cannot quite make out. Who is it? Again, please. Morton Serviss?” His voice rose in surprise. “He is not here. You are surely mistaken. Certainly, I will ask. Is Professor Serviss here?”

Serviss replied, with a slight note of annoyance in his voice, “Yes, I am here.”

Again the little group shivered with excitement—not because they were acquainted with the name and fame of the scientist, but because they anticipated some especially wonderful manifestation of the psychic’s power. Serviss, irritated and puzzled, waited in silence.

Clarke’s voice trembled with his effort to appear calm as he said: “Professor Serviss, I am glad to welcome you. Won’t you please come forward? The ‘control’ desires it.”

For a full minute, in dead silence, Serviss debated the matter, then rose to comply. Mrs. Lambert met him with cordial hand, saying, in a whisper: “We did not know you were coming; but they knew. They want you closer to the manifestation.”

He, sick at heart at her connivance in the trick, made no reply, but silently took the seat which Clarke indicated.

Viola lay as silent as a statue, her face faintly showing, a diamond in her corsage emitting a momentary gleam as she breathed tranquilly at long intervals. There was nothing of the professional sibyl in her dress, and her tall figure was very beautiful in this attitude of deep sleep.

Clarke, mindful of effect, made explanation: “Professor Serviss, as many of you know, is renowned in science, and the ‘controls’ are especially anxious that he shall have the best possible opportunity to hear and see. Will you play again, Mrs. Robinson?”

As the harp resumed its sadly sweet pulsations, the dead matter in the room seemed to awake. Cracklings, snappings, as of a fire-log, arose from the carpet. Rappings resounded from the walls. The piano began to thrill as if a roguish child were thumping it.

“That’s my little boy,” whispered Mrs. Lambert.

Clarke shut off the light above his head till it was but a faint point of yellow light, and then a hand, firm and broad, was laid for an instant on Serviss’s shoulder. Stars of phosphorescent fire floated about. A small hand fluttered in a caress about the face of the sleeping girl.

“That is her father’s hand,” again murmured Mrs. Lambert.

Serviss was willing to believe the girl’s trance real, and that she had no part in the hocus-pocus up to this point; but even as he leaned forward to peer into the faintly visible face of the sleeper a voice, breathy yet metallic, as though coming through the horn of a phonograph, sounded in his ear. “Be not so doubting, my boy. I, too, doubted.”

“你是谁？” 他问。

“Loggy,” answered the voice, with a chuckle.

This answer, so unexpected, this chuckle, so familiar, startled him, for it was his pet name for an uncle, a professor of mathematics who used to call himself “Old Logarithms” when in play with his nephews; but, before Serviss had time to put out his hand, the horn came down softly on his head, then withdrew, and a boyish voice laughed in his ear, “You’re a dunce!”

Mrs. Lambert bent towards him. “Did some dear one speak to you? I hope so. We are so anxious to have you one of us.”

He did not reply, for a third voice, seemingly that of an old man, was issuing from the horn in pompous, stolid, old-fashioned utterance. “The reality of all you see, young man, can be proven. Set yourself to the grand task of destroying all fear of the change men call death. Science is hopeless. We alone can save the world from despair.”

“That is my father,” explained Mrs. Lambert, “he is my daughter’s chief ‘control,’ He cares for her—teaches her.”

Again the floating horn passed Morton’s face, and a boyish voice called, “Mamma, are you happy?”

“Yes, dear, when you are with me.”

“We’re always with you. We’re glad P’ofessor Serviss came.”

“So are we, Waltie.”

“Papa says, ‘Tell him to watch—tell him—to be patient—'” The voice hesitated, murmured, and was silent, then added, plaintively: “Oh, dear, there are so many who want to talk—they take my strength away. Good-bye.”

The horn dropped with a clang, but was at once caught up and floated away over the circle. Dear names were whispered, secrets recalled. Loved voices, long stilled by the grave, were heard again. Hands that the earth had covered touched tear-wet cheeks, and with these caresses sobbing outcries burst from the women.

“I believe. Yes, yes! I know you, darling,” called a man’s voice, and his accent was more moving than the cries of the women.

Pratt, in wistful accents, asked, “Is there no one for me to-night?”

“Yes, father,” answered a girl’s voice from the megaphone, now hanging almost directly in front of Serviss, “we are all here. I’m going to sing for you—the song you liked the best.”

This she did in a far-away voice, sweetly and with excellent vocalization, but the first notes startled Serviss. They were from “The Banks of Loch Lomond,” the very song Clarke sang to Viola’s accompaniment that night in the little cabin in Colorow. “And yet she told me she had no voice!” he said to himself, and a bitter heat overcame the chill of his disgust, “What unconscionable trickery!” This last piece of deception seemed to involve the girl more directly than any other of the evening’s accursed jugglery.

Pratt was pleading, brokenly: “My old paw is open, Jennie; put your hand in it—just for a moment—as you used to. I’m so lonely without you. Girls, can’t you touch your old father? Give me a kiss—and mother, is she with you to-night?”

“Yes, we’re all here. I can’t kiss you to-night, father; sometime I will,” the gentle voice replied. “I’m not strong enough to-night.” There was infinite regret in the tone, which conveyed to Serviss, with singular vividness, a virginal charm, united to something very sweet, almost saintly. Every sentiment had been beautifully voiced—no actress could have done it better.

Clarke spoke gently, solemnly: “Professor Serviss, will you now take a seat beside the psychic. Her ‘controls’ wish to make some special demonstration for you.”

With reluctance and loathing, the young scientist moved forward, guided by the mother, and placed his seat at the right side of Viola, whose daintily robed, graceful figure he could still detect. Her wrists appeared to be lying on the broad arms of her reclining-chair and her head was turned away from him. She seemed very feminine, very lovely, and very helpless, and he had a definite and powerful desire to take her in his arms, to wake her, to snatch her from this most revolting drama of the dark.

He was now seated directly between the sibyl and Clarke, her manager, and every sense was keenly awake. A tapping, metallic sound at once arose either upon his chair or Viola’s, and the horn, or whatever it was, floated dimly into view, then vanished, and a moment later the voice of the chief “control” entered his right ear: “Man of science, do not shirk your duty. Here now we offer you a chance to solve the great mystery. Will you accept?”

To this he made no answer, for his widely opened eyes were strained in the effort to locate Viola’s hands, eager to determine her part in the phenomena, and as the moving megaphone again touched his right temple he laid a quick hand lightly on her white wrist.

She leaped convulsively with a gasping cry, the horn tumbled to the floor with prodigious clatter, and the women all shrieked and rose to their feet.

“Fool! What have you done?” cried Clarke, in a terrible voice.

Serviss’s tone expressed only contempt as he answered, “No great harm, I think.”

The clergyman pushed him aside rudely, and knelt beside the girl, who was writhing and moaning in her chair, as though contorted with pain.

Words of indignation arose from the circle, and one or two shouted, “Run him out! He has no business here.” But Clarke cried out, in a commanding voice: “Remain where you are, friends! Be quiet for a few minutes.” They obeyed, and Serviss was about to withdraw when Pratt confronted him. “What do you mean? Do you want to kill the psychic?”

The mother was bending above her daughter with soothing words. “There, there, dearie! It will soon pass. You may turn on the light, Anthony.”

Clarke turned the cock of the burner till a faint glow revealed the girl, white, suffering, her left side convulsed. “You can’t do things like that,” he went on, addressing himself to Serviss. “In these trances the nervous system is in a state of enormous tension. The psychic must not be mishandled.”

“I merely touched her arm,” answered Serviss, quietly.

The mother answered: “The lightest touch is sufficient to convulse her, professor. You should have asked permission of the ‘control,’ then it would not have shocked her.”

“I hope it has done no lasting harm.” His voice, in spite of himself, took on sympathy, though he believed the girl’s shock to have been grossly exaggerated for some reason of her own. “I thought I was invited to make the test.”

The mother’s calm voice was thrilling as she said: “She’s better now. You may turn the light on full.”

Viola was a most appealing figure as she bloomed from the dark, pure and pale as a lily. She was dressed exquisitely in white, and seemed older, more worldly wise, and more bewitching than when he had last seen her; but with a feeling of profound contempt and bitterness Serviss shrank from meeting her gaze. He slipped away into the hall and out of the house—back into the cool, crisp air of the night, ashamed of himself for having yielded again to the girl’s disturbing lure, burning with disappointment, and sad and grieving over the loss of his last shred of respect for her.

“Britt was right,” he exclaimed, drawing a deep breath as if to free his lungs of the foul air of deceit. “They are all frauds together,” and with this decision came a sense of relief as well as of loss.

Kate, waiting impatiently in her turn, met him at the door. “Well, did you see her? What did she say?” Her voice rose in excitement, for she perceived unusual gravity in the lines of his face.

“Your ‘far country’ lies on the borders of hell,” he replied, with disconcerting succinctness. “Yes, I saw her—or, rather, the ruin of her.”

She recoiled before this tone. “What do you mean?”

He shook himself free of his coat. “She has descended swiftly. She now lends herself to the shallowest, basest trickery.”

“I don’t believe it. What has happened to make you so bitter?”

“I will tell you presently,” he replied, hanging up his hat with aggravating deliberation. “But not here. Come to the library.” He led the way and she followed quite meekly, for she perceived in him something new and harsh. She sat quite still while he filled his pipe and lit it, waited until the soothing flow of smoke through its stem had softened his face. He began, sadly: “The girl has gone beyond our interference, Kate; and if she weren’t so pretty, if I hadn’t seen her when she was wholesome and altogether charming, I would not have wasted this evening on her. To-night’s doings were unforgivable.”

“Did she give you a sitting?”

“No, but they were in the midst of a 会议“—he spoke this word with infinite disgust—”and the usher, mistaking me for an invited guest, thrust me into the very centre of the circle.”

“How lucky! I wish I had been there.”

“Well, that’s as you look at it. When I realized what was going on I wanted to leave, and, I repeat, had the chief actress been an old hag or the usual sloven who plays this game, I would have fled; but she was as beautiful as a statue as she lay there, professedly in deep trance.”

“You’re sure it was Viola?”

“I wish there were a doubt! Yes, she was there, surrounded by a group of Pratt’s friends, giving a 性能.” This word, too, expressed his contempt, his pain. “She went the whole length—lent herself to the cheapest kind of jugglery, playing with horrible adroitness upon the emotions of a lot of bereaved men and women. It was revolting, Kate. It shakes one’s faith in humanity to see such a girl in such a position—and that nice-appearing old mother sat there serene as a tabby-cat while her daughter bamboozled a dozen open-faced ninnies.”

“Tell me exactly what happened; I can’t share your horror till I know what the girl actually did.”

He approached the details with a grimace.

“First of all, imagine a little half-circle of well-dressed men and women, in a big drawing-room, enclosing a girl lying on a low chair under a single gas-jet, and a man standing beside her speechifying.”

“That was Clarke, of course.”

“Of course. Then imagine the light turned down, and the usual floating guitar—in the dark, of course—and rappings and whispers and the touch of hands—all in the dark. Then imagine—this will make you laugh—some kind of horn or megaphone of tin, that rambled around invisibly, distributing voices of loved ones here and there like sweetmeats out of a cornucopia—”

“You mean the spirits 发言 through that thing?”

“That’s what they all believed.”

“But you don’t think the girl—”

“Who else? Some of the voices were women’s and one or two were children’s. Clarke couldn’t do the children’s voices.”

“I can’t believe it of her! Clarke must have done them. He’s capable of anything, but I don’t, I won’t believe such baseness of that girl.”

“It hurts me to admit it, Kate, but I am forced to believe that she not only sang through that horn to-night, but that she lied to me. She told me once that she had no voice, and yet ‘by request’ she sang into that horn, and very sweetly, too, the very song to which she played an accompaniment when Clarke and I met for the first time. The effrontery of it was confounding.”

“Maybe there was a confederate.”

“That doesn’t sweeten the mess very much.”

“No, and yet it wouldn’t be quite so bad. But go on—what else?”

“Then I was invited by the ‘controls’—so Clarke said—to come up and sit beside the medium, which I did, very loathly. It gave me a keen pang to look down on that lovely creature pretending to sleep, knowing perfectly well that she was planning some deep deception.”

“您 ，那恭喜你， bitter. What next?”

“I took a seat beside her, determined to see if she really had a hand in the deception. I thought I could prevent anything happening.”

“你是否？”

“No. Everything went on quite as briskly as before, and all the while I thought I could see her arms lying limp along her chair—lovely arms they were, too. She isn’t poor, you must understand that, Kate; and that really makes the crime worse, for she has not the usual excuse—she is not doing it for her daily bread.”

Kate sat like a judge, “Go on. You seized her, of course?”

“Yes; just when the cone was emitting an old man’s pompous harangue I laid my hand on her arm. The horn dropped, the circle rose in confusion, and I came away.”

“I expected you’d do that. All sceptics do, I believe. But I want to know 所有 that took place. You’re so concise. You say the cone emitted a man’s voice. Now, how could—”

“It produced the 印象 of a man’s voice. It is easy to deceive under such conditions. The cone was passed from her hand to Clarke’s at the proper moments, and, as you say, there might have been a child—”

“You must not infer, Mort—my faith in that girl is at stake. Was there nothing in her favor? Nothing that justified her claim?”

He hesitated and Kate leaned forward in excess of interest. “Go on, Morton, be honest.”

“Well, now, as I think of it there was one little thing which was rather curious. I don’t know how she or Clarke or any one there should know what we used to call Uncle Ben.”

“What? Did you get a message from him?”

“A voice from the megaphone asked for me, and when I requested the name of ‘the party speaking,’ as Clarke says, it replied with an oily chuckle, exactly like the old duffer, ‘It’s old Loggy.'“

“It did?” Her voice was sharp with surprise. “Well, now, that is as wonderful as my experience. How do you account for 这？ 如何 do you account for such things?” she repeated, insistently.

“Clarke must have known—”

“Nonsense. No one outside our immediate family knows of that nickname. Besides, how would he know the way ‘Loggy’ laughed? I’d forgotten it myself.”

“So had I. But what would you say? Would you jump to the conclusion—”

“完全 are jumping at the conclusion, Mort. If there is one single thing that you can’t understand, you must give that girl the benefit of the doubt. What did ‘Loggy’ say?”

“There you go! You’re ready to swallow the whole lump of humbuggery, just because there is one little puzzling plum in it.”

Kate was not to be put down. “What did uncle 对工资盗窃？“

He submitted. “Nothing else. Like most of those dead folk, he was there just to manifest, not to impart wisdom.”

Kate leaned back in her chair and grew thoughtful. “Morton, that was wonderful. No one knew you were coming, no one knew you except those people, and they’re from, the other end of the earth—and yet 谁 speaks, using a pet name we’ve both forgotten. Now, I call that a most important thing to dwell upon. How can 您, a scientist, overlook it?”

“But you must remember all this happened in the house of jugglery. There is no value in a performance of that kind. There was no test applied. Confederates had full opportunity to come and go. To have weight with me these wonders must take place under conditions of my making, not theirs.”

“That’s what she wants.”

“I don’t believe it. Pardon me, Kate, but you’ve been taken in. Whatever this girl was two years ago, she is now a part of Clarke’s scheme, which is to secure a tremendous lot of advertising and then—emit a book.”

Kate transfixed him with a finger. “Morton Serviss, there is nothing so convincing as a tone. I know that girl is honest—she may be deceived, she may be made a tool of, unconsciously, by Clarke, but she does not wilfully deceive. I will not let you off with this experience; you must see her in private—talk with her as I did.”

“I will have nothing further to do with her or hers,” he replied, with determined quiet, knocking the ashes from his pipe. “I have other and better business in the world.”

“I don’t believe it is better business. Now, wait a moment, I have something to tell of my own evening. While you were gone I ‘phoned Uncle Harrison and Aunt Nancy about that debt of my great-aunt—who came to me through Viola to-day; they knew nothing about it, but they set to work looking over her old papers, and found that there was a sealed letter addressed to a doctor in Michigan, and in the letter was a check made out to him and which she intended to send him. Now, what do you think of that?”

“I don’t see that that has any necessary connection with your experience this afternoon.”

“But it does. I’m sure of it. Auntie felt grateful to this young doctor and wanted to reward him. Morton, it was a big check!” She uttered this impressively.

“Was it? How much?”

“五千块。”

He faced her with a whistle of surprise. “Well, well! that isn’t so amusing. Are we to pay it? Is that the idea?”

“If I am sure—if the letter is what they ‘phoned it to be, we’ve got to pay it, I’m her sole legatee, and she was very angry because it hadn’t been paid; but that’s not the really important part. How did Viola Lambert know of that letter—and that check?”

He was deeply impressed, and did not try to conceal it. “That is very puzzling; but it may be a case of mind-reading, which, I believe, the modern psychologists admit has been proved.” He began to muse. “It may be, as Weissmann says, that there is always some basis for a claim such as Clarke makes for this girl. It may be that she has a faculty for reading what lies in the brain of another—”

“Morton Serviss, you shall not condemn that girl unheard. You have taken Britt’s word about her, and you’ve listened to my story, but you must see her yourself and talk with her alone, so that she will be free to tell you just how she feels.”

“No. I am going to bed and try to forget the whole disconcerting group.”

“That’s the way with you scientists. You’ll pursue the tail of a comet—or a germ—till you’re black in the face, but when something really important to the human race comes under your nose you can’t see it.”

“You’re forceful but not elegant, sis.”

“I’m out of all patience with you.”

He laughed. “Good-night.”

“I hope that girl’s face will haunt you,” she replied.

It did. From the moment he turned off his light his mind leaped into the most restless activity. Taking up the scroll of the night’s events, he read and reread it with minutest care. A voice seemed to present the girl’s case, arguing that she had no conscious part in the manifestations. “It is possible for one in deep trance to rise and manipulate horns, bells, and guitars at the suggestion of another precisely as a somnambulist walks without intention of wrong-doing, without conscious knowledge of what is being done. She might have had a veritable hand in to-night’s drama and still be innocent. Hypnotism is now pretty thoroughly proven—and to Clarke you must look for the real offender.

“The human brain, which is marvellous enough when in health and singing merrily forward like a cunningly constructed and jewelled time-piece, becomes, in disease, as baffling, as hopeless of solution as the laws of the unfathomable sky. Beyond the utmost sweep of the imagined lies the marvel of fact. The beliefs, the vagaries, the hallucinations of the insane have never been co-ordinated, perhaps they never will be. It is possible that this girl, so normal in appearance, has a rotten strand in her—some weakness inherited from her father. This is the only way in which to account for her glowing physical health and her manifest mental disorder. She has her father’s mind in a body drawn from her mother. One-half of her is pure and sweet and girlish, the other is old, decayed, lying, and irresponsible. Can she be reclaimed?

“It is now known that the conscious mind is but a pin’s-point of the mind’s activity, the conscious state being but one of an infinite number of possible states—that the submerged, unconscious self is a million times more complex than the chain of those conscious states which makes up the normal or orderly life of an individual. May it not be that this girl, by reason of her long practice of submission—induced by others—has dethroned her conscious, higher self, making of her subliminal self a tyrant? This submerged self, holding, as it does, all the experiences of the dark past, all the lusts, deceits, and subterfuges, all the cruelties and shameless potentialities of her animal and semicivilized forebears, and being but a mass of discordant impulses—states almost entirely disassociated from her conscious life—has all but taken possession of her higher self. The restraint of the later-developed, governing, moral self being weakened, the witches and wolves are leaping forth to vex and destroy. Over this fortuitous subversion of her soul’s kingdom Clarke now rules like a demon councillor.

“Considered in the light of a study in morbid psychology, her case is enthralling. From the standpoint of human pity this use of her is a diabolical outrage. Suppose Kate to be right—suppose the girl has awakened to a full realization of her danger? Suppose that her cry for succor is real, can I, can any man who hears it, refuse to heed? Would I ever sleep in peace again?”

He went further, he admitted that her beauty was the deciding element. “She is too lovely to be left to a fanatic’s designs. She has matured in body, grown more womanly, since we rode the trail together; may it not be that her mind, maturing even more rapidly, has come to perceive the crumbling edge of the abyss before it stands and turns to science as the only rescuer? No matter what her past deceptions have been, is it not my duty to help her?”

His anger and contempt dissolved into compassion. He recalled her youth, her inexperience. “I will at least see her again,” he decided, deep in the night. “I will talk with her. I will draw her out. I will study her. All will depend upon her attitude towards me and towards her own soul.” And in that softened mood sleep came to him.

Morton went to his work next morning quite unfitted for an especially delicate piece of dissection which he had in hand. He bungled it, and Weissmann transfixed him with a glare of disapproval. “My boy, these social gayeties do not consort well with science.”

The young man smiled to think how wide of the mark his chief was. He held up both hands. “I swear, it shall not happen again.” Then, moved by a desire to secure a comment on the curious phenomena of the séance, he related the story of his brief interview with his uncle Ben’s ghost. “Now, do you suppose that Clarke, or the ‘medium,’ could dig around among the dusty, forgotten lumber of my mind and get hold of a queer fact like that nickname?”

“Why go so far round?” inquired Weissmann. “Why not say it was your uncle Ben who spoke?”

“你开玩笑吧。”

“我是 不能 joking. If the facts are as you say, then one explanation is as reasonable as the other.”

Serviss was amazed. “You don’t really mean it!”

“If you say it was an illusion of the sense of hearing, I agree; but do we not stagger among illusions? Who so well as we know the illusory nature of every fact? Nothing is stable under our hands. Of what avail to reduce the universe to one substance, as the monists do? We pry, we peer into that substance—it fades like smoke. Forty years I have probed among the cells of the body—the final mystery remains insoluble. Why? Because the atom, the thing once demonstrated ‘the final division of matter,’ is itself an illusion, made up of the intangible and the imponderable. This I have given my whole life to discover. Life is an illusion—why not death? Shall we dogmatize, especially on the one thing of which we know nothing? The spirit world is unthinkable, but so, at the last analysis, is the world of matter.”

The young man, believing this to be only the mocking mood of one who knew the argument of the dualists better than they knew it themselves, remained silent, and Weissmann composedly resumed: “The dogmatism of Haeckel is as vain as the assumption of Metchnikoff. We shall forever discover and forever despair. Such is the life of man.”

When he went home Morton found a note from his sister saying that she had received a message from Viola and that she would be at home at five. “Now don’t fail to go. I have to pour tea for Sally, or I would go with you. I’m crazy to see the girl again. I spent the morning talking the whole thing over with Doctor Safford. She thinks as I do, that the girl is exactly what she claims to be, a 中等, and that while it is her duty to go on, she ought to be protected from the vulgar public. We both want you to take her in hand. Certainly there 应该 to be no disgrace in standing as interpreter between the living and the dead. Isn’t it just our foolish prejudice? If the girl 能够 bring messages from the other world, she ought to be honored above all other women. Seriously, Morton, her plea the other day wrung my heart. I don’t want you to get 也有 interested in her, of course, but what we call a 疾病 may be a God-given power. Think of the way we run after a foolish, vulgar woman who has married into millions, and then think of the way we sniff at this girl because she has some gift which science doesn’t understand. If one teenty, tiny bit of what they claim about her is true, science ought to cherish her. As Marion said, if she had discovered a star so far off and so faint it wouldn’t matter in the least to any one but a few cranks whether it existed or not, she would be honored all over the world; but as she claims to have discovered something vital to every human soul, she is despised. It is your duty to help her. I had her over the ‘phone just now, and her voice was trembling with eagerness as she said, ‘Do tell him to please come and see me.'”

This note, so like his sister, so full of her audacities, touched Morton on the quick. It was plain that she was more than half-seas over towards faith in the girl, and quite ready to take her up and exhibit her among her friends. Her use of the word “disease” was intended as a mockery of his theories. He knew that she was quite capable of talking over the ‘phone precisely as she had written (reserve was not her strong point), and that she had undoubtedly given Viola reason to expect him. However, having concluded on his own account to see her once more, Kate’s exhortation merely confirmed him in a good intention, “I will confront Clarke, and try to pluck the heart out of this mystery, but I will keep clear of any personal relation with the girl and her mother,” he said, as if in answer to his sister’s admonition.

It was about five o’clock of the afternoon as he again mounted to Pratt’s portico, recalling, as he did so, the dramatic contrasting scenes of the evening before—on this side of the brick wall a communion with the dead, on that the throbbing, gay life of a ballroom. Truly a city street was a microcosm.

A solemn-visaged colored man—not the officious usher of the night before—took his card and led him into a gorgeous, glacial reception-room on the left. The house was very still and cold and gloomy, for the day was darkening and the lights were not yet on. It impressed him as a vast and splendid tomb, and with a revived knowledge of Simeon Pratt’s tragic history he chilled with a premonition of some approaching shadow. “What a contrast to the sunlit cabin of the Colorow!” he inwardly exclaimed, and the thought of the mountain girl housed in this grim and sepulchral mansion deepened his wonder.

A gruff voice above inquired: “Who is it? Let me see the card. Serviss, eh? Tell him—No, wait, I’ll go down and see him myself.”

Morton smiled grimly, realizing perfectly the manner in which Pratt had intercepted his card. “The old watch-dog,” he exclaimed.

A heavy tread descending the stairs announced the approach of his host, whose sullen face was by no means engaging as he entered. “Are you Professor Serviss?”

“我是。”

The flabby lips curled in scorn. “You are one of those scientific gentlemen who know it all, aren’t you?”

“I sent my card to Miss Lambert,” replied Serviss, with cutting formality.

Pratt’s face darkened. “I am the master of this house.”

“But not of your guests, I hope.”

“I have a right to know who calls, and I intend to protect Miss Lambert from such as you. You were not invited here last night.”

“Not by you, I admit. I owe you an explanation for that. I came to call on Miss Lambert. Your man shouldered me into the room before I knew what was going on. I didn’t intend to ‘butt in,’ as they say. I was afterwards invited forward by Mr. Clarke, as you will remember, and later by the ‘control.'”

“Clarke is not running things here.”

“Ah, but the spirits? Would you question their judgment? They insisted on making me the guest of honor, you will remember. They played to me, you may say.”

Pratt was daunted by his visitor’s mocking tone. “You should have had more sense of honor than to grab the medium the way you did.”

“Being invited to sit near, I took it as an invitation to make a test. I wanted to know who held that horn. How can you hope to convince a sane mind of the truth of such an exhibition as that last night unless you permit tests?”

The colored man had returned. “Miss Lambert will see you, sir. This way, please.”

For a moment Pratt meditated interference, but something in the movement and face of the visitor deterred him. As Serviss followed his guide up the great stairway, he asked himself: “What will she be like? She must be changed—deeply changed. How will she meet me?” He acknowledged a growing excitement.

She met him so simply, so cordially, with such frank pleasure, that his own restraint gave way at first glance. In her glowing color, in the tones of her voice, lay a charm which carried him back to Colorow, linking the mature and splendid woman with the unformed girl of the mountain-cabin. He took her hand with a keen thrill of admiration—whatever had come to her she had gained in grace without apparent loss of sincerity.

His eyes disturbed her, and she stammered some commonplace expression of pleasure, and he replied almost as lamely, then turned to the mother. “I hope you have forgiven me for my action of last night?” Then again to Viola. “I only intended to touch your arm. I trust you suffered no lasting ill effects.”

Again something that was at once attraction and repulsion passed between them. She perceived in his tone a note of mockery, involuntary in its expression, but all the more significant on that account.

“I am sorry you were there,” she quickly replied. “I don’t blame you. No, it did not hurt me—I mean, it was all over in half an hour. The contraction is very painful while it lasts. It’s just like a cramp. I didn’t intend to give the sitting, but Mr. Pratt requested it for a few of his friends and I couldn’t well refuse. I didn’t know you were there till mamma told me afterwards. There is no value in such a sitting to you.”

With a dim suspicion of her wish to cover some deception, he answered: “My entrance was quite as unpremeditated, I assure you.” He spoke with returning humor. “I really came to call upon you, to welcome you to the city and to talk of the West. The usher mistook me for one of the seekers and thrust me bodily into the circle. Please believe that I acted upon sudden impulse in seizing your wrist. I am heartily ashamed of myself. I was an intruder, and had no right, no excuse—although your ‘guides,’ as you call them, seemed eager to have me sit beside you.”

“I do not blame you,” she repeated, and fell strangely silent.

He studied her with mounting pleasure. The flower-like line of her lips, her glorious bosom, the poise of her head, all the lines that had meant so much to him at their first meeting, were there, more womanly, more dangerous in their witchery than ever. For two years their thoughts had subtly crossed and intertwined, and she now felt his doubt, his question, almost as keenly as if he had uttered them.

He broke the momentary silence by saying, with a distinctly tender tone, “Are you thinking of Colorow? I am.”

She flushed and started a little. “Yes.”

“I was recalling my first view of you—a fragment of sunset cloud caught on a mountain-crag.”

Her face grew wistful. “That seems a long time ago to me.”

“It doesn’t to me. It seems but yesterday. My trip that year was a symphonic poem with a most moving final movement. I have thought of it a thousand times.” He paused a moment, then added: “Well, now, here you are in New York, and here I am, and what of your music? I was to advise you, you remember.”

Her head lifted in defiance, an adorable gesture. “You know my secret now.” It was as if she said, “Come, let us have it over.”

He replied, very gently; “I knew something of it then. Dr. Britt told me something of it at the time.”

Her eyes bravely searched his. “Was that why you did not come to say good-bye to us?” His glance fell in a wish that she had been less cruelly direct. She went on: “You needn’t answer. I’m used to being treated that way. I knew somebody had told you I was a medium. You despised me when you found out about me—everybody does, except those who want to use me. All the people I really want to know go by on the other side as if I were a leper. It was so in Boston; it is going to be the same here.”

Mrs. Lambert interposed. “That is not true, Dr. Serviss. We met many nice people in Boston.”

“Yes, mamma—nice people who wanted me to tell their fortunes.”

Her tone went to Serviss’s heart. She was so young to be so bitter; but he could think of nothing at the moment which would not add to her chagrin, for was not his own interpretation of her quite as hard to bear?

She went on: “No, I don’t blame you or any one for avoiding me. But I wish they would let me have one or two friends. But they won’t. Lots of people like me at first, but they surely find out after a while, and then they change towards me. Sometimes I think I might as well publish my name as a medium and let everybody know it at once.”

“You must not permit that, Miss Lambert,” he earnestly said. “That is what I came to say. Don’t allow them to use you so.”

“How can I help it?” she passionately exclaimed, “when they all demand it—mother, Mr. Clarke. Mr. Pratt, grandfather—everybody. They think I owe it to the world.”

“I don’t. I think it is your right to say—”

“I have no rights. Listen.” She leaned towards him, her face paling, her eyes big and soft and terrified. “I want you to understand me, Dr. Serviss. You must know all about me.” Her voice fell to a husky murmur. “You must know that I can’t direct my own life. My ‘guides’ can do what they please with me. Can you understand that?”

“I confess I cannot.”

“It is true. My grandfather insists on these public tests. He is determined to ‘convict the men of science,’ and Mr. Clarke is only too glad to agree with him. Mother is controlled entirely by what grandfather says. My wishes don’t count with anybody. But I think I’ve done my share in this work.” She faced her mother in challenge and appeal. “Ever since I was ten years old I’ve given myself up to it; but now I’m afraid to go on. I don’t want to be a medium all my life. They all say it is hard to change after one is grown up, and I’m afraid,” she repeated, with a perceptible shudder.

The mother, undisturbed by this plea, turned to Serviss with an exultant smile. “Does she look like one breaking down?”

The girl rose from her chair like a tragedienne. “It isn’t my body, it’s my mind!” she cried, with poignant inflection, clasping her head with both her hands; and her look transformed her in the eyes of the young scientist. It was the tragic gaze of one who confronts insanity and death at a time when life should be at its sweetest. For an instant she stood there absorbed in her terror, then dropped her hands, and in a voice of entreaty, which melted all his distrust, hurried on. “I want to know what is going on in my brain. I am losing control of my 自! I want some man of science like you to study me. Your sister said you would help me, and you must! You think I deceive—you thought so last night—but I don’t. I knew nothing of what went on. I didn’t know that you were there. I don’t know what I do nor what I am. I want you men of science to investigate me. I will submit to any test you like. You may fasten me in a cage, or padlock me down—anything!—but I will not be advertised to the world as a medium, and I must have rest from this strain. Don’t you understand? Can’t you see how it will be?”

“I do,” he answered, quickly. “I understand perfectly, and I will go at once to see Mr. Clarke and intercede—”

“That is not enough. You must intercede with my grandfather and his band, they are the ones who control me. Ask him to release me.”

This request staggered the scientist. “My dear Miss Lambert, you will pardon me, but I can’t do that—I do not even believe in the existence of your grandfather.”

She stood in silence for a moment and then answered; “You would if his hands were at your throat as they are at mine. He is just as real to me as you are. He is listening this minute.”

“That is a delusion.”

“I wish it were,” she bitterly and tragically answered. “The hands are so real they choke me—that I know. I am helpless when he demands things of me. He can lead me anywhere he wants me to go. He can use my arms, my voice, as he wills. You must believe in him to help me. He will listen to you, I feel that.” She grew appealing again. “Your sister believes in me—I am sure of that—and my heart went out to her. Sometimes it seems as if all the world, even my own mother, were willing to sacrifice me.”

“Viola!” cried Mrs. Lambert, sharply. “You shall not say things like that.”

“They’re true. You know they’re true!” the girl passionately retorted. “You all treat me as if I had no more soul than a telephone.”

“That is very unjust,” declared Mrs. Lambert. “This is only one of her dark moods, doctor. You must not think she really means this.”

The girl’s brows were now set in sullen lines which seemed a profanation of her fair young face. “But I do mean it, and I want Dr. Serviss to know just what is in my heart.” Her voice choked with a kind of helpless, rebellious anger as she went on: “I’m tired of my life. I am sick of all these moaning people that crowd round me. It’s all unnatural to me. I want to touch young people, and have a share in their life before I grow old. I want to know healthy people who don’t care anything about death or spirits. It’s all a craze with people anyway—something that comes after they lose a wife or child. They are very nice to me then, but after a few weeks they despise me as the dust under their feet—or else they make love to me and want to marry me.”

Mrs. Lambert rose. “I will not allow you to go on like this, Viola. I don’t understand you to-day. You’ll give Dr. Serviss a dreadful opinion of us all.”

“I don’t care,” the girl recklessly replied, “I am going to be honest with Dr. Serviss. I don’t like what I do, and I don’t intend to trust my whole life to the spirits any longer. They may all be devils and lying to us. I don’t believe my own grandfather would be so cruel as to push me into this public work.”

Mrs. Lambert again warned Serviss from taking this outburst too seriously. “She is possessed, doctor. Some bad spirit is influencing her to say these things to you. She’s not herself.”

Viola seized on this admission. “That’s just it. They’ve destroyed my own mind so that I don’t know my own thoughts. If there are good spirits, there must be bad spirits—don’t you think so, Dr. Serviss?”

His eyes did not waver now. His voice was very quiet, but very decisive, as he replied: “My training, my habit of thinking, excludes all belief in the return of the dead either as good spirits or bad, but if there are spirits I should certainly think evil of them if they were to force you into a service you abhor. I do not pretend to pass judgment on your case—I know so little about it—but I do sympathize with you. I deeply feel the injustice of these public tests, and I will do all I can to prevent them.”

Mrs. Lambert interrupted: “But, Dr. Serviss, my father’s advice has always been good; to question it now would be to question my faith. His wish is my law.”

Serviss shrugged his shoulders a little impatiently. “My dear lady, we have no common ground there. The wishes of the dead have no weight with me when set against the welfare of the living. The question which I beg you to consider is whether you wish your daughter to continue in this mental torture? Do you want her name blazoned to the world as a public medium? You cannot afford to add disgrace to her private torment.”

The mother held her ground. “Her ‘guides’ say she will be taken care of, and as for the disgrace, that is all imaginary. It is an honor—”

Viola again burst forth: “They are always talking to me about the honor of being a medium, about the distinction of it, and when I ask what distinction the world gave to the Fox sisters or Home or Madame Cerillio, they answer that the world has changed since then. But it has not changed enough to make my work respected. Mr. Clarke says it ought to be; but saying so does not make it so. Every time I read of a medium exposed I turn cold and hot, for I know people consider all mediums alike. I don’t want to go about all my life like an outcast. I don’t want to be happy after I’m dead; I want to be happy now. I don’t want to be different from other girls; I want to be like them. If they publish me, I will be a medium forever. I will be in constant terror of attack, and that will drive me insane—they 必须 set me free! Dr. Serviss,” she pleaded, as if she were the victim of some murderous design, “you are wise and strong. There must be some way for you to help me.”

All of Serviss’s well-ordered sympathetic phrases failed him as he listened to the storm of her plea and felt the flame of her passionate protest. All doubt of her sincerity, her own honesty, vanished, being utterly burned away by the light in her lovely eyes. Her mental bondage was real, her desire to escape contamination indubitable. He met her gaze with tender gravity. “I believe in you,” he said, as if committing himself to a most momentous enterprise, “and I will help you.”

His voice, so manly, so strong, so tender, robbed her of the power to speak. She seized his extended hand in both of hers and pressed it hard, the tears in her eyes veiling her soul from the passion that filled his glance.

As she faced him thus, leaning to him trustfully, so vivid, so magnetic, so much the woman, so little the sibyl, that he forgot all his hesitations and doubts, filled for an instant with an irrational impulse to seize her, claiming her as his own, in defiance of the mandates of her world and the conventions of his own. But she dropped his hand and turned away, and he went out in a maze of conflicting desires, his judgment sadly clouded by the youthful riot in his blood.

At the moment he was in love with her and single-minded in his desire to aid her, to defend her, but the door had hardly closed behind him when his questionings, his suspicions began to file back, stealthily, silently, along the underways of his brain. Her distress began to seem a little too theatric, her troubles self-induced—all but one—madness did in very truth seem to hover over her, a baleful, imminent shadow.

Clarke, looming darkly, confronted him in the lower hall. “Well met, Dr. Serviss. I’d like a word with you.”

“I have a request to make of you,” responded Serviss. “Miss Lambert has expressed to me her great distress of mind as concerns the public tests you are planning and has asked me to intercede for her. She profoundly objects to the use of her name, and I ask—”

Clarke’s voice was harsh and sullen as he interrupted: “I have considered her objections and find them insufficient.”

Serviss’s voice rose slightly. “Her lightest objection should be insuperable. I don’t understand your point of view. I can’t see by what right you ignore the wish of the human soul most vitally concerned in your crusade. You treat her as if she were a rabbit dedicated to the use of a biologic laboratory. I am better informed now than when we met in your church-study, Mr. Clarke. I know, not merely Miss Lambert’s secret, but your own. It may be that you honestly think this challenge will confer great distinction upon her, but, let me assure you, it will put an ineffaceable stain upon her. Furthermore, your tests will end in disaster to yourself and to your cause.”

“What do you mean by that?” interposed Pratt, who had come up and stood listening. “Do you doubt her powers?”

“I do. She will fail, and the failure will be crushing. The thing you claim is preposterous. Every time science has taken one of your mediums in hand he or she has suffered extinguishment. It is the grossest outrage to ask this girl to face certain exposure. A challenge of this blatant kind will rouse the most violent antagonism among scientists, and if you succeed in getting any really good man to take it up—which I doubt—he will be merciless.”

“We want him to be,” declared Clarke. “We glory in your defiance. Let your scientific men come with their bands of steel, their bolts and bars, their telephones, and their electric traps. We defy every material test.”

“You are fools—madmen,” hotly answered Serviss. “You would sacrifice this girl to a brazen scheme of self-advertising?”

Clarke was contemptuous. “That is your point of view. From our side there is no greater glory than to be an Evangel of the New Faith. What matters the comment of the gross and self-satisfied to us who work for the happiness of those who mourn? The world in which we live despises the materialism of yours.”

At this moment a new conception of Clarke’s plan crossed Serviss’s mind. “He is deeper than I thought. He would discredit the girl in the eyes of normal suitors, thereby assuring her to himself.” Aloud he said: “Miss Lambert’s right to herself should be your first consideration. She is something more than a trumpet for sounding your fame.”

Clarke’s resounding voice had drawn Mrs. Lambert from her room, and she now hurried down the stairway with intent to calm him.

Serviss turned to her. “Again I beg of you, Mrs. Lambert, to consider well before you consent to this plan. Your daughter’s name will be a jest from one end of the country to the other. It doesn’t matter how sincere and earnest you are, the public will regard this challenge as a seeking for notoriety. Your daughter is about to be flung to the beasts.” Seeing something unyielding in her eyes, he added, with such intensity his own heart responded: “Will you stake your daughter’s reputation, her health, her reason, upon the issue of a voice in the dark?”

“Yes, when the voice is that of her own father. He knows the future. He will protect her. I have no fear.”

There was such conviction, such immutable faith in her gentle voice, that Serviss was confounded. When he spoke, in answer, his voice was lower in key, with a cadence of hopeless appeal.

“How do you know these advisers are your husband and your father? You must be very certain of them.”

“I am certain. I believe in them as I believe in my own existence.” The line of her mouth lost something of its sweetness, and Serviss, seeing this, took another tack.

“Granted these voices are genuine, they may be mistaken—rash with zeal. You wouldn’t say that they have gained infallibility—a knowledge of both past and future—merely by passing to the shadow world?”

To this Clarke made answer: “That is precisely what we do believe. They have predicted our future, they have laid out all our plans. Their advice has brought us to our present high place, and we shall continue in our course, despite you or any other doubter.”

“They have brought you to a very dubious sort of success,” Serviss cuttingly replied, “But what about your victim? I know this city and its ways. I realize, as none of you seem to do, the wasting injustice you are about to inflict. Let me intercede—let me arrange some other plan—”

On Clarke’s face a sneering, one-sided smile crept as he answered: “You are too late. Our plans are made, our programme published.”

“你什么意思？”

“The reporters have just been here. The notice of my speech and a broad hint of the nature of my challenge will appear in four of the leading papers to-morrow morning—”

“But Viola’s—Miss Lambert’s name! You surely haven’t used that?”

“Oh no. That is to follow. The challenge, with her name and defiance, form the climax to my oration.” He swelled with pride as he spoke, as if visualizing himself on the platform, the centre of thousands of eyes, the champion of reviving faith.

“Thank God for your vanity! There is still time for some one to intervene,” responded Serviss, minded to thrust him through.

Pratt shouldered in again. “What have you got to do with it, anyway? Who asked you to interfere?”

“The chief person concerned—Miss Lambert herself.”

Pratt was about to utter some further insult when Clarke diplomatically interposed. “We want you to have a part in the work, Dr. Serviss. We will welcome you to a committee of investigation, but we cannot permit you to interfere with our plan. The ‘Forces’ are bent on the work, and they are inexorable.”

“It is you who are inexorable,” replied the young scientist—”you and this deluded mother.”

This rapid dialogue had taken place in the wide hall just beneath the huge chandelier whose light fell on Serviss’s white forehead and square, determined face. Pratt was confronting him with lowering brow, a bear-like stoop in his shoulders, and the muttering growl of his voice was again filling the room as Viola appeared upon the great stairway. She came slowly, with one slim hand on the railing, as though feeling her way, and at every step mysterious, jarring sounds came from beneath her feet and from the walls; her eyes were shut, her chin lifted, and on her face, white and tense, lay the expression of a sorrowful dreamer. Her mouth, drooping at the corners, was pitiful to see. All her vivid youth, her flaming rebellion, had been frozen into soulless calm by the implacable powers which reigned above and beneath her in the dark.

In horror and fierce, impotent rage, Serviss watched her descend. It was plain that she was again in the grasp of some soul stronger than herself; and he believed this obsession, close akin to madness, to be due to a living, overmastering magician—to Clarke, whose voice broke the silence. “There is your answer!” he called, and his voice rang out, with triumphant glee. “Her ‘guides’ have brought her to show you the folly of human interference. She is only an instrument like myself—clay to the hands of the invisible potters.”

Once again a flaming desire to seize the girl with protecting hands filled Serviss’s young and chivalric heart; but a sense of his essential helplessness, a knowledge of his utter lack of authority, stayed his arm, while his blaze of resolution went out like a flame in the wind. Sick with horror, he stood till Mrs. Lambert took Viola in her arms, then, in a voice that shook with passion, he said: “Madam, your faith in your spirits passes my understanding. Only devils from hell would demand such torture from a blithe young girl.”

And so saying, with shame of his impotence, and with a full realization of Viola’s mental bondage to Anthony Clarke, he turned away. “I now understand Britt’s words—only the authority of the husband can save her from her all-surrounding foes,” and at the moment his fist doubled with desire to claim and exercise that power.

The harsh reality of the outside world was like the hard-driven, acrid spray of the ocean in a wintry storm, it stung yet calmed with its grateful, stern menace. A thin drizzle of rain was beginning to fall, and the avenues were filled with the furious clamor of belated traffic. The clangor of the overhead trains—almost incessant at this hour—benumbed the ear, and every side-street rang with the hideous clatter of drays and express-carts, each driver, each motor-man, laboring in a kind of sullen frenzy to reach his barn before six o’clock, while truculent pedestrians, tired, eager, and exacting, trod upon one another’s heels in their homeward haste.

This tumult of turbulent, coarse, unthinking life seemed at the moment not merely normal but wholesome and admirable by force of contrast with the morbid, unnatural, and useless scenes through which he had just passed. Better to be a burly, unreflecting truckman than a troubled, unresting soul like Anthony Clarke, “Yes, and better for Viola Lambert to be the wife of one of these rude animal types, suffering a life of physical hardship, than to continue the sport of a man who, having lost the true values out of his own life, is remorselessly distorting those of the woman he professes to love.”

His mind then went back, by the same law of contrast, to his momentous ride across the Sulphur Spring trail. “To think on how small a chance my share in this girl’s singular history hangs! Had I taken ‘the cut-off,’ as my guide suggested, had I camped in the log-cabin at the head of the cañon, or had I saddled up the next morning and ridden over to Silver City, as I had planned, we would never have met; and I would not now be involved in her hysterical career.”

But he had done neither of these things. He had camped in the town, he had sought her, and in this seeking lay something more than chance. His second meeting was an acknowledgment of his youth and her beauty. She had held him in the village day by day, because she was lithe of body and fair of face and because her eyes were unaccountably wistful. Yes, he had sought her that night when the river sang with joyous, immemorial clamor, and the lamp beckoned like a hand. He had gone to her for diversion—that he now acknowledged—and he had grown each day more deeply concerned with her life and its burdens.

And now here she was at his door, more dangerously enthralling than ever, involved in a snare of most intricate pattern, calling upon him through some hidden affinity of their natures as no woman had ever called him before—calling so powerfully, so insistently, that to save her from her peril, as pressing as it was intangible, seemed the one and only task at his hand.

In this mood, sustained by the memory of her anguished face, he sent a telegram to Lambert, urging him to come at once to the relief of his wife and daughter.

He did not appreciate the full force of this act until he left the office and resumed his walk homeward. Then, like a shock from a battery, came the realisation. “I have now definitely intervened; but how weakly, how ingloriously!”

This thought grew less agreeable and more humiliating as he dwelt upon the possible consequences. “Will Lambert remember me? Will he take my warning to heart?”

In imagination he followed the small envelope as it passed to the hand of a messenger and started up that fearsome, splendid trail towards the mill. The world was stern and cold and white and still up there in the Basin—winter yet reigned in majesty and the pathways were deep sunk in heaped and sculptured snows.

Up to the half-buried office the courier would ride, and with a cheery halloo call Lambert to the door. What would he think upon receiving such an imperative summons from a stranger? “Did I make the situation clear? He may imagine that some dire physical disaster has overtaken his women. But that would be true. Their peril is none the less real because intangible, and yet my part in it may not seem either wise or manly.”

In truth every step towards his own door removed him an emotional league from the scene in the hall, and as the throb of Viola’s agonized voice died out of his ears the crisis in her life grew hysteric, unsubstantial, and at last unreal. Her gestures, her plea for help, her descent of the stairway, came to seem like the climaxes in a singular drama powerfully acted. “God! what an actress—if she is an actress!” he exclaimed, as the tragic intensity of her face returned upon him.

He passed from this to the next phase of his development. In a certain good-humored way he had accepted his friend Tolman’s theories of hypnotic control, but had never taken them into serious account till this moment. He was forced now to admit the entire truth of “suggestion” or to charge this girl, whose character so bewitched him, with being an impostor. She was either a marvellous artist in deception or Clarke controlled her through some sinister and little-understood law of the mind. What else could have brought her creeping like a somnambulist down the stairway to demonstrate her tormentor’s demoniacal sovereignty? And if he could call her to him in such wise, then all the weird tales of the romancers, all the half-mythical doings of Mesmer and Charcot, were true, and the feet of Bulwer Lytton’s remorseless lover solidly set upon the rock of fact.

“My school of thought is very exact and very dogmatic. It prides itself on not looking beyond its nose. There is no room in our text-books for this girl and her claims. But—” He stood on the corner and surveyed the familiar scene, the rushing, commonplace men, the commonplace horses, the commonplace, ugly walls and signs, and for an instant they lost substance, became as shadowy as drifting mist, the men were of no more bulk than phantoms, the walls and pavements but the effluvia of the commonplace perceiving mind. All were as transitory as smoke, as illusionary as the opium-eater’s mid-day dream. What did it signify—this mad rush to get round a corner to creep into a hole? Why should he trouble himself about one of the millions of women, evanescent as butterflies, with which the earth continually replenished its swarms of men?

He walked on, eager to return to his own little nest, to his books, his easy-chair, his glowing fire. What folly to go out of his own life, to profess accountability for the welfare of a girl whom he had seen but a few hours in all his life. Why trouble to explain her case? Was it worth while to dethrone Spencer in order to defend the action of a child’s disordered mind.

This mood gave way to one far less philosophical—he permitted himself a moment of exultation over his youth. Science had not yet taken out of him the nerves that leap to the touch of a woman’s palm—the right woman. Ten years’ deep, patient, absorbing dissection of pathologic tissue had not rendered the gloss and glow of a girl’s cheek less velvet-soft. On the contrary, the healthy, wholesome flesh, the matured beauty of this mountain maid seemed of more worth than any fame to be wrung from the niggard hands of the Royal Academy. The absorption of the true scientist was completely broken up. “Love is worth while,” he said, in answer to himself, “and to serve others the only solace in the end.”

Kate had not returned, and he was glad of this, for it gave him time in which to recover his normal serenity of mind. He met her at dinner with an attempt at humor, but she was not to be deceived nor put off from the main subject. He was forced to make instant report, which he did, leaving out, however, all the deeply emotional passages. He fell silent in the midst of this story—profoundly stirred by the memory of Viola’s confiding gesture as she leaned to him, awed by the essential purity of the soul he perceived lying deep in her eyes. How blue, how profound they seemed at the moment!

Kate, if she perceived his abstraction, ignored it. “Well, I hope you agree with me now. Clarke is her control, her black beast.”

“Yes; that is the only explanation at this moment, the only solution which leaves her innocent.”

“But to admit that is to admit a good deal, Mr. Scientist.”

“I know that, Mrs. Precipitancy; but what would you have me do? I don’t want to believe the girl a trickster.” After a pause he said: “Kate, I never felt less of a man than I acknowledged myself to be as I turned away, leaving her in the clutches of those accursed fanatics.”

“你为什么要那么做？”

“What else could I do? She was entranced—I had no authority. My attempt at a rescue would have created a disgusting scene and put Clarke on his guard. My native caution and my conventional training combined to paralyze me.”

Kate, fired with reckless ardor, said, “Let’s go and snatch her away—now!”

“No, my second thought is best. Think of what Clarke’s arrest would mean to the girl and to us? No, we must wait for Lambert. Clarke at present has all the authority. It won’t do to push him. He would instantly trumpet her name to the four winds of heaven if he thought we were about to interfere. If Lambert heeds my warning, he will arrive on Friday, and that will prevent the challenge.”

“What sort of person is this Mr. Lambert?”

Serviss pondered, “He’s a small, mild-mannered man—not unlike a nice, thoughtful country doctor in appearance.”

“I wish he were six feet high, and fierce as his inches,” said Kate.

“If he had been that, this preacher fellow would never have been able to run away with his family.” He sighed. “Well, he’s all we have to conjure with. If he fails us we must resort to craft.”

“I wish we could get Viola and her mother here. Would they come to dinner if I should ask them? If we could get them here once we might be able to persuade them to stay.”

“That would not save her from the pillory in which Pratt and Clarke design to set her. We must be careful not to anger them. The girl hates and fears Pratt.”

“I know she does.”

“His air of proprietorship is fairly indecent. We must be especially careful not to rouse him. He has millions to use in asserting his claims, and is as vindictive as a wolf.”

Kate sat in silence for a few moments—a very unusual state with her—and at last announced her purpose. “Leave the whole thing to me. We will have Dr. Weissmann, and I will ask Clarke to come to meet you in order to talk over his plans for a committee. I’ll just ignore Pratt. He’s nothing but an old kill-joy, anyway.”

“He’s worse than that. Don’t brush him the wrong way. We’re going to have trouble with him before we are out of this.”

“I don’t care. I will not have him in my house,” responded Kate.

“Very well. He’s eliminated. I hope Clarke will permit them to come.”

“Oh, they’ll come unless Pratt absolutely locks them in their rooms. Shall I ask Marion and Paul?”

“No. I want a chance to talk to our ‘psychic’ alone.”

“Very well. The table just balances, anyway. Now, about your telegram, are you going to speak to Mrs. Lambert about that?”

“No. It is all up to Lambert. He can act or not, as he sees fit. He will probably wire them that he is coming, and as there can be no explanations till he arrives you will please say nothing of my share in the warning.”

They had just risen from the table when Britt sent in his card.

“Excuse my calling so early,” he began, with tranquil drawl, “but I’m going back to the West to-night. I’ve got to get out of this climate or join the spooks. I’m thinking of doing that, anyway, just to see what it’s like ’round the corner in the ‘fourth dimension,’ and also because I’d like a change of climate.”

“You look well—exceedingly well,” Kate cheerily replied.

“You’re very good; but I don’t feel as well as I look. My poor one lung is working overtime, and a collapse is imminent. I don’t see how my beloved brother Clarke bears up. He must get help from the ‘other side.’ You see, he spent the winter in Boston—think o’ that! But it’s telling on him. If I wished him well—which I don’t—I’d advise him to return to Colorado and to his Presbyterianism by the limited mail.”

“Could he do that—I mean go back to his church?”

“I don’t suppose he could. You see, he went out under a cloud—took the whole window-sash with him, you might say—and I don’t think the elders would welcome his relapse. Furthermore, he has embraced ‘spiritism,’ as he calls it, with both arms. By-the-way, professor, I’ve been talking about these psychic matters with Weissmann and others, and I agree with him that you’re the very man to go into an investigation of these occult forces.”

“And be called insane, as Zöllner was?”

“Oh, well, times have softened since then. Now, really, what do 您 think of Zöllner’s experiments?”

“I wish he hadn’t been so eager to demonstrate the fourth dimension—that vitiated everything he did.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been rereading Lodge and Wallace and Meyer. We studied them when I was at college, mainly to click our tongues—’poor old chaps!'” He smiled. “You understand? Of course, I can’t go the whole length, but I must say I don’t know what you’re going to do with the evidence Crookes collected.”

“But Slade and Home and the Fox sisters, from whom he drew his ‘facts,’ were exposed again and again, and one of the Fox sisters confessed to fraud, didn’t she?”

“M—yes. But afterwards recanted and re-recanted. They were all a dubious lot, I’ll admit. That is why I hate to see a girl like Viola Lambert put in their class by a self-seeking fakir like Clarke.”

“Is he self-seeking—or is he only a fanatic?” asked Kate. “I believe him to be quite sincere—that’s why he’s so dangerous. He is willing to walk hot plough-shares to advance his faith. What ，那恭喜你， his relations to Viola? Do you suppose she has actually promised to marry him?”

Serviss waited for his reply in such suspense that his hands clutched his chair. Britt’s face lost its gleam. “I’m afraid she has—or at least she feels herself ‘sealed to him’ by her ‘controls.'” Serviss rose and took a turn about the room as Britt went on. “You see, this sweet-tempered old ghost McLeod is anxious to have his granddaughter unite her powers with Clarke’s in order to ‘advance the Grand Cause.’ McLeod, it seems, was a Presbyterian clergyman himself here ‘on the earth plane,’ and has carried his granitic formation right along with him. I’ve argued with the old man by the hour, but his egotism is invincible.”

Serviss faced him abruptly. “Now, see here, Britt. You’ve seen a good deal of Miss Lambert’s performances—what’s your honest opinion of them?”

“Frankly, I don’t know,” he answered, with a smile. “Since rereading Zöllner and Crookes and going over my notes and those of Dr. Randall, I’m a little shaken, I confess. So far as human evidence goes these men prove that there is a world of phenomena ignored by science. I don’t go so far as to say that these doings were the work of disembodied spirits, but I do admit that I am puzzled by things which I have witnessed with one sense or another. The things seem to tally in a most convincing way. This girl is repeating, substantially, the same phenomena witnessed by Crookes twenty-five years ago. The singular thing about the whole subject is that one man can’t convince another by any amount of evidence. A personal revelation is necessary for each individual.”

“Isn’t that true of other faiths?” asked Kate.

“No, there’s a difference. For example, I would take your brother’s evidence as to a new germ; but as to a spirit—no. And yet one is quite as incredible as another. Crookes applied the same methods to the study of these manifestations that he used in his other researches, and piled up a mass of evidence, yet his fellows of the Royal Academy sneered or haw-hawed—and do yet. Do you know, doctor,” he continued, “I have moments when I dimly suspicion that we scientists are a thought too arrogant. We lose the expectant mind. We assume that we’ve corralled and branded all facts, when, as a matter of history, there are scattered bunches of cattle all through the hills. Take Haeckel, for instance. He talks very like the head of a church laying down the law to you and to me as well as to the ignorant outsider. Spencer was a good deal less sure of himself. It takes a physical specialist to be cock-sure. Darwin never professed to solve the final mystery of life or death, but Haeckel and Metchnikoff do. They are so militant against religion that they become intolerant of their colleagues who presume to differ with them on matters that are purely speculative. Any one attempting to discuss new phases of human thought is a fakir. I am not willing to say that all the notions of the ‘dualists’ are survivals of the age of superstition, as Haeckel does. It may be that in the midst of all their fancies which ，那恭喜你，survivals there are some subtle perceptions of the future.”

Serviss lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a whole lot for you to concede. Weissmann must have been corrupting you.”

Britt went on: “We must always remember that every age is an age of transition. We are losing faith in the revelations of the past, but we should not presume to define the faith of the future. Men will not live in the hopelessness which the monists would thrust upon them, they will not patiently wait while Pasteur and Koch and the other germ theorists labor to prolong the life of some other generation. They will always insist on having something to live for and to die for. I don’t pretend to say what this faith will be, but it will be sufficing.”

Kate exclaimed with glowing eyes: “And all this change in you two men has come about through the influence of a pretty girl!”

The two inexorables looked at each other with a certain air of timidity, and Britt’s face expanded in a slow, sly smile. “You’ve discovered us. We are human, like the rest of our sex, if you catch us out of our laboratories. Theoretically we hold life of no account actually we’re all lovers or husbands.” A mockery more moving than tears came into his voice. “My hopeless philosophy, dear lady, arises from weak nerves and a poor digestion. I would give all I know of science, all I expect to be in my profession, and all I hope to be after I am dead, for just five years of health, such as Lambert’s miners squander in carousals every Saturday night in the saloons of Colorow. I hold with Haeckel in one thing—I believe in a man’s right to suicide, and when I find myself of no further use to the sick I shall slip quietly out. I hope I won’t have to poison Clarke before I go. I’d do it cheerfully if I thought it the only way to rid that girl of him.” Seeing that his hostess was really shocked by these words, he lightly ended: “However, I think such extreme measures unnecessary. I’m going to send Lambert on to kill him for me.”

Kate looked at Morton with inquiring eye—he shook his head.

Britt resumed: “I am trusting in you, Serviss. If I could be sure of living two weeks longer I would stay and help, but money and breath are now vital to me, and I must go. However, I’m perfectly willing to put Clarke out of the way if you advise it. He really ought to die, Mrs. Rice,” he gravely explained as he rose to go. “He is a male vampire. To think of him despoiling that glorious young soul maddens me. I am the son of a coarse, powerful, sensual, drunken father; but he neglected to endow me with his brutal health. My mother was an invalid; therefore, here am I, old and worn out at forty—that’s why I worship youth and beauty. Health is the only heaven I know, and that is denied me.” Here his smile died, his eyes softened, and his face set in impenetrable gravity. “Had I the power I would keep Viola Lambert forever young and forever virgin.” Then, with a quick return to his familiar drawl: “But I am going away without even killing Clarke, to plod my little round in Colorow and wait news from you. If I do not see you again, Mrs. Rice, keep me in mind. I make the same promise your husband made—I will ‘manifest’ to you if I can.”

“I would rather you came in the flesh,” she replied.

He bowed deeply. “I thank you both for a very satisfying glimpse of a civilised home.”

“Sometimes I think we’re over-civilized,” she replied, quickly. “But come and see us again.”

“I fear it will be as a spook—they laugh at microbes as well as locks. However, I promise to rap when I call.”

“Thank you, that will make you a most considerate ghost.”

When they were alone together Kate said, with a sigh: “What an amount of sin and sickness and trouble and death there is in the world!”

“That’s a sign we’re getting on,” he replied. “When we’re young we laugh at the falling leaves—they are only a sign of some new sport. When I’m as old as you are I suppose I’ll begin to observe all the bald-heads at the theatre.”

“Well, now, for our dinner-party. I must write to Mrs. Lambert to-night.”

“You’d better take second thought about this matter—’Reckless Kate.'”

“我有。”

“Take a third. Consider this—the girl may go into a trance at the table.”

“Oh, if she only would! My fear is she’ll be like other amateur performers—’subject to a cold’ or something. These gifted people are so often disappointing.”

“Now, see here, Kit, seriously, if you invite Miss Lambert to our house it must be as any other charming guest—”

“You didn’t suppose I was 真 going to ask her to spookle?” she indignantly answered; then added, with a smile: “Of course, if she 坚持 on reading my palm—or—any little thing like that, it wouldn’t be nice to refuse, would it?”

“I knew it! You have designs upon her. Don’t do it. It would be too gross after your protest against others for using her. She herself complained bitterly of just this treatment. You must not even speak of her powers.”

She lifted her hand solemnly. “我发誓！=

“I mistrust you even when you swear,” he ended, doubtfully. “There’s a tell-tale gleam in your eyes.”

And at this moment of banter they both lost their sense of the girl’s imminent peril and thought of her only as a most entertaining possibility as a guest.

Viola glowed with joy over Kate’s invitation to dinner, and, flying to the telephone (as she was requested to do), accepted without consulting either her mother or Clarke, and fell immediately into wonder whether she possessed a gown becoming enough to fit the golden opportunity.

Mrs. Lambert was also pleased, but at once said, “I hope Tony will feel like going.”

Viola resented the implied doubt of their own acceptance. “I am going, anyhow. I will not be shut up here any longer like a convict. I like Mrs. Rice very much, and I want to see her house. I know it will be just as nice as she is.”

“But we can’t go without Anthony, my dear.”

Clarke came to the door a little later to say that he had received Mrs. Rice’s invitation, but that he did not care to feed the curiosity of such people. “You would better plead a previous engagement,” he added to Viola.

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” she indignantly answered. “Indeed, I’ve already accepted. You needn’t look black—I’m going,” she added, in pouting defiance.

Something in her look as well as in her tone convinced him that wisdom lay in not attempting to restrain her, therefore he gave assent, gloomily and with a sense of loss. “I don’t know how Pratt will feel about it. He don’t like those people, and, besides, he has invited some friends in to see you this evening.”

“He said nothing to me about it,” Viola responded, curtly, “and, besides, how can he expect me to be always at his command? He is not my jailer. I’m tired of his demands, they are so unreasonable.”

Mrs. Lambert, as usual, entered to soothe and heal. “Viola’s been very good about meeting Mr. Pratt’s friends, Tony. We’ve hardly been out to dinner since we came here, and it really seems to me as if we had the right to go out to-night.”

“We ought to have Thursdays, anyway,” the girl scornfully added. “We have less liberty than our maids. The whole situation is becoming intolerable.”

Clarke acknowledged that Pratt demanded a good deal, and was gracious enough to say: “It won’t be necessary much longer. I’ll go down and try to arrange the matter, and report what he says.”

“I don’t care what he says, I’m going,” Viola repeated. “I’m going if he locks us out. I wish he would.”

Pratt was resentful at once. “I don’t want her to go to-night. I have some people coming in to see her. I don’t want them disappointed; she must remain.”

“She feels aggrieved because she has been kept so close here, and I must say—”

“I don’t see why she feels that way, she has every luxury. She goes for a drive every afternoon, and there is hardly a night that I don’t bring home somebody to dinner. It seems to me she’s seeing all the people she ought to see. I don’t believe in having her mix with those sceptics too freely.”

He went up-stairs sulkily, quite in the mood to bully, but Mrs. Lambert turned away his wrath with a smile and several soft words, and Viola did not see him till she was on her way to the carriage. He was lurking in the hall below, waiting for her surly and sour and insulting.

Viola, perceiving his humor, said to herself: “I will not let you spoil my evening by making me angry. I will not listen to you,” and she didn’t, though she could not help hearing his warning growl.

“I’ll expect you home early.”

Once safely out of the house she said to Clarke: “This really is too much, Anthony. He is insufferable. If you don’t tell him so, and teach him better manners, I will leave the house. But there! I said I wouldn’t let him spoil our evening, and I won’t—I won’t even think of him again.”

Serviss expected her to show some signs of the deep emotional stress of his former interview, but in this he was most pleasurably surprised. He marvelled at the height of her rebound from the wan helplessness of her mood upon the stairs. She was, indeed, a totally different being—a radiant, blooming creature belonging wholly to the world of youth—and he was scarcely able to relate the two scenes to the same girl, and again he exclaimed, “What an actress—if she is an actress!” She was very simply attired in pale blue with but few ornaments, but she bore herself like a queen demanding homage—and he gave it. He was all the lover and nothing of the scientist as he stood to greet her.

She, on her part, behind her proud mask, was breathing quick with pleasure. To meet Professor Serviss in dinner-dress, in his own home, exalted her above the pupil and transformed him into something more intimate than the master—something more dangerously compelling than friend.

Kate, quite carried away by her enthusiasm, caught the girl again in her arms. “You dear, sweet thing! I wish I had made a big party for you; you’re too fine to be wasted on three cranky old scientists.”

Serviss met Clarke with less of repulsion than he had anticipated, for, notwithstanding the preacher’s haggard cheeks and a certain set glare which came into his eyes occasionally, he was a handsome figure. He was plainly on guard, however, and extremely ill at ease, and his eyes kept furtive watch on Viola’s every movement.

Kate at once engaged him in conversation in order that he and Morton might not fall into argument, and with the further purpose of permitting her young people a little time for mutual explanation. She was glad when Weissmann came in, brisk as a boy, his keen eyes peering alertly through his horn-bowed glasses; he not merely proved a diversion, he completed her party. The great man was as animated as a cricket (this was his society manner), and upon being presented to Viola began paying her the most marked and absorbed attention, hopping briskly from one heavy German compliment to another, quite unaware, apparently, that she was anything more than a very pretty girl.

He took her out to dinner, with elaborate courtesy, and divided his attentions between his partner and his hostess with mathematical precision, beaming now upon Viola, now upon Kate, with such well-calculated intervals that Serviss broke into a broad smile.

“You find yourself well placed, Dr. Weissmann?”

“Well placed and well pleased,” he responded, quickly, “with no thanks to you, I suspect.”

Kate was much relieved by Weissmann’s liking for Viola—it made her party a little less difficult; but she was anxious to have Morton free to talk with Viola, and to that end drew the good doctor into conversation with Clarke, who was not at all pleased with his seat, which was by design at the farthest remove from his psychic. He saw no reason why they might not have been seated side by side.

As Kate remarked to Marion afterwards, it was a hard team to drive, for the table was too small to permit anything like private conversation at either end, and to enter upon general topics was to start Clarke and Weissmann into dialectic clamor. “I trusted in the food,” she answered to Marion’s query. “It was a good dinner and kept even the preacher silent—part of the time.”

Clarke’s face was flushed with wine, and his glance, which rested often on Viola, was not pleasant. He was afraid of her when she shone thus brightly among careless, worldly, sceptical people. She seemed to forget her work, her endowments, and to think only of flattering speeches and caresses. It was all so childish, so foolish in her, so undignified in one who meant so much to the sin-darkened world.

Mrs. Lambert, on the contrary, was humanly glad (for the moment, at least) of her daughter’s respite from her grave duties, and sat blandly smiling while the young people talked animatedly on a wide list of subjects.

Morton was delighted to find that Viola had read a good many books, not always the best books, but of such variety that her mind was by no means that of the school-girl. Her experience in life was very slight, but her hunger to know was keen. He was eager to draw her out on her morbid side, but, as he had said to Kate, “We must not permit anything to rob her of one evening of unbroken normal intercourse. If you can manage Clarke, I will do the rest.”

Kate tried hard to “manage Clarke,” and was succeeding rather adroitly. Whenever he seemed about to enter upon a discourse she interrupted him, met his ponderous phrases with flippancies, plied him with food (for which he had a singular weakness), and in many other womanly ways discouraged and, in the end, intimidated him. He was at a distinct disadvantage and knew it, and the knowledge irritated him. However, with all his eccentricities he was a man of considerable social experience, and, while he was not at any time joyous of countenance, he did not in open guise offend, though he sank at last into a glowering silence, leaving the talk to Weissmann.

Morton gave much attention to Mrs. Lambert, securing from her, almost before she realized it, a promise to join a theatre-party, and thereupon turned to Viola to say, “I hope you will consent.”

“Consent?” she cried, with shining eyes. “I should like it above everything. You see I’ve never really 生活 in a big city, and it’s all so new and splendid to me.”

Morton responded lightly. “I wish I could see it with your eyes. I suppose New York is a wonderful city, and I’m sure all this chaos is making towards something unparalleled in beauty, but just now I take the point of view of a native who has been driven out of the good old down-town streets by vulgar trade. The Servisses lived for forty years at the corner of Corlear Square, but four years ago a big apartment hotel rose next door, shutting off our light, and we had to move. Hence our acrimony. The city grows more and more a show-place, wherein the prodigal American may buy the pleasure he thinks commensurate. Most of us who were born here have quite lost our hold on the earth; for instance, here we are, Kate and I, treed in a ten-story hotel on ground from which we used to gather huckleberries, and therein lies the history of many another New York family.”

Viola looked round the spacious and handsome dining-room. “I think this way of living is beautiful. I want mamma to take an apartment over here on the Park. I love the Park, although it makes me homesick for the West sometimes.”

“If you do decide to take an apartment, consult Kate. What she doesn’t know of New York isn’t lady-like for any one to know. Frankly, Mrs. Lambert, I should be very glad to see you get away from Pratt’s house. He is, I fear, a selfish, brutal business-man—an egotist who would sacrifice you both instantly if it would add to his comfort of mind or body. But wait. I am forgetting my duties as host—we are to avoid all unpleasant topics,” and thereupon he led the conversation back to impersonal discussions of books and music.

All through this exquisite little dinner Viola sat with a strengthening determination to assert her right to leave her gloomy prison-house on the Drive, a house in which there was neither wholesome conversation nor privacy nor order. An ambition to live humanly and harmoniously in an apartment like this grew each moment in definiteness. She appreciated the delicacy of the centre-piece of maidenhair-fern, veiling with its cloud of green a few flame-like jonquils. She took a woman’s joy in the immaculate napery and in the charm and variety of the china. Such housekeeping was an art, and quite impossible without the personal touch of the mistress, and, as she looked across towards Kate’s homely, pleasant face, her heart went out to her in gratitude and love. She could be trusted, this frank, laughing, graceful woman. She represented a most modern union of housewife and intellectual companion. No wonder Dr. Serviss remained unmarried.

Clarke’s forbidding, unrelenting face, looming darkly at Kate’s side, was revealed to her in a new and most unpleasant light. She resented his scowling glances, and pitied his failure to glow in such genial company. She saw him for the first time the prosing bigot, narrow and repulsive. She resented his failure to subordinate his theories. Up to this moment she had supposed herself respecting him; now she began to realize that she had lost even that, and the thought made her shiver with foreboding. How different were the men of science, with their jocular, irrelevant, but always illuminating comment on whatever subject they handled! It was all touch and go with them, and yet they were quite as serious as he.

As the coffee came in Kate rose with a word of caution: “Morton, we’ll expect you to join us soon—”

“You may depend upon us,” replied Weissmann.

“And you mustn’t talk out all the interesting subjects—save some of them for us to hear.”

“We shall not be able to talk on any other subject than yourselves,” retorted Weissmann, gallantly, “and that would not be good for you to hear.”

Kate laughed. “I know what that means. These Western girls are compelling creatures. Well, I will not complain if she only shakes you out of your scientific complacency.”

They were hardly out of the room before Weissmann asked, “Is Miss Lambert from the West?”

“From the Rocky Mountains.”

“So? I find her quite charming.”

Morton dryly answered: “I noticed that. Yes, she’s Western born, but of Eastern stock. Mr. Clarke is a New-Yorker, I believe.”

“I was born in Maryland, sir, but all my early life was spent in Brooklyn.”

Weissmann turned his telescopic eyes upon Clarke and studied him in silence somewhat as a pop-eyed crab might regard a clam. “So, so,” he said, softly. “You are the one who is preparing to assault the scientific world—the Clarke mentioned in the papers to-day?”

Clarke folded his arms in defiant mood. “I am.”

“And this charming girl is your victim—the one for whom you make such claims, eh?”

Clarke regarded the old man with imperious lift of the head. “She is, without question, the most marvellous psychic in the world.”

“‘Psychic!'” Weissmann barked this word at him like an angry mastiff. “‘Psychic!’ What business has she to be a ‘psychic’? She is too lovely to be anything but a wife and mother—a happy hausfrau. And you would make her infamous? My friend, I do not understand you.”

Clarke’s eyes blazed. “If I had the power I would lay her message before every living soul on the globe. Infamy? Sir, I know no higher honor than that of being cup-bearer to despairing souls thirsting for the water of life.” Then a direct answer to the old man’s prolonged stare: “You need have no fear. I will not go one jot beyond the advice of her ‘guides.'”

“Her ‘guides’? Who are they?”

“I mean her invisible ministers, compared with whose wisdom our learning is child’s prattle for they are one with the sages of history. Their minds drink of the limitless ocean of all past knowledge and catch the gleam of discovery to come. Furthermore”—here his voice grew hard and his glance shifted to Serviss—”no one living has a more vital interest in her welfare than I. Surely I may be trusted to guard and cherish one who is soon to be my wife.”

This blow, delivered with the orator’s telling arrangement of phrase, fell with tremendous force upon Serviss, towards whom it was vengefully directed. With a heart filled with anger and disgust and pain the young host responded: “I am glad to have this assurance from you, for your action has seemed to me calculated to do Miss Lambert irreparable injury. Of course, I do not doubt your good intentions as regards her—I cannot do that after your final statement—but I think you underestimate your opposing force.”

“We expect battle, but nothing can really harm us. What do we care for the puerile dispraise of the press? We are doing God’s work in the world, and as for the scientists, they are as moles in the dark.”

Weissmann’s voice became reflective. “Do the parents of the girl not object?”

“Quite the contrary. Her mother trained her for this great work.”

“That is very strange—this mother 似乎 nice and sensible.”

Clarke sneered. “You physicists think nothing is natural or sensible but your own grubbing. You nose in the mire studying parasites of decaying flesh, while we are lifting wing into the world of spirit where neither pain nor death is known. You are blinded by your bigotry, or you would see the leading of every new discovery in the modes of motion. Heat, light, the X-ray, the emanation of radium—do they not all point to new subtleties of the physical universe? The power which the spirits use to communicate with us, the world which they inhabit, is only a higher evolution, a more potent condition—”

Weissmann arrested him in full flight and began to question him about Viola’s powers, drawing from him rapidly, and with the precision of a great lawyer, all that he would say of her case, while Serviss, smoking quietly, listened in deep amazement, so candid, so sincere did Clarke seem to be in his answers. He was more—he became eloquent, almost convincing; and the young scientist was forced to acknowledge once more that appearances were deceitful. “Can this man be the fakir I have thought him? He is a bigot, a crazy fool, but he does not fit the rôle of villain; and yet—”

He could not put the alternative into words, so deeply did it involve Viola herself.

The preacher was in full flow—turgid, studiedly ornate, egotistical, and bombastic, but the final effect, even upon Weissmann, was that of one deluded, rather than of one carrying on a deep and far-reaching system of deception. He bodied forth the emotional moralist seeking escape from the ferocity of the creed in which his youth had been nurtured, rather than the self-seeking, coldly calculating fortune-hunter. With lofty courage he concluded:

“Now to you, gentlemen of science, we say: We respect your methods, but not your subjects of study. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than a perusal of your books. The patient way in which you pursue some clew in the labyrinth of biology is admirable. I met a man last week—a man I knew in college—and upon my asking what he was doing he replied, gravely, ‘For the last six months I’ve been making a study of the parasites in the abdomen of the flea!'” Here Clarke’s sneering laugh broke out. “Yet that man despised me—called me a fool—because I, forsooth, was intent on the laws which govern the return of the dead.” His laugh died, he became very earnest and very sincere. “Now, men of science, all we ask of you is to apply your precision of handling to subjects a little more worth while than the putrid body of an insect.”

Serviss laughed, but Weissmann, with true German contrariety, returned the compliment gravely. Being confronted with a true believer, he automatically assumed the opposite position, and with searching scorn assailed the whole spiritist camp with merciless knowledge of every defenceless portal.

For a time Morton enjoyed Clarke’s discomfiture, but at last his sense of duty as host awoke and he was about to come to the preacher’s relief when Kate appeared in the doorway, and the old warrior lowered his lance and rose politely.

Kate gave him a reproving glance. “You’ve been arguing—I can tell by your guilty looks.”

“Oh no, not at all; a mere statement of opinion—of no interest, I assure you.”

Kate’s voice was eager. “Mr. Clarke, Viola wants to sit for us—have you any objections?”

“Kate!” called Serviss. “I am ashamed of you—”

“I assure you I didn’t ask it—I didn’t even hint towards it. ‘Cross my heart—hope to die.'”

Morton was at the moment displeased, for he had been looking forward to a long and intimate conversation with Viola in the drawing-room, and would have been glad if Clarke had opposed it firmly—which he did not. Perhaps he saw a chance to turn the tables on his critics; at any rate, he rose, saying, “I will talk with her and decide the matter,” and followed Kate out of the room.

“What is it? What did she say?” queried Weissmann, bewilderedly.

Morton explained that Miss Lambert had particularly requested him to sit with her and talk to her “guides,” and that she had expressed a particular desire for an immediate test.

Weissmann’s eyes glittered with new interest. “Very good. Why not? It is a fine opportunity. Do you not feel so?”

In truth he did not. The intrusion of the abnormal side of Viola’s life seemed at the moment not merely inopportune but repulsive. As he entered the drawing-room he found her sitting in a low chair beside a small table on which stood a shaded lamp. Clarke was talking with her, and Serviss could detect even at a distance the depressing change which had come to her. Her girlish ecstasy was quite gone and in its place lay pallid languor and a look of appeal.

Clarke moved away as his host approached, and Viola, glancing up wanly and wistfully, said: “Isn’t it stupid? Just when I was so happy. I wanted this evening free, but they would not have it so. No sooner was I seated here than they began to work on me. They say they want to talk with you—my grandfather especially—and I, too, want you to do so—only I didn’t intend to ask it to-night. Please be patient with me, won’t you?”

“Do not distress yourself about that. I shall be very glad to sit. I was afraid Kate might be requesting it. I particularly warned her against mentioning the subject, but if your ‘guides’ wish it, and you are willing, be sure Dr. Weissmann and I will be most pleased. But, tell me, how did the change come? What began to happen?”

“The usual tapping—here on the table—then my hand wanted to write. I ignored it—I fought it. I didn’t intend to yield, but they set to work undermining my will, and then I knew that I must consent or be strangled. As soon as I gave up they took their fingers from my throat, but they are here—my grandfather is just back of me—I can feel his heavy hand on my head. I’m sorry, Professor Serviss. I was having such a good time. I hope you won’t despise me.”

“You are entirely too modest,” he answered, cheerily. “We are highly favored. It’s like having Paderewski volunteer to play for his dinner.”

His lightness of tone hurt her a little. “You don’t believe in me in the least, do you? You think I am an impostor?”

“Oh no. I believe in 您设立的区域办事处外，我们在美国也开设了办事处，以便我们为当地客户提供更多的支持。“

“But you’ve got to believe in these manifestations if you believe in me.”

“No, no, that does not follow,” he replied, quickly; then, perceiving that this involved him, “All you do may possibly be explained without resort to the spiritualistic hypothesis—” He was embarrassed by her gaze.

“Why are you so contemptuous of spiritualists? It is very hard to bear.”

He felt the rebuke. “I am not contemptuous—”

“Yes, you are. Scientific people never speak of us without a laugh or a sneer, and it hurts. It confuses me, too. If good people like you care nothing about death—if you only laugh—”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Lambert, I never intended to be either harsh or contemptuous. I do not accept—I mean to say I am 无法 to accept—your faith. I confess that my mind refuses to entertain the postulates of what Clarke considers a religion. I must be honest. I am a ‘sceptic,’ so far as your faith goes, but that does not mean that I do not believe in the sincerity of your mother; and as to your own powers—I do not wish to dogmatize, for the physical universe is a very large and complicate thing, and, young as I am”—here he smiled—”I don’t pretend to a knowledge of all it contains.”

She accepted his explanation, and, with musing candor, replied: “I don’t really blame you. I suppose if these things had happened to some one else I would not have believed in them. I have thought a great deal of what you said to me. I want to get away from that house; I am hating Mr. Pratt more and more, and I will leave to-morrow if grandfather will only consent. If he comes to you to-night, tell him so—maybe my father will come, too. I want you to know my father. I’m sure you will like him. Isn’t it strange that I have never been able to hear his voice?”

He ignored her question. “I do not understand the motives of your ‘guides’—I cannot conceive of myself sacrificing you to any cause whatsoever.”

“Don’t awaken my doubts,” she cried, despairingly. “I don’t know why it is, but you always rouse in me something that makes war.”

“I’m sorry if I seem to corrupt you.”

“I don’t mean that,” she hastened to say. “The life which you and your sister represent is the life I love. I was almost resigned to my fate when your sister called upon me. Now I’m all rebellion again. Being here to-night makes me hate all that I am. I hate my very name. I hate Pratt and his horrible house—I almost hate my mother. Sometimes she is so cruel to me. She don’t mean to be, but she is.”

His face grew reflective, almost stern. “I wish there were some way of taking you out of the world in which you now suffer. I wish—” He paused, checked by the thought of Clarke’s claims upon her.

“There is only one way—my grandfather must consent to my release; he rules us all.”

This delusion rose like a stone wall at the end of every avenue, and Morton turned to a personal explanation. “I cannot associate what you seem to me now with what you were when I last saw you. What would you have said had I seized you the other day—snatched you from the stairs and ran—”

Her eyes opened wide. “The stairs?”

“Had you no knowledge of following your mother down the stairway after our interview?”

“I knew I was entranced, but I didn’t know—What did I do?” She asked this anxiously.

“Nothing.” He hastened again to change the current. “We were in hot argument. You came down as peace-maker. I went away cravenly, most impotently, leaving you there like a captive.”

“I don’t remember a word of it. I came to myself in my own room, and only mother was with me.” Her rebellious fire blazed up again. “Oh, Dr. Serviss, I was resigned yesterday, but to-night I am in terror again, and they know it. They are eager to show their power, to confound you and convert Dr. Weissmann. I’m sure they will do some wonderful thing for you to-night if you will let them.”

“The best thing ‘they’ could do for me would be to let you sit and talk to me,” he replied in the voice of a lover.

She seemed to listen to some interior voice. “They are insisting. They are here—listen!”

As he listened a series of throbbing raps seemed to come from the chair beneath her hand.

“Very well, we will sit.” As he said this three heavy, rending, low thuds sounded on the under side of the table.

“That is grandfather,” she said. “He wants you to be very rigid, and so do I,” she said. “Sometimes it seems as if I did these things myself—I mean certain physical things—and I get all mixed in my mind. I want you to study me.” She passed her hand wearily over her face, and Morton looked at her in sorrow, meditating a firm, decisive assault on her hallucination, but checked himself. “If I am to help you, I must know all about you,” he said at last, “and a sitting may help.”

“You wonder at my fear of my grandfather, but that’s because you don’t realize his power. Let me tell you what happened to me once, when I tried to run away from him. I became desperate one summer vacation and determined to get away from it all. Without telling mother, I took the train one morning—” She paused abruptly and pressed both hands to her burning cheeks. “Oh, it was horrible! My grandfather threw me into a trance on the train, and the conductor thought I was drunk—” She shuddered with the memory of it, and could not finish. “Since then I have never dared to really oppose him.”

He pondered her blush, the quiver of her lips, and the timid look of her eyes, and gravely answered: “I share your horror of an experience like that. But it does not endear your malevolent grandfather to me. He must be a kind of male witch—”

“You mustn’t feel that way towards him,” she cried out in some alarm. “He is firm because he feels that I should be doing my work—”

“I’d like to talk this matter over with him, but I don’t like to have you entranced. Is that necessary?”

“Yes, to get the voices. The writing we can have any time.”

“What do you do to induce this coma—this sleep?”

“Just fold my hands and give myself up.”

“It seems a desecration of you; but if there is no other way we will grant ‘the powers’ audience.”

At his word her face cleared, her fingers relaxed, and she smiled. “Thank you. He has taken away his hand.”

As she rose and stood before him she seemed again the buoyant, care-free girl, and he could only weakly say, “It seems so ungracious, so inhospitable in us,” as they walked side by side across the room to Kate.

Clarke was sitting in silence, without pretence of listening to his hostess, watching Serviss with gloomy, uneasy eyes—a fierce flame of jealousy burning in his brain. He recalled the change in Viola which had followed this man’s visit to Colorow, and associated her first persistent revolt with him; and now, seeing her beside him, in his own house, looking up into his face, absorbed, fascinated, utterly forgetful of her duty, oblivious to every one else, was maddening. Her gown angered him. “Why did she wear that dress?” he fiercely asked himself. “She does not do that for me. She is in love with him—that is why. She shall not come here again. These people are destructive to her higher aims.”

In this mood he changed his mind, opposed the sitting; but Viola convinced him that it was the will of her ‘guides’ and that it was a splendid opportunity to interest two renowned sceptics, and in that spirit he again reluctantly consented.

Morton’s study was decided upon as the most suitable place in which to experiment, for the reason that it had but one exit, a sliding double door, which led to the library, and its windows all opened upon the street, six stories below. A burglar could not have entered with full license to do so.

Viola assisted Morton and Kate in clearing the big mahogany table, while Weissmann conferred with Clarke. To judge from the girl’s gayety and eager interest the preparations were for a game of cards rather than for a test séance in which her love and honor were at stake. Mrs. Lambert was quite serene; Clarke alone seemed anxious and ill at ease.

Weissmann, at Morton’s request, assumed general direction, and betrayed an astonishing familiarity with the requirements. Under his direction they grouped themselves about the table as for whist, Viola at the north end, with Clarke directly opposite, and Kate and Mrs. Lambert on either side and quite near him. The two inquisitors then took seats—Morton at the psychic’s right, Weissmann at her left.

When the positions were all decided upon, Viola, with a note of disappointment in her voice, asked, “Aren’t you going to tie me?”

“Oh no,” replied Morton, “the conditions are yours to-night. You are our guest. Our tests will be made at some other time.”

“Please make them to-night,” she pleaded. “Please make them as hard as you can.”

Weissmann’s glasses glistened upon her with joyful acclaim. “Very good, your wishes shall be met. Let us see—we shall tie you. Have you something suitable?” he asked of his assistant.

Morton took from his desk a roll of white tape. “How will this do?”

“Just the thing,” Weissmann replied; “but we must have no knots, no tying. Kate, get your needle, we must fasten Miss Lambert in such wise that no one can say, ‘Oh, she untied the knots!'”

Under his supervision Kate looped the tape about Viola’s wrists and sewed it fast to her close-fitting satin cuffs. She then encircled her ankles with the tape, and Morton drew the long ends under and far back of the chair and nailed them to the floor. Thereupon Weissmann said, “I wish to nail these wristbands to the chair-arm.—Do we sacrifice the cuffs?” he asked of Viola.

“Yes, yes—anything. Nail as hard as you please.”

“And the chair?” pursued the old man, glancing at Morton.

“Oh, certainly,” replied he. “Science goes before furniture in this house,” and a couple of long brass tacks were driven firmly down through both tape and sleeve.

“You poor child!” exclaimed Kate. “If they hurt you, cry out, and I will free you.”

Weissmann then fastened a silk thread to her wrist and gave one end to Morton. “We will keep this taut,” he said; “every motion will be felt.”

As they worked the enthusiasm of investigation filled their eyes. They lost sight of the fact that all this precaution implied a doubt of the girl, and Viola on her part remained as blithe as if it were all a game of hide-and-seek.

Clarke, too, became exultant. “McLeod, now is your opportunity,” he called to the invisible guide. “Bring your band and put the monist bigots to rout.”

Morton moved about the girl with growing excitement, a subtle fire mounting to his brain each time his fingers touched her smooth, round wrists. Once she said, “I have never had a real test like this—this is what I wanted you to do. If anything happens now it will be outside of me, won’t it?”

“We must be cruel in order to be kind,” he answered, enigmatically.

At last Weissmann stood clear of her. “Now we are ready,” he said, beaming with satisfaction. “You see I lock this door and here is the key.” He held it up in confirmation. “I pocket the key. Now what?”

“Turn down the gas,” replied Clarke. “Do not use electricity—the room must be perfectly dark.”

“为什么 完美 dark? I don’t like that.” Weissmann spoke with manifest irritation. “We should be able to see something.”

Clarke shrugged his shoulders. “You can do as you wish. The guides say their manifestations are antagonized by light—and that darkness is necessary for these special phenomena of the cone.”

“哦，我们 已可以选用 no cone!” exclaimed Mrs. Lambert.

“Cone? What cone?” asked Weissmann.

“We need some sort of megaphone to enlarge the spirit-voices.”

“Make one of card-board,” suggested Viola. “Any sort of horn will do.”

Morton rose and took down a horn from the top of a bookcase. “Here is the megaphone of my phonograph; will it do?”

Clarke examined it. “It’s rather heavy, but I think they will use it. Place it on the table. Put a pad and pencil there also,” he added. “We may get some writing.”

“还要别的吗？”

“No—now we are quite ready,” replied Clarke, in his exhibition voice. “It is well to touch hands for a time—until the psychic sinks into her trance.”

“With your permission,” said Morton to Viola.

A faint flush came into her face. “Certainly, professor,” and a touch of emphasis on his title had the effect of a slight, a very slight rebuff.

Clarke turned the light down to a mere point of yellow fire, and in the sudden gloom all were plunged into silence. “Now, whatever you do, gentlemen, don’t startle the psychic after she goes into sleep.”

Morton, with his fingers resting lightly on Viola’s soft hand, experienced a keen, pang of sympathetic pain. “She is so charming! What profanation to develop the seamy side of her nature! What pitiful tomfoolery! She is in the lion’s mouth now—and yet how eagerly she seemed to desire it. Weissmann has made anything but the simplest ventriloquistic performance impossible—she cannot lift a hand. To save her from herself, as well as from Clarke, it is necessary to expose her weakness as well as his trickery.”

She was saying, in answer to a question: “No, Dr. Weissmann, I have no control over the manifestations; in fact, the more anxious I am, the longer we have to wait. I cannot promise anything to-night—”

Morton, hearing this, inwardly commented; “These obscure forms of hysteria often possess the cunning, the dissimulation of madness. Poor girl! She is beginning to realize her predicament, and is preparing us for disappointment,” and a return of his doubt kept him silent.

Weissmann spoke. “Shall we not sing something—’We Shall Meet Beyond the River,’ or some ditty like that?”

Thereat Kate said: “Doctor, you betray astonishing familiarity with the ways of ‘spooks.'”

“Oh, I know everything.”

“I begin to believe it,” she retorted. “I begin to suspect that you are a secret adherent. Morton, you would better tie Dr. Weissmann, otherwise he may speak from the cone himself.”

As if to counteract this banter Clarke began a discourse on the leadings of the most recent discoveries:

“The X-ray is a mode of motion, as light is a mode of motion, but the waves of light move in such a way as to clash with and weaken those of the X-ray; so we argue that the mode of motion, through which disembodied souls manifest themselves, being far subtler than the X-ray, is neutralized—though by no means destroyed—by the motion called light. Furthermore, there seems to be a reluctance on the part of the invisible ones to have the actual processes scrutinized. I once laid a pencil on the table and asked for a visible action of writing, vainly, so long as it was completely exposed, but upon being covered with a silk handkerchief it plainly rose and wrote. It could be distinctly seen moving beneath the cloth. Sir William Crookes had a similar experience, except in his case he saw the pencil move, prop itself against a ruler, and try three times to write—all in the light. I have seen letters form on an exposed surface of a slate, I have had hands appear through a curtain and write in the light, but the power must always be generated in shadow.”

Kate shuddered. “Woo! It gives me the shivers to think of such things. Will anything as wonderful happen to-night?”

“I cannot tell—the conditions are severe, but I think we will have something. Viola?” he called, softly.

“Yes,” she answered, faintly.

“Would you like us to sing?”

“No—I’d rather you’d all talk. Perhaps they will let me take part in the demonstration to-night. They promised to do so, you remember.”

Weissman recounted some of the experiences Zöllner had enjoyed in Germany shortly after the Fox sisters became so celebrated in America. “Crookes and Wallace and several others went into the whole question at that time—the world rang with the controversy. But the clamor passed, the phenomena passed. It is like an epidemic, it comes and it goes, and in the end is humanity the wiser? No.”

“Yes, it is,” broke in Clarke. “We are just that much more certain of the indestructible life of the soul—every wave of this spirit-sea leaves a deposit of fact on the beach of time, makes death that much less dreadful. We make gains each decade. Sir William Crookes, Sir Oliver Lodge, Alfred Russel Wallace, Lombroso have all been convinced of the reality of these phenomena. Surely such men must influence the thought of their time. Experimental psychology is on the right road—”

Morton was suffering with the girl, whose hand was beginning to tremble beneath his palm. She no longer replied to his questions, but that she was still awake he knew, for he could hear her sighing deeply, so deeply that the sound troubled him almost as if she were weeping. His impulse was to rise and turn on the light and give over this trial, which could only end in humiliating her. “Her temerity is a part of her malady,” he argued. “It has arisen through years of misconceived petting and nursing on the part of her mother. Up to this moment her performances have always been in the presence of friends and relatives, or for the consolation of those eager to believe, and therefore easily deluded. Every sitter has conspired to practically force her into an elaborate series of deceptions, each deceit being built upon and made necessary by the other. It is pitiful, but she now believes in herself—that is pathetically certain. Otherwise she would not have yielded herself so completely into the hands of an inexorable investigator like Weissmann. She must take the consequences,” he ended, with grim closing of the lips. “We must be cruel in order to be kind. This night may be her salvation.”

Weissmann was replying to Mrs. Lambert. “I do not care for a return of my dead, madam; what I wish your daughter to do is quite simple. I would like her to move a particle of matter from A to B, without a known push or a pull—that is to say, by a power not known to science—as Zöllner claimed Slade was able to do for him.”

“She can do it,” cried Clarke. “She can move a chair from A to B without bringing to bear any of the known forces. She can suspend the law of gravity. She can make a closed piano play, and she can read sealed letters in an ebony box tightly closed and locked.”

“You claim too much, my friend,” replied Weissmann, ironically. “We shall be satisfied with much less. If she will change one one-hundredth part of a grain from one scale to another, under my conditions, I will be satisfied. The most wonderful phenomena taking place in the dark have no value to me.”

Mrs. Lambert interposed. “Please don’t argue—it prevents the coming of the spirits.”

Both men felt rebuked and the group again settled into silence. Suddenly, Kate began to laugh, “Isn’t it childish? Really, Morton, if our friends could see us sitting around here in the dark, as we are now, they would roar. Why should it all be so silly, Mr. Clarke?”

“它是 不能 silly if we take the right view. We must sit together in order to get into harmony. We further these conditions by sitting in subdued light with fingers touching. Song adds still more to this concert of thought. Nothing is really silly or prosaic—all depends upon the minds of those—”

He was in the midst of an elaborate defence of spirit methods when Viola’s hand began to leap as if struggling to be free. She moaned and sighed and writhed so powerfully that her chair creaked. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” she cried, gaspingly.

“Is she trying to free her hands?” Morton asked himself, with roused suspicion. “Is this a ruse to cover some trick?”

Mrs. Lambert spoke quietly. “She is going! Sing something, Anthony.”

Clarke began to hum a monotonous tune, while Morton, bending towards the girl, listened to her gurgling moans with growing heartache. “She seems in great pain, Mrs. Lambert. Don’t you think we’d better release her? I do not care to purchase sensation so clearly at her expense.”

“Don’t be alarmed, she always seems to suffer that way when some great manifestation is about to take place.”

The poor girl’s outcries so nearly resembled those of a death struggle that Kate at last rose. “Turn up that light! She is being strangled!”

“Please be silent!” said Clarke, almost angrily. “Take your hands from her, gentlemen! You are too ‘strong’—and do not startle her! Be quiet everybody!”

Morton took his hand away in anger and disgust. “All this is a ruse to weaken our grasp upon her,” he thought. “Even the mother, so serene, so candid, is aiding the deception.”

“Things will happen now,” remarked Mrs. Lambert, confidently; “she is giving herself up at last.”

The girl drew a long, deep, peaceful sigh, and became silent, so silent that Morton, leaning far over, with suspended breath, his ear almost to her lips, could detect no sound, no slightest movement, and listening thus he had for an instant a singular vision of her. He seemed to see her laughing silently at him from a distant upper corner of the room, and for the moment secured a glimpse into a new and amazing world—the world of darkness and silence wherein matter was fluid, imponderable, an insubstantial world peopled, nevertheless, with rustling, busy souls.

A sharp rapping began on the cone, a measured beat, which ended in a clang, which startled Kate into a shriek. “Who is doing that?” she asked, nervously.

“They are here,” Clarke solemnly announced.

“Is that you, Waltie?” asked Mrs. Lambert, sweetly.

Three raps, loud and clear, answered “yes.” A drumming on the cone followed, and Mrs. Lambert, her voice full of maternal pride, remarked: “Waltie is the life of our sittings—he’s 这样 a rogue! You must be a nice boy to-night—on account of these very distinguished men.”

“Rap, rap!” went the cone.

“Does that mean ‘all right’?”

“Rap, rap, rap!” Yes.

“Is grandfather there?”

“是的。”

“Does he wish to speak to the gentlemen?”

“是的。”

“我们坐对了吗？”

A decided thump—”No.”

Guided by the rapping Mrs. Lambert and Kate moved down to the foot of the table, sitting close beside Clarke, thus leaving Morton and Weissmann alone with the sleeping girl. No sooner were they rearranged than the table began to move, precisely as though pushed by the girl’s feet. Still guided by the rapping, Weissmann and Morton moved with the table, but retained their threads of silk. Morton’s pity had given place to a feeling of resentment at this device to get them farther away, and he drew his tell-tale thread tight across his finger. “If she moves she is betrayed,” he thought with hardening heart.

No sooner were they settled than a fumbling sound began in the middle of the table, and the pencil was twice lifted and dropped. Following this the leaves of the writing-pad rustled as though being thumbed by boyish hands.

Kate shivered and cried out: “This is uncanny! Morton, are you doing this?”

“Certainly not,” he replied, curtly.

“Do you feel any motion in your thread?” asked Weissmann, in a quiet voice.

“None whatever,” Morton replied.

“Then the psychic is not moving.”

Again they sat in silence, and after some minutes the fumbling began again and the horn was heard scraping slowly about, as if being lifted with effort only to fall back with a clang.

“Is it too heavy?” asked Clarke.

Three sharp raps replied—an angry “yes”—and then, with a petulant swing, the instrument apparently left the table and floated upon the air. In deep amazement Morton listened for some movement, some sound from Viola, but there was none, not a breath, not a rustle of motion where she sat, and the silk thread was tight and calm. “She has nothing to do with 这,” he said, beneath his breath.

Kate called excitedly, “Oh! It touched me.”

“What touched you?” asked Weissmann.

“The horn.”

“Did it bump you?”

“No, it seemed to float against me.”

Morton spoke out sharply: “Where is Mr. Clarke?”

“Right here on my right,” replied Kate.

“What idiotic business!” he exclaimed, mystified, nevertheless.

The horn dropped to the middle of the table, but was immediately swept into the air again as if by a new and more vigorous hand, and a voice heavily mixed with air, but a man’s voice unmistakably, spoke directly to Morton, sternly, contemptuously.

“We meet you on your own level. You asked for material tests, and now conditions being as you have made them—proceed. What would you have us do?”

“你是谁？”

“I am Donald McLeod—grandfather to the psychic.”

At this moment Morton became seized of the most vivid realization of the physical characteristics of the man back of the voice. In some mysterious way, through some hitherto unknown sense, he was aware of a long, rugged face, with bleak and knobby brow. The lips were thin, the mouth wide, the dark-gray eyes contemptuous. “It is all an inner delusion caused by some resemblance of this voice to that of some one I have known,” he said to himself; but a shiver ran over him as he questioned the old man. “If you are the grandfather of the psychic,” he said, “I would like to ask you if you think it fair to a young girl to use her against her will for such foolery as this?”

“The purposes are grand, the work she is doing important—therefore I answer yes. She is yet but a child, and the things she does of her own motion trivial and vain. We make of her an instrument that will enable man to triumph over the grave. You will observe that we do not harm her, we take but little of her time, after all. You are unnecessarily alarmed. Our regard for her welfare far exceeds yours. Her troubles arise from her resistance. If she would yield herself entirely, she would be happy.”

As the voice paused, Morton asked, “Weissmann, can you hear what is being said to me?”

“Very indistinctly,” answered Weissmann.

“What does it say?” asked Kate. “I can only hear a kind of jumble.”

Weissmann interjected; “I must ask you, Mrs. Rice, have you tight hold of Mr. Clarke’s hand?”

“Yes,” answered Kate.

Morton’s brain whirled in confusion and conjecture. He believed the whole thing to be a piece of juggling, and yet he could not connect Viola in any way with it, and it seemed impossible, also, for Mrs. Lambert to sit where she was and handle the cone, to say nothing of the ventriloquistic skill necessary to carry on this conversation. He again addressed the voice: “You consider your control of the psychic to be justified?”

“我们的确是。”

“Do you know, also, what perilous notoriety, what positive disgrace—from every human point of view—you are about to bring upon her?”

The hidden old man pondered a moment, as if to master a profound contempt, then answered: “We have taken all things into account. When she has grown to years of sobriety she will thank us that we turned her aside from dancing and from light conversation, and from all loose-minded companions. All the sane pleasures are now hers. She is soon to be idolized by thousands. Her playing on the piano, her singing are as the rustle of leaves in the forest compared to her mediumship, which is as a trumpet-blast opening the gates of the city of refuge to let the weary traveller in.” The voice weakened a little. “The earth-life is but a school—the real life is here. Besides, when she has completely subordinated her will to ours, when she has given our message—” The spirit grand-sire seemed to falter and diminish. “My power is waning, but I will again manifest. We will try—” The voice stopped as though a door had been shut upon the speaker, and the megaphone dropped upon the table.

“All that is very interesting,” commented Weissmann, “but inconclusive. Is it all over?”

“Oh no,” answered Mrs. Lambert. “They are uniting upon something wonderful—I feel it.”

As they listened the horn moved feebly, uneasily rising a few inches, only to fall as though some weak hand were struggling with it; but at last it turned towards Weissmann, and from it issued the voice of a little girl, thrillingly sweet and so clear that Serviss could hear every word. She addressed Weissmann in German, calling him father, asking him to tell mother not to grieve, that they would soon all be together in a bright land.

To this Weissmann replied in harsh accent: “You assert you are my daughter?”

The voice sweetly answered: “Yes, I am Mina—”

“But Mina could not understand a word of English—how is that?”

The little voice hesitated. “It is hard to explain,” she replied, still in German. “I can 理解 you in any language—but I can only speak as you taught me.”

Thereupon he addressed her in French, to which she replied easily, but in her native tongue.

As this curious dialogue went on Serviss was searching vainly for an explanation. “Mr. Clarke, will you kindly speak at the same time that this voice appears?”

Clarke began a discourse, and the two voices went on at the same time. The young scientist then said: “Mrs. Lambert, will you permit Kate to lay her hand over your lips? You understand, it is for the sake of science—”

“Certainly,” said Mrs. Lambert.

Here the test failed of completeness, it was so difficult to get the three voices precisely together; but at last it seemed that the child’s voice was produced at the same time that Clarke spoke and while Kate’s hand covered the mother’s mouth.

Thereupon the little voice said farewell, and all was silent for a few moments. The cone rose again into the air and a soft, sibilant voice addressed Mrs. Lambert.

“Oh!” she cried, joyfully. “It is Robert!—Yes, dear, I’m listening. I’m so glad you’ve come. Can’t you talk with Professor Serviss?—He says he will try,” she said to the company.

As Morton waited the cone gently touched him on the shoulder, and a moment later a man’s voice, utterly different from the first one and of most refined accent, half spoke, half whispered: “We are glad to meet you, professor. I am deeply gratified by your interest in our dear girl.”

“Who are you?” he asked, moved, in spite of himself, by a liking for this new personality, so distinct from the others.

“I am R.M. Waldron—Viola’s father.”

He seemed to wait for questions, and Serviss asked: “How do 您 feel about your daughter’s mediumship? Are you not uneasy when you think of what you are demanding of her?”

The invisible one sighed, hesitated, and replied with evident sadness: “It troubles me to find her reluctant. I wish she were happier in the work. It seems so important to us.” Then the voice brightened. “But perhaps it is only for a little while. After the public test—after the truth of her mediumship is made manifest—I think, I hope, we will ask less of her. Perhaps it will be possible to release her altogether for a time; but for the present she is too valuable—” The sentence was lost in a buzz of inarticulate whispering, as if two or three friends were consulting. The opening and closing of lips could be heard, and a stir within the horn was curiously trivial in effect, as if a mouse were at play with a dry leaf.

“If I were to organize a committee of men like Weissmann and Tolman, and other men of international fame, willing to test your daughter’s powers, will you give over this public demonstration—this publishing of a challenge?”

Clarke interrupted almost angrily. “Not unless you promise to—”

“Be silent!” commanded Weissmann.

From the horn came a faint murmur, so dim, so far, Serviss could, with difficulty, distinguish the words. “We will consider that. I am going. Guard my girl. Good-bye.”

The horn, again seemed to rest, and for a long time no sound or stir broke the silence, till at last Viola began to writhe in her chair in greater agony than before.

“I think she is waking,” said Morton.

Mrs. Lambert answered, quickly: “No. Some great event is preparing—when this paroxysm passes some very beautiful test will come.”

While Morton and Weissmann were considering this the girl again became silent as a stone, and a moment later a clear, sweet sound pulsed through the air as if an exquisite crystal bell had been struck. Then, while still this signal trembled in his ear, a whispering noise developed just before the young man’s face, as if tremulous lips were closing and unclosing in anxious effort to communicate a message without the use of the trumpet.

“Is some one trying to speak to me?” he asked, gently.

Three measured strokes upon, the tiny bell replied, and with their pulsations the room seemed to stir with a new and different throng of winged memories. The very air took on mystery and beauty and a sweet gravity. Matter was for the moment as subtle, as imponderable as soul.

“Who is it?” he asked, and into his voice, in spite of himself, crept a note of awe.

The answer came instantly, faint as the fall of an autumn leaf on the grass.

“母亲。”

Kate bent eagerly forward, “Who was it, Morton?”

Ignoring her question Morton addressed the invisible one. “Can’t you speak again?”

There was no reply and the whispering ceased. Almost instantly the horn seemed grasped by a firm and masterful hand, and the rollicking voice of a man broke startlingly from the darkness in words so clear, so resonant, that all could hear them.

“Hello, folks. Is this a Quaker meeting?”

“Who are you?” asked Morton.

“你猜不到吗？”

Kate gasped. “Why, it’s Uncle Ben Roberts!”

The voice chuckled. “Right the first time. It’s old ‘Loggy’—true bill. How are you all?”

Kate could hardly speak, so great was her fear and joy. “Morton Serviss, what do you think now? Ask him—”

The voice from the trumpet interposed. “Don’t ask me a word about conditions over here—it’s no use. I can’t tell you a thing.”

“Why not?” asked Morton.

“Well, how would you describe a Connecticut winter to a Hottentot? Not that you’re a Hottentot”—the voice broke into an oily chuckle—”or that I’m in a cold climate.” The chuckle was renewed. “I’m very comfortable, thank you.” Here the invisible one grew tender. “My boy, your mother is here and wants to speak to you but can’t do so. She asked me to manifest for her. She says to trust this girl and to carry a message of love to Henry. I brought one of her colonial wineglasses with me—as a sign of her presence and as a test of the power we have of passing through matter.”

For nearly an hour this voice kept up a perfectly normal conversation with a running fire of quips and cranks—recalling incidents in the lives of both Kate and Morton, arguing basic principles with Weissmann yet never quite replying to the most searching questions, and finally ended by saying: “Your conception of matter is childish. There is no such thing as you understand it, and yet the universe is not as Kant conceived it. As liberated spirits we move in an essence subtler than any matter known to you—ether is a gross thing compared to spirit. Your knowledge is merely rudimentary—but keep on. Take up this work and my band will meet you half-way. My boy, the question of the persistence of the individual after death is the most vital of all questions. Apply your keen mind to it and depend on old ‘Loggy.’ Good-by!”

Kate was quivering with excitement. “Morton, that settles it for me. That certainly was ‘Loggy.’ Oh, I wish mother could have spoken.”

Morton’s voice was eager and penetrating as he said: “Mrs. Lambert, I would like to place my hand on your daughter’s arm again, I must be permitted to demonstrate conclusively that she has had nothing to do with the handling of the horn.”

“I will ask the ‘guides.’ Father, can Professor Serviss—”

Three feeble raps anticipated her question.

“They say ‘yes’—but they are very doubtful—so please be very gentle.”

Serviss rose, his blood astir. At last he was about to remove his doubt—or prove Viola’s guilt. “Doctor,” he said, and his voice was incisive, “take the other side and place a hand on her wrist. That will be permitted?” he asked.

Three raps, very slow and soft, assented.

Clarke interposed. “I am impressed, gentlemen, to say: Let each of you put one hand on the psychic’s head, the other on her arm.”

“We will do so,” replied Weissmann, cheerfully.

With a full realization of the value of this supreme test of Viola’s honor, Morton laid his right hand lightly on her wrist. At the first contact she started as though his fingers had been hot iron, and he was unpleasantly aware that her flesh had grown cold and inert. He spoke of this to Weissmann, who replied: “Is that so! The hand which I clasp is hot and dry, which is a singular symptom.” Then to the others: “I am now holding both her hands. One is very hot, the other cold and damp and I feel no pulse.”

“She is always so,” Mrs. Lambert explained. “She seems to die for the time being.”

“That is very strange,” muttered Weissmann. “May I listen for her heart-beat?” Three raps assented, and a moment later he said, with increased excitement: “I cannot detect her heart-beat.”

Clarke reassured him. “Do not be alarmed. She is not dead. Proceed with your experiment.” There was a distinct note of contempt in his voice.

As Morton laid his hand upon the soft coils of her hair Viola again moved slightly, as a sleeper stirs beneath a caress, disturbed yet not distressed—to settle instantly into deeper dream.

“We are ready,” called Weissmann. “Whatever happens now Miss Lambert is not the cause. Take Mr. Clarke’s hands in yours—”

“Mrs. Lambert’s also,” added Morton.

“Our hands are all touching,” answered Kate.

“Now, let us see!” cried Weissmann, and his voice rang triumphantly. “Now, spirits, to your work!”

Clarke laughed contemptuously. “You scientists are very amusing. Your unbelief is heroic.”

As they stood thus a powerful revulsion took place in Morton’s mind, and with a painful constriction in his throat he bowed to the silent girl, and with an inconsistency which he would not have published to the world, he prayed that something might happen—not to demonstrate the return of the dead but to prove her innocence.

As he waited the pencil began to tap on the table, and with its stir his nerves took fire. A leaf of paper flew by, brushing his face like the wing of a bird. A hand clutched his shoulder; then, as if to make every explanation of no avail, the room filled with fairy unseen folk. Books began to hurtle through the air and to fall upon the table. A banjo on the wall was strummed. The entire library seemed crowded with tricksy pucks, a bustling, irresponsible, elfish crew, each on some inconsequential action bent; until, as if at a signal, the megaphone tumbled to the floor with a clang, and all was still—a silence deathly deep, as if a bevy of sprites, frightened from their play, had whirled upward and away, leaving the scene of their revels empty, desolate, and forlorn.

“That is all,” said Clarke.

“How can you tell?” asked Kate, her voice faint and shrill with awe.

“The fall of the horn to the floor is a sure sign of the end. You may turn up the gas, but very slowly.”

Stunned by the significance, the far-reaching implications of his experiment, Morton remained standing while Weissmann turned on the light.

Pale, in deep, placid sleep, Viola sat precisely as they had left her, bound, helpless, and exonerated. She recalled to Morton’s mind a picture (in his school-books) of a martyr-maiden, who was depicted chained to the altar of some hideous, heathen deity, a monster who devoured the flesh of virgins and demanded with pitiless lust the fairest of the race.

Of her innocence he was at that moment profoundly convinced.

While he still stood looking down upon her Viola began to moan and toss her head from side to side.

“She is waking,” cried Mrs. Lambert. “Let me go to her.”

“No!” commanded Weissmann, “disturb nothing till we have examined all things.”

“Make your studies quickly,” said Morton, his heart tender to the girl’s sufferings. “We must release her as soon as possible.”

Weissmann was not to be hastened. “If we do not now go slowly we lose much of what we are trying to attain. We must take her pulse and temperature, and observe the position of every object.”

“Quite right,” agreed Clarke, “Do not be troubled—the psychic is being cared for.”

Thus reassured the two investigators scrutinized, measured, made notes, while Kate and Mrs. Lambert stood waiting, watching with anxious eyes the changes which came to Viola’s face. Weissmann talked on in a disjointed mutter. “You see? She has no pulse. The threads are unbroken. The table is thirty inches from her finger-tips. Observe this pad, forty-eight inches from her hand—and which contains a message.”

“Read it!” demanded Kate.

He complied. “‘You ask for a particle of matter to be moved from A to B without the use of any force known to science. Here in this wineglass is the test. Oh, men of science, how long will you close your eyes to the grander truths.'“

“That is from father,” remarked Mrs. Lambert.

“It is signed ‘McLeod,’ and under it are two words, ‘Loggy’ and ‘Mother,’ each in different handwriting.”

“Give it to me!” cried Kate, deeply moved.

“And here is the wineglass,” replied Weissmann, extracting from among the books a beautiful piece of antique crystal.

Kate took it reverentially, as if receiving it from the hand of her dead mother. “How came that here?”

“You recognize it? It was not left here by mistake?”

“Oh no. There are only four of them left and I keep them locked away. I have not had them out in months.”

Clarke smiled in benign triumph. “That is why they brought it—to show you that matter is an illusion and to prove that dematerialization and transubstantiation are facts. That was the bell we heard.”

“Morton, what do 您 think? How could—”

But Morton was bending above Viola and did not heed his sister. The girl’s eyes were opening as from natural slumber, and he said, gently: “I hope you are not in pain? We will release you in a moment.”

She smiled faintly as she recognized him. “My arms are numb, and my feet feel as if strips of wood were nailed to my soles,” she answered, wearily, “and my head is aching dreadfully; but that will soon pass.”

“She always complains of her feet,” the mother explained. “She can’t walk for quite a little while afterwards.”

“You poor thing!” exclaimed Kate. “You are a martyr—that’s what you are.”

Viola looked up with sweet and anxious glance. “Did anything happen? Did your friends come to you, Mrs. Rice?”

“No, but several voices spoke to Morton.”

“I’m sorry no one came to you. I’ve been a long way off this time,” she continued, with dreamy, inward glance, “into a beautiful country from which I hated to return. I wouldn’t have come back to you at all only a thread of light tied my soul to my body and drew me down to earth in spite of myself.”

“What was it like—that far country?” asked Morton.

She pondered sleepily. “I can’t tell you—only it was very beautiful and I was happy. Every one lived in the light with nothing to fear. I had no memory of the earth—only of my body which I was sorry for. There was no death, no cold, no darkness up there. I was very happy and free.”

“You should be free and happy here,” answered Morton, gravely. “Come, doctor, can’t we free her now?”

“Yes, you may do so,” he replied, still busy with his note-book.

The young host, with a feeling of having been unnecessarily brutal, ripped the tape loose from the floor, and Kate slipped the loops from Viola’s ankles. Then, leaning on her hostess’s arm, she rose slowly, smiling brightly, her weakness most appealing. “I hope a great deal happened—it means so much to me. I want to talk, but I can’t now, my head is too thick. You must tell me all about it pretty soon.”

“A great deal happened—you are quite clear of any connection with it.”

Her face lit with placid joy. “Oh, I’m so glad! It must be very late,” she added, turning to her mother.

“Yes, and we must be going,” responded Mrs. Lambert, nervously. “Mr. Pratt will be impatient.”

“I wish you’d stay with me to-night,” pleaded Kate. “It was all so wonderful. I can’t let you go. Please stay! Both of you. You’re too tired to go out into the raw air.”

“Oh no, we can’t do that—not to-night,” Viola answered, decisively.

Morton threw back the doors. “Kate, take Miss Lambert into the dining-room and give her something to drink. She is quite exhausted. Let me steady you,” he said, tenderly, touching her arm. “You fairly reel with weakness.”

“I will be as well as ever as soon as my blood begins to circulate,” she bravely answered, and his touch quickened her pulse miraculously.

As soon as Weissmann had finished taking his notes and measurements, he locked the door of the library and joined them all in the dining-room, where they were sipping coffee and nibbling cake. Morton was sitting beside Viola (who had entirely regained her girlish lightness of mood), and was chafing her cold hand in the effort to restore the circulation as well as to remove the deep mark the silken thread had made about her wrist.

“We shall be obliged to shut out all young men from our committee,” the old scientist jocularly remarked, as he stood looking down at them. “Lovely psychics like you would put the whole American Academy of Science in disorder.”

Clarke, raging with jealous fire, turned to Weissmann in truculent mood. “Well, Dr. Weissmann, how do you account for these phenomena? To whose agency do you ascribe these marvels?”

“Spooks!” answered the old man, with cheerful promptness.

Clarke reeled before this laconic admission. “What! You agree? You admit the agency of spirits?”

“Certainly—unless I say Miss Lambert wriggled herself out of her skin, which would not be nice of me, or that you are the greatest ventriloquist in the world. No, I prefer to compliment the spirits.”

Clarke’s face darkened. The old man’s face and voice were too jocose. “I see you do not value our wonderful experiences to-night.”

Viola, pinching her sleeve about her wrist, looked up roguishly. “I couldn’t possibly wriggle out of my gown, could I, Dr. Weissmann? And if I did, how could I get the tacks back without a hammer?”

“Precisely. You would be more burglarious than the ghosts which walk through the key-holes,” he answered.

“And the little girl who spoke German—who was she?” asked Kate.

The hour that followed was a delicious one for the young people, for they had come at last to some sweet and subtle understanding. As she recovered the use of her limbs Viola glowed with joy of Morton’s change of attitude towards her. He, on his part, was puzzled by this mood. It was as if she had been vindicated to herself—liberated from some dead body of doubt.

Clarke glowered in silence; disapproving, with manifest disdain, the levity of the scientists, and resenting bitterly Viola’s growing trust and confidence in Serviss. Each moment his anger took on heat, and he found it hard to reply even to his hostess, who tried to interest him in a deeper discussion of the evening’s marvels. He seemed to have but one desire—to get away and to take Viola with him.

“Tell me,” said Viola to Morton, “did papa speak to you?”

“A voice purporting to be your father spoke a few words.”

“He is very nice. Didn’t you think so?”

“The voice was very gentle and refined, and expressed a very tender regard for you.”

She sighed. “I have never heard my father’s voice, for he always comes when I am in my deepest trances. They say that I will be permitted some day to hear all the voices through the cone—I only hear them now in an interior way.”

“Do you really suffer as you seem to do?” he asked, the echo of his pity still in his tone.

“Not after I am really gone. Did I groan?”

“Horribly! My heart was filled with remorse—”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t really hurt me—physically. You see I am perfectly well again. And yet I hate more and more to give myself up. I can’t explain it, but I seem to be losing more and more of 我自己—that is the thought that scares me. I hate to think of being so helpless. It seems to me as if I were becoming like—like a hotel piano—for any one to strum on—I mean that any one in the other world—It is so crowded over there, you know!” Her brows drew together in momentary disgust.

“ 别 know, but it must be so if all the myriads of past humanity are living there. If I had my way you would never sit again,” he declared, most fervently.

“I wouldn’t mind so much,” she went on, “if I were not marked out for suspicion—if people would only talk to me of nice earthly things part of the time as they would to any other girl—but they never do. Everybody wants to talk to me about death and spirits—”

“That’s what gives edge to my remorse,” he interrupted. “Here am I doing the very things you abhor. To think that we who have made such a protest against your slavery could not allow you one free evening! I will not say another word on these uncanny subjects.”

“但是我 想 to talk of them to 您! I wanted to tell you all about myself that day we rode up to the mine—but I could not.”

“I wish you had. It might have made a great deal of difference in your life—and mine. I have been thinking of that ride to-night, as we sat in the darkness. If I could, I would keep you as girlish, as gay, as you were that day. This business is all a desecration to me. I love to think of you as you were then—when you laughed back at me in the rain. I wish we were both there this minute.”

She smiled. “You forget the time of night!” Her face grew wistful. “I’ve been getting homesick for the mountains lately—and yet I like it here. I love this beautiful room. I adore your sister. I know I could have a delightful time if only my guides weren’t so anxious to have me convert the world.”

“I grow more and more conscience-smitten!” he exclaimed. “To think we should be the ones to tie and torture you, and at our first dinner-party!”

“Please don’t blame yourself. It was not your fault; grandfather insisted on talking with you, and I—I wished it very much.” Her face grew radiant with pleasure. “Oh, I’m so glad you made it a test-sitting!—I want you to believe in me. I mean that I don’t deceive—”

“我确信这一点。”

“There are so many things I want to talk with you about—but not now—it is late.”

Clarke, who had grown too restless to remain seated, interrupted a story which Kate was relating, and rose, saying, harshly: “It is time for us to be going. Pratt will lock us out if we don’t.”

The cloud again fell on Viola’s face—her little hour of freedom from her keeper was over. Morton felt the change in her, and so did Kate, who fairly pleaded with the mother to remain. “It is late and you are tired, and after this wonderful evening you ought not to go back to that gloomy place.”

Mrs. Lambert looked at Clarke, whose reply was stern. “No, we must return.”

Something very sweet and intimate was in Morton’s voice as he found opportunity to say to Viola: “I don’t like to think of you returning to that gilded mausoleum. It is a most unwholesome place for you. You are too closely surrounded with morbid influences.”

“I know it. I dread to go back—I admit that. I suppose Mr. Pratt is a good man, I know he does a great deal for the faith, and he is very generous to us, but oh, he is so vulgar, so impertinent! He bores me nearly frantic by being always at my elbow. I shudder when he touches me as if he were some sort of evil animal. Mother can’t realize how he annoys and depresses me, and Anthony insists that we must endure it.”

“I wish you’d stay here!” he exclaimed, impulsively. “Accept my sister’s invitation—it would give us such an opportunity to talk of this sitting. Come, let me send for your trunks.”

She shrank a little from his eager eyes, and Mrs. Lambert again interposed. “It is quite impossible, professor; perhaps some other time.”

Viola yielded to her mother and went away to get her cloak, and Morton turned to Clarke. “One of the conditions of my promise to organize a committee is this: you and Pratt must be excluded from the circle.”

Weissmann echoed this. “Quite right! That we demand.”

The clergyman’s face hardened. “You ask the impossible. It is necessary for me to be present at each sitting. I have the right to be there as the historian of the case. Furthermore, I add to the strength of the manifestations—that I have fully demonstrated.”

“I appreciate your position, but in order to avoid criticism, to make the tests perfect, it will be necessary to hold the sittings either here or at Weissmann’s, and to exclude every one connected with Miss Lambert. In no other way can we convince ourselves or the public.”

Clarke’s face was darkly stubborn. “Then you will have no sittings. My challenge will go forth next Sunday afternoon, and one of the unchangeable clauses of that challenge will be this: the sittings must take place in Pratt’s library and I must be present.”

“I hope you will not insist on that,” Morton further urged; “for Miss Lambert’s sake you must not. To incorporate such terms in your challenge will brand her as an impostor and you and Pratt as her confederates. In this statement I think you will find her ‘controls’ agreeing. They were undecided to-night, but when they consider carefully they will see that my advice is sound.”

Clarke’s eyes were aflame. “You have my terms. Accept them or refuse them, as you please.”

Viola, returning, extended her hand to Morton with a trustful smile. “I’ve had a beautiful evening.”

“To say that after we have tied you hand and foot till you were numb, and kept you in the dark all the evening, is very gracious of you. I feel very much the brutal host. But you must come again. I swear Kate shall not pester you next time.”

Kate was indignant. “Well, I like that! when 您 were the one crazy to experiment. Of course they’re coming, coming to stay to-morrow night, and any one who dares to talk ghosts to her will be sent to bed.”

And so in a hearty, cordial clangor of farewells they got out into the hall, and Morton, seeing Viola in her handsome cloak, her eyes shining, her face once more gay and smiling, was again filled with wonder at her astounding resiliency of mood. It was as if two sharply differentiated souls alternated in the possession of her body.

Clarke, wearing a cape overcoat and a soft hat, was far less admirable in appearance than when, with head uncovered, he sat within. He resembled a comic picture of an old-fashioned tragedian—a man glad to feel the finger of remark directed towards him, but his face was bitter, his eyes burning with anger, his lips white with pain.

Serviss relented as he studied him. “You’d better take Britt’s trail and return to the mountains,” he said, kindly. “This is a bad climate for you.”

“My work is here,” he replied, curtly. “I have no fear,” and so they parted.

Weissmann was sitting in silent meditation in one corner of the dining-room when Serviss returned. “Well, master, what do you think of to-night’s performance?”

Weissmann replied, in ironical phrase: “Hearing in civilized man is vague and indefinite. Spooks do well to limit their manifestations to a sense which most powerfully appeals to the imagination.”

Morton spoke with great earnestness. “Weissmann, that girl could not move a limb. She positively remained where we put her. So far as I am concerned, to-night’s test eliminated her from the slightest complicity, and I confess it rejoices me greatly; but who was responsible for the prestidigitation?”

Weissmann replied, slowly: “It is very puzzling,” and fell into a muse which lasted for several minutes. At last he roused to say: “Well, we will see. Next time Clarke and the mother must be eliminated.”

“You don’t think evil of her?” exclaimed Morton.

“She is very anxious, you know—”

Kate put in her word. “It’s all very simple,” she said; “the spirits did it. You needn’t tell me that Clarke or Mrs. Lambert got up and skittered around the room doing those things. I held their hands—and know they didn’t get away. Besides, how did that glass come there? and how could they make those voices sound so natural? What is the use of being stupidly stubborn? If you treat Viola fairly she will confound your science.”

“You base all this on one imperfect test?”

“I don’t know what you’d call a one. Anyhow, that child is absolutely honest.”

“I hope you are right, Kate; but there are some serious discrepancies—even in to-night’s performances. Nothing took place which I could not do sitting in her chair with my hands free.”

“But her hands weren’t free! If there is any virtue in cotton fibre or steel she remained precisely where we set her at the beginning.”

“But to admit that one book was moved from its place is to admit that a force exists unknown to science.”

“But what are you going to do? Did you do it? Or did I? Did Clarke reach from where he sat and manipulate the horn? Who brought the old wine-glass from the china-closet? No one entered from the outside—that is certain. And then the things ‘Loggy’ said?”

“What do you think, Dr. Weissmann?”

Weissmann looked up abstractedly. “If Clarke performed these feats to-night he is wasting his time in any profession but jugglery. You said the cone touched you?” he asked of Morton.

“几次。”

“To do that he must have left his seat.”

“I am perfectly sure he did not,” replied Kate, firmly.

Morton insisted. “He must have done so, Kate—there is no other explanation of what took place. It was very dark and the rug soft. There is another important point—all of the books came from within a radius of a few feet of the psychic, so that if she 为 able to rise and free her hands—”

“Which she did not do,” answered Weissmann. “She remained precisely where we put her; but we should have nailed Clarke to the floor also.”

“How about the child who spoke German?” asked Kate. “Was she—”

Weissmann replied slowly, with a little effort, “I had a little girl of the name Mina who died at eight years of age.”

Kate’s voice expressed sympathy. “I didn’t know that. She must have been a dear. The voice was very sweet. I could almost touch the little thing.”

“I do not see how Clarke or any one here knew of my daughter or her name. Clarke may be a mind-reader. The voice did not prove itself.”

“Neither was ‘Loggy’ quite convincing,” said Morton. “And yet I cannot understand how those voices were produced. Our imaginations must have been made enormously active by the dark. As scientists we cannot admit the slightest of those movements without the fall of some of our most deeply grounded dogmas. What becomes of Haeckel’s dictum—that matter and spirit are inseparable?”

“There is matter and matter,” replied Weissmann. “To say that spirit and flesh is inseparable is to claim too much. We can say that we have no proof of such separation, but Crookes and others claim the contrary. It is curious to observe that we to-night have trenched on the very ground Crookes trod. I am very eager now to sit with this girl—the mother and Clarke being excluded.”

“Of one thing I am more than half persuaded, and that is that Clarke is a mind-reader; for how else could he know the things which the supposed ghost of my uncle recounted?”

“It is very puzzling,” repeated Weissmann, deep-sunk in speculation; and in this abstraction he took himself silently away.

Kate, with an air of saying, “Now that we are alone, let’s know your real mind,” faced her brother with eyes of wonder. “Morton, what do you honestly think of it? Viola had nothing to do with it, did she?”

“No; but are you absolutely sure Clarke did not get loose and do things?”

“Mort, I was never more alert in my life, and I 知道 he didn’t move out of his chair.”

“But think what it involves!”

“I don’t care what it involves. So far as the senses of touch and hearing go, Clarke remained seated every minute of the time, and I certainly held both his and Mrs. Lambert’s hands the whole time while the books were being thrown.”

“Well, there you are. Somebody did it.” He shrugged his shoulders in an unwonted irritation.

“Why not say the spirits did it all?”

“Because that is unthinkable.”

“Sir William Crookes and Dr. Zöllner, you say, believed in these disembodied intelligences—”

“Yes, but they belong to what Haeckel calls the imaginative scientists.”

“You needn’t quote Haeckel to me, Morton. If I believed what he preaches I would take myself and my children out of the world. I don’t see how a man can look a child in the face and say such things. I can’t read any of your scientific friends straight along. Their jargon is worse than anything, but I pick out enough to know that they don’t believe in anything they can’t see, and they won’t go out of their way to see things. Do you suppose I’m going to believe that Robbie is nothing but a little animal, and that if he should die his soul would disappear like a vapor?”

“I can only repeat that the converse is unthinkable. There is no room in my philosophy for the re-entrance of the dead.”

“Why not? It’s all very simple. We’re creatures of our surroundings, aren’t we? Now, sitting there in the dark to-night, it seemed to me that the people we think of as dead were all about me. It scared me at first; but, really, isn’t it the most comforting faith in the world? I’ve always liked the idea of the Indian’s happy ‘hunting-grounds’—and this is something like it.”

He smiled shrewdly. “That performance to-night and this conversation would make a pretty story to lay before the president of Corlear—now wouldn’t it?”

“How do you suppose he will take your going into this investigation?”

“I don’t know, but I think he’ll ‘fire’ me instanter.”

“Well, let him try it! He wouldn’t 给——”

“Oh yes, he would, if he thought I was hurting the institution. See what they did to poor little Combes, who mildly claimed to be able to hypnotize people.”

“Yes, but he made himself ridiculous in the papers.”

“You mean the papers made him ridiculous. Couldn’t they do the same with Weissmann and me? Think of a big, sprawling, sketchy drawing in the 爆破, with Weissmann glaring at a strangely beautiful young lady in scanty gown—his hands spread like claws upon the table, while another younger man (myself) catches at a horn floating overhead. Oh yes, there are great possibilities in to-night’s entertainment. May I ask you, Mrs. Rice, to be more than usually circumspect?”

“You may, Dr. Serviss.”

He rose gravely. “Very good. Now I think you would better go to bed.”

“I wish your Mr. Lambert would come.”

“So do I. I’m afraid he is going to ignore my summons. Unless I hear from him to-morrow I shall consider him craven or indifferent.”

“那你会怎么做？”

His brows contracted into a frown. “I don’t know. She should be freed from Clarke’s immediate influence, but I don’t see how I can interfere.”

“I can’t believe that she really cares for him; in fact, from things she said to-night, I think she fears him. He was furiously jealous of you, I could see that. And I must say you gave him cause.”

He turned and looked at her in affected amazement. “Where are you heading now?”

She laughed. “Where are you drifting, my boy? I never saw any one more absorbed, and I can’t say I blame you; she was lovely. Good-night.” And so she left him.

Sitting thus alone in the deep of the night, the flush of his joy at the proof of Viola’s innocence grew gray and cold in a profound disbelief in the reality of his experiences. “没有 anything really happen?” he asked himself. Returning to the library with intent to study the situation he mused long upon the tumbled books, the horn, the tables, and the chairs. He put himself in Viola’s seat in the attempt to conceive of some method whereby even the most skilful magician would be able to pull out tacks, rip stitches, and break tape—and then—more difficult than all, after manipulating the horn, reseat himself and restore his bonds, every tack, to its precise place. And his conversation with “Loggy,” most amazing of all, came back to plague him. What could explain that marvellous simulation of his uncle’s chuckling laugh?

Yes, Viola was clearly innocent. It was impossible for her to have lifted a hand; that he decided upon finally—and yet it was almost as difficult for Clarke or Mrs. Lambert to have performed all the tricks, “Unless Kate”—he brought himself up short—”in the end, my own sister, is involved in the imposture,” he exclaimed, with a sense of bewilderment.

When he dwelt on Viola’s delight in her own vindication, and remembered her serene, sweet, trustful glance, a shiver of awe went over him, and the work of saving her, of healing her, seemed greater than the discovery of any new principle; but whenever his keen, definite, analytic mind took up the hit-or-miss absurd caperings of “the spirits” he paced the floor in revolt of their childish chicanery. That the soul survived death he could not for an instant entertain. Every principle of biology, every fibre woven into his system of philosophy repelled the thought. To grant one single claim of the spiritists was disaster. “No, the mother and Clarke are in league, and when the bonds are on one the other acts. I see no other explanation. I distrust Clarke utterly—but the mother is apparently very gentle and candid, and yet—Weissmann may be right. Maternal love is a very powerful emotion. That second voice was like hers. And yet, and yet, to suspect that gentle soul of deliberate deception is a terrible thing. What a world of vulgarity and disease and suspicion it all is! An accursed world, and the history of every medium is filled with these same insane, foolish, absurd doings.”

And so he trod in weary circles, returning always to the same point, with an almost audible groan. “Why, 为什么 was that charming girl involved in all this uncanny, hellish, destructive business? Clarke claims her. On him her fate depends. Perhaps at this moment her name and hideous reproductions of her face are being printed in all the sensational papers of the city. Oh, that crazy preacher! It may be that he has already made her rescue impossible.” And always the dark, disturbing thought came at the end to trouble him. “Can she ever regain a normal relation with the world—even if I should interfere? She should have been freed from this traffic long ago. Can the science of suggestion reach her? Am I already too late?”

The conception that sank deepest and remained most abhorrent in his musings was that conveyed in her own tragic words: “It seems to me I am becoming more and more like a public piano, an instrument on which any one can strum—and the other world is so crowded, you know!=

“If there is any manhood left in Lambert he must assert it or I will throttle Clarke myself,” he muttered through clinched teeth. “I ran away two years ago—I evaded my duty yesterday, but I do not intend to do so now. I will not sit by and see that sweet girl’s will, her very reason, overthrown by a fanatic preacher eager for notoriety. I will see her again and demand to know from her own lips whether she is in consent to be his wife. I cannot believe it till she tells me so, and then I can decide as to future action.”

And at the moment he was comforted by the recollection of something timidly confiding in her parting smile.

No sooner were they seated in their carriage than Clarke broke forth in harsh protest. “You must not think of leaving Pratt’s house at this time.”

“Why not?” asked Viola, roused by the tone of his voice, which was even less considerate than his words.

“Because it will displease him—may possibly alienate him just at a moment when we need him most. He will not consent to be shut out from these test-sittings; on the contrary, he is likely to insist on their taking place in his own library. Furthermore, I don’t see why you are in haste to leave so sumptuous an abode.”

“Because I hate him, and all connected with him.” Her voice was colored with a fierce disgust. “That is the reason, and reason enough.”

“You must not let him know that.”

“I don’t care if he knows it or not. We are not dependent on him or his house.”

“Yes, we are! He is most important to all of us until our tests are over and my book in type. I need his indorsement besides. He is very bitter and vindictive with those whom he thinks should be very grateful, and we must not anger him; we can’t afford it.”

Mrs. Lambert mildly protested. “I’m sure Mr. Pratt will not think of detaining us if father thinks it best for us to go, and I confess I am anxious to get away myself, Tony. He has been very disagreeable lately.”

Clarke went on: “We must continue to let him think his advice and aid invaluable till our book is out, then we can cut loose from him. Our policy—”

Rebellion was in Viola’s heart as she cuttingly interrupted: “You speak as if we were in league to cheat him of something. You have always told me that my powers were ‘dedicated to the good of the world,’ but lately you talk as if they were dedicated to your personal advancement in some way. Now which do you really mean?”

He saw his mistake. Once or twice before he had met her complete opposition, and he feared it. His voice suppled, became persuasive. “I mean, Viola, that in entering upon a great contest—one whose issue is to electrify the civilized world—”

“I don’t believe it. What does the world care about a little speck of humanity like me? Professor Serviss is nearer right when he says that converting people to any creed is a thankless task. Ask grandfather to let me live my own life. He listens to you. Tell him I’m tired and—”

“He has promised to be easier on you after we have won our battle.”

“But I dread the battle—oh, how I dread it! Professor Serviss says we will lose.”

Clarke broke in, sharply: “Please don’t quote what Serviss says. His view is that of the worldly wise materialist. You should listen to my advice—not his.”

“You said you were anxious to have him on the committee.”

“Yes, because I thought his name would count, and that he could bring Weissmann—but now I distrust him. He is too bigoted.”

As he continued in this strain he stood in dark contrast to Morton, and the girl could not but wince under the revelation he was unconsciously making. “Anthony, you have talked in that strain ever since we came East. Nothing but using people, using people, all the time. You’ve been constantly running after those who could ‘be of use to us!’ and I don’t like it. Every word you’re saying now makes me doubt your sincerity. I was ashamed of you to-night—I am ashamed of you now. How can I respect you when you say things like that?”

He again tacked. “I do it all for the furtherance of our faith. To do our work we 必须 have authority. It is always necessary to make a big stir in the world in order to do good—think of Christ defying the money-changers and making a scene in the temple!”

She pursued her way. “It’s the tone of your voice that scares me. You’re a different person since we came here—you’ve been harsh and cruel to me.” Her voice choked, and yielding to a flood of doubt she cried out: “I’ve lost faith in you. This ends it all, I will never marry you! I don’t care what my ‘guides’ say. I daren’t trust myself to you—now that’s the truth.”

The mother was aghast. “Why, Viola Lambert! What a terrible thing to say!”

“I can’t help it, mother—that is my decision.”

Clarke blundered a third time. “I won’t release you! This mood is all the influence of those accursed pagans we have just left. That man Serviss has been an evil influence upon you from the very first. He has no God in his heart. You must keep away from that home—it is destructive.”

“It is not!” she retorted, fiercely. “It is beautiful and honest and—sane, and I’m going there as often as they will let me—and I’m going to leave the Pratt house to-morrow! I will not stay there another day.”

“There are others to be consulted about this,” he grimly answered. “You have tried playing truant before.”

She was now in full tide of revolt. “I am going to leave that house if I fall dead in the streets. I am going if ‘they’ choke me black in the face.”

He sneered. “I know where you are going!”

At this moment she hated him and everything he stood for, and her voice was hoarse with her passion. “I don’t care what you say or what you do, I will not be hounded and driven around like a slave by you or Simeon Pratt any longer. I’m going to have a little life of my own if ‘they’ tear me in pieces for it.”

This outburst, so much more intense than any which had preceded it, alarmed Clarke and appalled Mrs. Lambert, who took her daughter in her arm with soothing words and caresses. “There, there, dearie! Don’t worry—don’t excite yourself. Father will not insist on your doing anything that will be harmful. He will protect you.”

The girl, sobbing in reaction, bowed to the maternal bosom, feeling once more her own helplessness, receiving no help from her mother’s sympathy, which was merely superficial. Her only hope of release lay in the strong, bright, self-reliant, humorous people she had just left, those to whom her grandfather and his “band” were less than shadows. They alone could save her from the despairing madness which she felt creeping upon her like a beast in the night. Her nerves, strung to dangerous tension, gave away utterly, and Clarke, realizing this, ceased to chide, and the ride ended without another word.

Pratt, who had been waiting for hours with the angry impatience of senility, met them at the door, truculent as a terrier. “What time o’ night do you call this?” he asked, with insulting inflection.

Mrs. Lambert answered: “I’m very sorry, but we had a sitting, and it took longer—”

“A sitting!” He faced Viola. “What did you do that for? I told you I didn’t want any sittings given unless I was present, and you promised not to give any.”

“I did not!” she replied, lifting a tear-stained but imperious face to him.

“Well, Clarke did.”

Clarke hastily interposed: “The ‘chief control’ asked for it—said he wanted to talk to some of those present.”

“I don’t care what the ‘chief control’ said—”

Viola, thoroughly roused, now faced him, pale and scornful. “What right have you to ask where I’ve been or what I’ve done? I am not your servant—nor one of your poor relatives. You seem to forget that. I will not be your guest another day! I’d leave this house this instant if I could. I came here against my wish, and I will not be insulted by you any longer. I wish I had never seen you.” And with haughty step she started to pass him.

He put out a hand to stay her. “Hold on, now!”

With flashing eyes and a voice that smote him like a whip, she cried out, “Leave me alone, please!” He fell back against the wall, and she passed on and up the stairway, leaving him leaning there in dismay, his jaw lax.

The mother hastily followed, and as the door closed behind them Viola turned with blazing eyes. “This is horrible—disgraceful! I hope you enjoy being treated like that! How can you endure it? How can you ask me to endure it? If Anthony Clarke possessed one shred of real manhood—But he hasn’t. He’s so selfishly bent on his own plans he’s willing to let me suffer anything. I’m done with him, mother. You needn’t try to find excuse for him. I don’t see how I endured him so long. He must never touch me again.”

“Don’t do anything rash, child.”

“Will you submit to more insult? You can stay on till you are ordered out of the house if you like, but I will not!”

“But you know they advise it.”

The girl turned, a new tone in her voice. “There, now, mother, we come back to that again! I’m tired of hearing that. If they insist on our staying here I will be sure they are the voices of devils and not those they claim to be. I don’t believe my father would ask me to stay in a house where the very servants sniff at us. I don’t believe he would let Anthony make use of me in this way. Professor Serviss calls our faith a delusion, and to-night I almost hope he’s right. I have lost the spirit of the martyr, and everything seems foolish to me.”

Mrs. Lambert regarded her daughter with horror. “Child, some earth-bound spirit has surely taken possession of you.”

“I hope it will stay till to-morrow—till I get out of this house,” she replied, and went to her own room without a good-night kiss, leaving her mother hurt and dismayed.

A few moments later Clarke knocked at the sitting-room door. “Julia, here is a message I want you to give to Viola.”

As she opened to him he faced her, pale and tremulous, all his anger, all his resolution gone. “She was unjust to me,” he said, humbly; “take her this.” He extended a folded leaf of paper in a hand that partook of the pallor of his face.

“You poor boy,” she exclaimed, her heart wrung by his suffering, “you mustn’t mind what she said—it was only a girlish pet.”

“Mother,” he cried, passionately, “to lose her now would kill me. She is my hope, my stay, my God! She has stabbed me to the heart to-night. Did she mean it? She can’t mean it!”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Go to bed, laddie, it’s only a mood. She will be all sunshine to-morrow. It’s only a reaction from a wearisome day—be patient and don’t worry.”

“She tortured me deliberately,” he went on, wildly. “She let that man take her hand. She smiled at him in a way that set my brain on fire. I tried to be calm. I didn’t intend to speak harshly, but I wanted to kill him when he said good-night to her. May God eternally damn his soul if he tries to steal her from me!”

She recoiled from his fury. “Tony! What are you saying?”

“I mean it! Do you think I will submit to his treachery? I told him she was mine, and yet he took her hand—he leaned to her—he looked into her face.” His eyes blazed with such wild light that the gentle woman shrank and shivered.

“Tony, you are letting your imagination run away with you. Go to bed this instant,” she commanded, in a voice that trembled.

He went away at last, weeping, miserably maudlin, almost incoherent, and when she closed and locked the door upon him she dropped into a chair, and for the first time since her husband’s death gave way to tears of bewilderment and despair.

Surely Simeon’s house that night was a place of tormenting and tumult—the meeting-place of spirits whose dispositions were to evil fully inclined, and of mortals whose natures were upon the edge of combat. Viola, in full revolt, would not even permit her mother to come to her. Clarke, in an agony of love and hate, paced his room or sat in dejected heap before his grate. Mrs. Lambert, realizing that something sorrowful was advancing upon her, lay awake a long time hoping her daughter would relent and steal in to kiss her good-night, but she did not, and at last the waters of sleep rolled in to submerge and carry away her cares.

Viola, made restless by her disgust of Pratt as well as by her loss of respect and confidence in Clarke, did not lose herself till nearly dawn. Her mind was at first busy with the past, filled with a procession of the many things he had done to enrich her life. She was troubled by the remembrance of the grave, sad courtesy of his intercourse in the days just following his wife’s death. At that time his kindly supervision of her music and his suggestions for her reading had given him dignity and romantic charm. “He was nice then,” she said to herself. “If only he had stopped there.” When he fell at her feet in the attempt to rouse her pity he had been degraded in her eyes. His whole manner towards her became that of suppliant—beseeching the “guides” to sanction their ultimate union. She burned with shame as she thought of her tacit acquiescence in this arrangement. “You have no right to interfere with my—with such things,” she now said to the invisible ones. “I do not love Anthony Clarke. I don’t even respect him any longer.”

He had, indeed, become almost as offensive to her as Pratt, and the picturesque, soulful presence which he affected was at the moment repugnant. In contrast to the young scientist he was mentally and morally sick, and the world which he inhabited (and which she shared with him) hopelessly askew. Of this she had a clear perception as her mind recalled and dwelt upon the taste, the comfort, the orderly cheer of the Serviss home.

“We never made the spirit-world so awful. Mamma did not take such an excited view of it all. What has produced this change in us? Tony has. He has carried us out into a nasty world and he has set us among frauds and fanatics, and I will not suffer it any longer.”

She did him an injustice, but she was at the same time right. Mrs. Lambert, left to herself, would have kept a serene mind no matter what the manifestations might be. With her the world of spirit interpenetrated the world of every-day life, and the one was quite as natural as the other and of helpful, cheering effect. She had remained quite as normal in her ways of thought as when in Colorow, and aside from her dependence upon the spirit-world for guidance would not have seemed at any point to be akin to either fraud or fanatic.

At last the girl’s restless mind, cleared of its anger, its doubts and its doles, came back to rest upon the handsome, humorous, refined face of young Dr. Serviss. She felt again the touch of his deft, strong hands, and heard again the tender cadence of his voice as he said: “I hope you are not in pain? We will release you very soon.” She dwelt long upon the final scene at the table, when, with a jesting word on his lips, but with love in his eyes, he took her hand to remove the marks of her bonds; and the flush that came to her was not one of anger—it rose from the return of her joy of those few moments of sweet companionship.

How sane and strong and safe he was. “He does not believe in our faith, but he does not hate me. How Dr. Weissmann loves him! They are like father and son.”

Thinking upon these people and their home, with their griefs, their easy, off-hand, penetrating comments, their laughter filling her ears, the girl grew drowsy with some foreknowledge of happier days to come, and fell asleep with a faint smile upon her lips.

She woke late to find her mother bending over her, and lifting her arms she drew the gray head down to her soft, young bosom and penitently said: “Mamma, forgive me. I am sorry I spoke as I did. I am not angry this morning, but I am determined. We must go away from here this very day.”

The mother did not at once reply, but when she spoke her voice trembled a little. “I guess you’re right, dearie. This house seems like a prison to me this morning. But what troubles me most is this: Why do Maynard and father permit us to stay here? I am afraid of Mr. Pratt—everybody says he will make us trouble, and yet our dear ones urge us to remain.”

“Mamma,” gravely replied Viola, “I want to tell you something that came to me this morning. I wonder if what grandfather says is not made up of what Pratt and Anthony want？“

“What do you mean, child?” asked the mother, sitting back into a chair and staring at her daughter with vague alarm.

“I mean that—that—grandfather, strong as he seems to be, is influenced in some way by Tony. He goes against my wishes and against your wishes, but he never goes against Tony’s设立的区域办事处外，我们在美国也开设了办事处，以便我们为当地客户提供更多的支持。“

The mother pondered. “But that is because Tony is content to follow 他的 将。”

The girl lost her firm tone. “I know that interpretation can be given to it, but to-day I 感觉 that it is the other way, and, besides, it may be that grandfather doesn’t realize all our troubles.”

The mother rose. “It’s all very worrisome, and I wish some change would come. I dread to meet Mr. Pratt, but I suppose I must.”

“Don’t go down. I don’t intend to see him again if I can avoid it. Ring for your coffee and take your breakfast here with me this morning.”

“No. That would only make him angry. I’ll go down.”

“I don’t care what he says, mamma, I shall do as I like hereafter.”

With this defiant reply ringing in her ears, Mrs. Lambert went slowly down the stairs to find the master of the house, sullen, sour, and vindictive, breakfasting alone in his great dining-room. As she timidly entered he looked up from his toast with a grunt of greeting, and Mrs. Lambert, seeing that his resentment still smouldered, stopped on the threshold pale with premonition of assault. She would have fled had she dared to do so, but the maid drew a chair for her, and so she seated herself opposite him in silence.

“Where’s that girl?” he asked, harshly.

“She’s not feeling very well this morning, so I told her she needn’t come down to breakfast.”

He grunted in scorn. “What happened over there last night? Everybody seems upset by it. I want to know all about it. You had a sitting, did you?”

“是的。”

“Whose idea was that—Clarke’s?”

“No, father wanted to speak with Dr. Serviss and Dr. Weissmann.”

“Weissmann was there, was he? What did he 说？”

“He seemed impressed.”

“发生了什么？”

“Father came, as usual—”

“I mean what happened outside the séance? Something set that girl against me and upset Clarke. I want to know what it was.”

“I don’t think anything was said of you at all.”

“Yes, there was. You can’t fool me. Somebody warned that girl against me. The whole thing seems funny to me.” (By funny he meant strange.) “You go away from my house for a dinner against my will—leave me in the lurch—and come home at one o’clock in the morning with faces that would sour milk, and now here you are all avoiding me this morning. It just convinces me that if we’re going to carry on this work together we’ve got to have a definite understanding. You’ve got to stop going to such houses and giving séances without my permission. I won’t have that under any conditions.”

Clarke, who had appeared at the doorway, a worn, and troubled spectre of dismay, now put in a confirmatory word. “You are quite right, Simeon. That house reeks with the talk of wine-bibbers and those who make life a witticism. Such an atmosphere profoundly affects Viola.”

Pratt glowered at him with keen, contemptuous glance. “You look as if you’d been drawn through a knot-hole. What happened to 您?” As Clarke did not reply to this he took another line of inquiry. “About this sitting, what was the upshot?”

“It was a very remarkable test-sitting, and seemed to make a profound impression. The conditions were severe—”

“Why was I left out? That’s what I want to know.”

“That’s what puzzles me. McLeod, who promised us never to have a circle without you, insisted on the sitting there—”

“How do you know he did? Did he write or speak to you?”

“No—he 印象深刻 the psychic.”

“I don’t trust that girl in such a house. Did you talk with Weissmann about heading the committee?”

“Yes, but”—he hesitated—”they both insisted that if they took the matter up both of us must be excluded.”

Pratt bristled. “And you consented to that?”

“I did not. I insisted that the sittings take place here and that we be present. They would not listen to that, so I think I’ll go ahead on my programme and decide upon the personnel of the committee afterwards.”

Pratt regarded him fixedly. “I’m not sure I like your programme, my friend. I’ve been thinking it over lately, and I’ve just about come to the conclusion that you’d better not issue that challenge.”

“为什么不？”

Pratt snapped like a peevish bull-dog. “Because I don’t want it done—that’s all the reason you need. I’ve never made any concessions to reach these damn scientists, and I don’t intend to begin now. You are planning to involve us in a whole lot of noise and sensation, and I don’t like it. Furthermore, I don’t intend to submit to it.”

Clarke was too irritable to take this quietly, and his eyes blazed. “You’re very sensitive all at once. When did you reach this new point of view?”

“Never you mind about that; I’ve reached it, and I intend to maintain it. Why, you simple-minded jackass, these scientists will eat you up. They’ll make a monkey of me and disgrace the girl. They’ll pretend to expose her—the press will be on their side—and I will be made the butt of all their slurring gibes. I won’t have it!”

“You’re too nervous about the press,” replied Clarke, loftily. “You’re all wrong about the papers. They’ll take a malicious joy in girding at the scientists as ‘the men who know it all.’ They’ll have their fling at us, of course, but it won’t hurt.”

“Oh, it won’t! Well, it may not hurt you—it’s a fine stroke of advertising for you—but I don’t need that kind of publicity. That’s settled! Now, about this man Serviss”—he turned to Mrs. Lambert—”is he married?”

“没有。”

“I thought not. How long has he known Viola?”

“It’s nearly two years since he came to Colorow; but he has only seen her a few times—”

Pratt cut her short. “I begin to understand. You’d better not let him mix in here—he’s too young and too good-looking to conduct experiments of this kind with your girl. If you had any sense, Clarke, you’d see that for yourself.”

Clarke’s expression changed. His cheeks grew livid with his passion, and his eyes burned with the same wild light that had filled them as he looked across the room at Morton bending over Viola’s hand. Pratt’s brutal frankness had cleared his own thought and re-aroused his sense of proprietorship in the girl. Until that dinner came with its revelation, he had thought of Serviss merely as the scientist to be used to further his own plans. Now he knew him for what he was—a young and dangerous rival. With a sinking of the heart he suspected him to be a successful rival.

He rose from the table and left the room, and Mrs. Lambert followed him fearful of what he might do in his rage.

“Tony, Tony!” she called.

He turned and faced her, his face set in horrible lines, his fists clinched. “I’ve been a fool, a fool!” he declared, through set teeth. “Why didn’t you warn me? I should have made her safely my own before I came East. She loves him, but he shall not have her—by God he shall not! Where is she? Tell her I must see her!”

She pleaded for delay, and at last calmed him so that he left her and went to his room. She then hastened to Viola and locked the door behind her.

“Viola, dear, get ready! We must leave this house at once,” she said, breathlessly.

“What has happened?” asked Viola.

Mrs. Lambert took time to think. “It was very disagreeable. They are wrangling again about that challenge and about you.”

“About me! Yes, that’s what wears on me—they wrangle about me as if I had no right to say what part I am to take. But it’s all over, mother; unless grandfather holds me by the throat every mortal minute to-day I’m going into the street—”

A knock at the door startled them both, but it proved to be the maid, who said, “Here is a note from Mr. Clarke, miss; he said, ‘be sure and bring an answer,’ miss.”

The note was a passionate appeal for a meeting, but Viola wrote across it in firm letters, “No. It is useless,” and returned it to the girl. “Take that to him,” she said, careless of the fact that her refusal was open to the eyes of the messenger.

When they were again in private she said: “We’ll go if we have to telephone the police to help us. And I’m going to wire Papa-Joe to come and take us home.”

“You are cruel to Tony, child.”

“No, I’m not! He must understand, once for all, that I belong to myself. I never really cared for him. Deep in my heart I was afraid of him, and now he has grown so egotistical that he is willing to sacrifice me to his own aims, and I hate him. I will not see him again if I can avoid it.”

The mother protested less and less strongly, for she was forced to admit that something fine and true had gone out of her idol, and that he now stood in a new and harsh light. All the hard lines of his face appeared to her, and his pallor, his deep-set eyes were those of a sick and restless soul. She no longer rejoiced at the thought of giving her daughter into his hands.

Clarke was truly in a pitiable state of incertitude and despair. His oration, his interdicted challenge, his book, his religion were all swallowed in by the one great passion which now flooded and filled his brain—his love for Viola. “She belongs to me,” he repeated, as he walked his room with shaking limbs, a dry, hard knot in his throat, his eyes hot with tears that would not fall. “She must surrender herself to me—finally and now—to-day, I will wait no longer. She must leave this house at once—but she must go as my wife! She is right. Pratt is a beast—a savage. He will rage—he will vilify us both, but we will defy him. Our ‘guides’ will confound him. We are, after all, not dependent upon him. We can go on—” The maid, returning, handed him Viola’s answer and went hastily out. He read it and reread it till its finality burned into his brain, then dropped into a deep chair and there lay for a long time in despairing stupor.

Was it all over, then? Was her final decision in that curt scrawl? She had returned his own note as if with intent to emphasize her refusal to see him, and yet only a few days ago she had assented to all his plans, leaning upon his advice. What had produced this antagonism? What evil influence was at work?

He rose on a sudden, fierce return of self-mastery, and went to Mrs. Lambert’s door and knocked, and when she opened to him demanded of her a full explanation. “What is the matter? Is she sick or is she hatefully avoiding me?”

“She’s all upset, Anthony. Don’t worry, she will see you by-and-by.”

“她 必须 see me! After what she said last night I can’t think—I am in agony. What is the matter with us all? Yesterday we were triumphant; to-day I feel as if everything were sinking under my feet. She shall not leave me! I will not have it so! Tell her I insist on seeing her! I beg her to speak to me if only for a moment.”

“I will tell her you are here.” She left him at the threshold, a haggard and humble suitor, while she knocked at her daughter’s door. “Viola, child, Anthony is here. Let me in just a moment.”

As he waited the half-frenzied man noted the absence of certain family portraits and cried aloud, poignantly: “She is packing! She is going away!” And when Mrs. Lambert returned he seized her by the arm, his eyes wild and menacing. “Tell me the truth! She is preparing to leave.”

Mrs. Lambert looked away. “I tried to reason with her, Anthony. I wanted her to ‘sit for council,’ but she’s so crazy to get away she will not do it. She will hardly speak to me设立的区域办事处外，我们在美国也开设了办事处，以便我们为当地客户提供更多的支持。“

“She must not go—she shall not leave me! I will not permit her to go to him!” His voice rose and his lifted hand shook.

“Hush, Tony! She will hear you. Please go away and let me deal with her.”

He lifted his face and spoke with closed eyes. “Donald McLeod, if you are present, intercede for me. Bring her to me. Command her to remain. You gave her to me. You led us here. Will you permit her to ruin all our plans? Stretch out your hand in power. Do you hear me?” There was no answer to his appeal, neither tap nor rustle of reply. In the silence his heart contracted with fear. “Have you deserted me, too?” Then his brain waxed hot with mad hate. His hand clinched in a savage vow. “I swear I will kill her before I will let her go to that man! Together we will enter the spirit-world.”

He sprang towards the door, but Mrs. Lambert, with eyes expanded in horror, caught him by the arm. “Tony, Tony! What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

Her hand upon his arm, her face drawn and white with fear, recalled him to himself. He laughed harshly. “No—oh no; I’m not mad, but it’s enough to make me so. I didn’t mean it—of course I didn’t mean it.”

“You are dreadfully wrought up, Tony. Go out and walk and clear your brain, and by-and-by we’ll sit for council.”

In the end she again persuaded him to return to his chamber, but he did not leave the house—neither could he rest. Every word the girl had said of his selfishness, his egotism, burned like poison in his brain. Had his hold on her been so slight, after all? “She despises me. She hates me!” And in his heart he despised and hated himself. He cursed his poverty, his lack of resource. “Why am I, the evangel of this faith, dependent on others for revelation. Why must I beg and cringe for money, for power?” He was in the full surge of this flood of indignant query when Pratt shuffled into his room.

“Some reporters below want to see you. I guess you better—”

Clarke turned, the glare of madness in his eyes. “Curse you and your reporters! Go away from me! I don’t want to be bothered by you nor by them.”

Pratt stared in dull surprise, which turned slowly to anger. “What’s the matter with you 现在?” he roared. “Damn you, anyway. You’ve upset my whole house with your crazy notions. Everything was moving along nicely till you got this bug of a big speech into your head, and then everything in my life turns topsy-turvy. To hell with you and your book! You can’t use me to advertise yourself. I want you to understand that right now. I see your scheme, and it don’t work with me.”

He was urging himself into a frenzy—his jaws working, his eyes glittering, like those of a boar about to charge, all his concealed dislike, his jealousy of the preacher’s growing fame and of his control of Viola turning rapidly into hate. “I don’t know why you’re eating my bread,” he shouted, hoarsely. “I’ve put up with you as long as I am going to. You’re nothing but a renegade preacher, a dead-beat, and a hypocrite. Get out before I kick you out!”

This brought the miserable evangel to a stand. “I’ll go,” he said, defiantly, “but I’ll take your psychic with me—we’ll go together.”

“Go and be damned to the whole tribe of ye!” retorted Pratt, purple with fury. “Go, and I’ll publish you for a set o’ leeches—that’s what I’ll do,” and with this threat he turned on his heel and went out, leaving Clarke stupefied, blinded by the force of his imprecations.

The situation had taken another turn for the worse. To leave the house of his own will was bad enough; to be kicked out by his host, and to be followed by his curse was desolating. “And yet this I could endure if only she would speak to me—would go with me.”

He fell at last into a deep gulf of self-pity. Yesterday, now so far away, so irrevocable, was full of faith, of promise, of happiness, of grand purpose; now every path was hid by sliding sand. The world was a chaos. His book, his splendid mission, his communion with Adele, his very life, depended upon this wondrous psychic. Without her the world was a chaos, life a failure, and his faith a bitter, mocking lie. With a sobbing groan he covered his face, his heart utterly gone, his brain benumbed, his future black as night.

And yet outside the window, in reach of his hand, the spring sunlight vividly fell. The waves of the river glittered like glass and ships moved to and fro like butterflies. The sky was full of snowy clouds—harbingers of the warm winds of spring. Sparrows twittered along the eaves, and the mighty city, with joy in its prosaic heart, was pacing majestically into the new and pleasant month.

At breakfast next morning Morton took up the paper with apprehension, and though he found Clarke’s name spread widely on the page, he was relieved to find only one allusion to the unknown psychic on whose mystic power the orator was depending.

“She has another day of grace,” he said to himself, thinking of Lambert.

All the way down to his laboratory he pretended to read the news, but could not succeed in interesting himself in the wars and famines of the world, so much more vital and absorbing were his own passions and retreats, so filmy was the abstract, so concrete and vital the particular. A million children might be starving in India, a thousand virgins about to be sold to slavery in Turkestan; but such intelligence counted little to a man struggling with doubt of the woman he loves, and questioning further the right of any philosopher to marry and bring children into a life of bafflement and pain and ultimate annihilation.

This must ever be so. The particular must outweigh the general, and philosophers, even the monists, must continue to be inconsistent. The individual must of necessity consider himself first and humanity afterwards; for if all men considered the welfare of the race to the neglect of self, the race would die at the root and the individual perish of his too-widely diffused pity. To be the altruist, one must first be the egoist (say the philosophers), to give, one must first have.

The questions which filled this implacable young investigator’s mind were these: Is my love worthy? And again: Dare I, insisting on man’s unity with all other organisms and subject to the same laws of extinction, entertain the idea of marriage? If the theories I hold are true—if the soul of a child is no more than the animating principle of the ant or the ape (and this I cannot deny)—then of what avail is human life? By what right do men bring other organisms into being knowing that they will only flutter a little while in the sun like butterflies and die as unavailingly as moths?

Up to this time he had accepted with a certain calm pitilessness the most inexorable tenets of the evolutionists, and had defended them with remorseless zeal; but on this fair spring morning, with love for Viola stirring in his heart, he found himself far less disposed to crush and confound. He acknowledged a growing sympathy with those who mourn the tragic fact of death.

All that he had read concerning clairvoyance, telepathy, hypnotism, and their allied subjects began to assume new significance and a weightier importance. He was annoyed to find himself profoundly concerned as to whether the power of “suggestion” was anything like as coercive as many eminent men believed it to be, and in this awakened interest he ‘phoned Tolman (upon reaching his desk), asking him to lunch with him at the club. “If there is anything in his philosophy I want to know it,” he said, as he turned to his desk.

He found no word from Lambert, and this troubled him. “If he does not come to-day I must act alone,” he concluded, and attempted to take up his work, but found his brain preoccupied, his hand heavy.

Weissmann came in late, looking old and worn. He, too, had passed a restless night. He nodded curtly to his assistant and set to work without reference to the sitting or the psychic; and yet Morton was very sure his chief’s mind was as profoundly engaged as his own, and a little later in the forenoon he stopped at his desk and said: “Lunch, with me, doctor; I have asked Tolman, and I want to talk things over with you both.”

Weissmann consented in blunt abstraction, and the work proceeded quite in the regular routine so far as he was concerned.

Tolman was the farthest remove from the traditional mesmerist in appearance, being a brisk, blond man of exceeding neatness and taste in dress. He wore the most fashionable clothing, his hair and beard were in perfect order, and his hands were very beautiful. He was, indeed, vain of his slender fingers and gesticulated overmuch. His voice also was a little over-assertive, but his eyes were clear, steady, and strong.

As they took seats in the cheerful sunlit dining-room of the Mid-day Club, the three theorists formed a notable group and one that attracted general comment, but their conversation would have astonished the easygoing publishers and professional men who were chatting at neighboring tables, so full of interrogation and assertion was each specialist.

As Tolman rose to speak to a friend at a table across the room, Weissmann confidentially remarked: “I did not sleep last night, not a wink. I could not satisfy myself about those performances. Therefore I smoked and studied. Last night’s test proved nothing to me except that the girl had nothing to do with the phenomena.”

The young man’s heart glowed at these words and he feelingly replied. “To prove that would mean a great deal to me, doctor.”

Weissmann’s tired face lighted up. “So! Then you are interested in her? You love her? I was right, eh?” he asked, with true German directness.

Serviss protested. “Oh no! I haven’t said that; but it troubled me to think of her as a possible trickster. Please don’t hint such a thing in Tolman’s hearing.”

As the hypnotist returned to his seat, Serviss opened up the special discussion by asking him his opinion of the claims of spiritualists.

This question threw Tolman into a roar. “That from you, and in the presence of Weissmann, is a ‘facer’! What has come over Morton Serviss that he should invite me to a lunch to talk over a case of hysterico-epilepsy, and start in by asking my opinion of spiritualism? Come, now, out with the real question.”

Serviss perceived the folly of any subterfuge, and briefly presented Viola’s history, without naming her, of course, and ended by describing in detail the sitting of the night before, while Tolman ate imperturbably at his chop and toast with only now and then a word or a keen glance.

When the story was finished, he looked up, like a lawyer assuming charge of a witness. “Now there’s a whole volume to say upon what you’ve told me, and our time is limited to a chapter. Make your questions specific. What point do you particularly want my opinion on?”

“First of all, has the preacher in this case been controlling the girl?”

“Undoubtedly, but not to the extent you imagine.”

“Has the mother?”

“Yes. She has been a great and constant source of suggestion.”

“You would advise taking the patient out of her present surroundings, would you not?”

“Yes, that would be helpful, but is not absolutely necessary. The essential step is to fill her mind with counter-suggestions.” Here he launched into an exposition of the principles and potentialities of hypnotism, and was in full tide of it when Weissmann interrupted to ask:

“But suppose these phenomena actually and independently exist? Suppose that they are not illusions but objective realities, how then will your suggestion help?”

This put Tolman on his mettle. He entered into a discourse filled with phrases like “secondary consciousness,” “collective hallucinations,” “nerve-force,” wherein, while admitting that great and good men believed in the phenomena of “spiritism,” he concluded that they were overhasty in assigning causes. For his part, the realm of hallucination was boundless. “The mind has the power to create a world of its own—it often does so, and—”

Here Weissmann again broke in. “You will enroll yourself with Aksakof and Von Hartmann and Lombroso?”

“Not precisely. They admit the reality of the appearances. I do not believe that the mind has power to dematerialize objects, as in the case of your wine-glass last night, which was a trick.”

“But the mind can produce a blister without external cause,” said Serviss. “You hypnotic sharps have proved that it can also deaden nerves and heal skin diseases, if not bone fractures.”

“Yes, we produce marvellous cures within the organism, but we draw the line at the periphery of the body. Telekinesis is to me the word of a lively fictionist.”

“One is as easy to believe as the other, and Crookes, Lodge, Lombroso, Tamburini, Aksakof, Von Hartmann, all believe in the reality of these happenings,” retorted Serviss. “They differ only in their explanations. One party believes them due to disembodied spirits, the other relates them to the inexplicable action of a certain psychic force generated within the sitters and acting on objects at a distance. I am not yet persuaded of the phenomena, but I am progressing. I am willing to admit that these gentlemen are entitled to a respectful hearing.”

Tolman resumed his own explanation, and after several premises and general statements put a case. “For example, take automatic writing. You begin by placing a pad and pencil before the mind. That suggests writing—sets up a certain train of associated ideas. These ideas have the innate tendency to realize themselves, the will of the subject being weakened. This is why the left hand is often used. These ideas disassociate themselves from the rest of the mental organism and may, in highly developed cases, become what is called a ‘secondary personality.’ They may give a weak imitation of discourse. They may assume a vague resemblance to some other individual, but they can never give a full statement or a new statement. This is why all the so-called spirit communications are so fragmentary and so futile. The cure of any such state is to set up a strong current of counter-suggestion.”

Weissmann asked: “Is it not extravagant to say that there can exist in the unconscious mind of a young girl, a skill so great as will enable her to draw intricate patterns, manipulate objects at a distance, and impersonate dead persons unknown to her?”

“But there you have passed into the region of hallucination or deceit.”

“I’m not so sure of that. I do not see how fraud or hallucination can come into the most of what we saw last night. I will admit that coming alone by itself the test would have little weight; but it does not come alone. The literature of the subject is great and growing.”

Tolman smiled. “Yes, the newspapers are filled with accounts of mediums exposed.”

They entered then upon a discussion of the trance, and passed to a consideration of multiple personality, which brought out many singular facts. “We learned also,” Tolman said in discussion of a certain case which he had studied, “that certain drugs have the power of arousing specific nerve-centres, and that in cases of alternating personality by flooding the brain with blood we were able to bring back the normal self.”

“Doesn’t that weaken your argument of the power of mind over matter?” asked Serviss, profoundly interested in this assertion.

“Not at all. It is my belief in the drug that influences the patient.”

Serviss laughed and Weissmann’s mouth twitched. “You cannot head them off—these modern mind-specialists! They plunge into the subconscious like prairie-dogs into the sod, only to come up at a new point.”

Tolman’s interest in the unknown psychic was now keen, and he asked for a chance to try his powers.

To this Serviss was strongly averse. “I have never had a chance at a case of this kind and I would very much like to experiment. Perhaps I may need you; but if suggestion is what you claim it to be, if the power is really in the mind of the subject, I can arouse it as well as any one. But as a believer in matter I would like to ally myself with the drug you mention.”

“Very well, here is the prescription.” He jotted down on a card a few hieroglyphic phrases. “And now I must hurry away. I’m sorry, but I have an engagement.”

Serviss took his hand cordially. “I’m glad to have had this talk with you. It has suggested a new train of thought to me.”

“If you need me on the case you mention, be sure to let me know. It sounds mighty interesting, and I’d like a hand in it.”

After Tolman left, Weissmann remarked: “There is a school of thinkers which believes that exceptional individuals may have the power to effect molecular changes in matter at a distance.”

“Yes, I know that. I spent most of the night reading the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, in which that theory has a large place.”

“Well, may it not be that Miss Lambert has this power? May it not be that she is able in some such way as that suggested by Lombroso, to impart cerebral movements to the ether and so modify matter as to produce movement of objects, telekinetic writing, and all the rest of it?”

“That is too violent an assumption. We might as well surrender to the spiritists at once. What evidence have we that Clarke did not rise and tiptoe about the room manipulating the horn himself?”

“We have our own observation, joined to the report of Crookes and Richet.”

“But Crookes is discredited on this score. He belongs to what Haeckel calls ‘the imaginative scientists.’ So do Von Hartmann, Lombroso, Wallace, and Lodge.”

“Why should that be? Why should we accept their testimony on gases and the spectrum, and exclude it when it comes to a question of phenomena new to us? ‘This man is a great chemist and physicist,’ you say,’but a crazy ass when he sets to work to examine the claims of spiritism,’ which is absurd and unjust. So far as I can see, he examined the phenomena of spiritism quite as a scientist should.”

Morton believed that his chief was taking the opposing side out of perversity and replied: “I admit that as you read, they seem reasonable, and I also admit that the experiments with Eusapia, especially the recent ones, ought to be conclusive to my mind, but they are not. That is the singular thing—they do not convince.”

“That is because we do not clear our minds of prejudice. These men are far-sighted and profound in their own lines. They have exposed themselves to sneers by going into these new fields. They are to be honored as pioneers. Why not believe the phenomena they discuss are at least worth our attention?”

“That is Clarke’s plea.”

“Precisely! And he is right. I am less critical of him to-day than I was last night. He gave his psychic over into our hands. What more could we ask?”

“He might have absented himself.”

“He may do that next time.”

“No; he was furious when I suggested the idea.”

“My interest is awakened. It may be, as Clarke says, that this young lady is about to give the world of science a new outlook. It may be that she is to out-do Home and Eusapia.”

Morton’s face was cold and his voice firm as he said: “Not if I can prevent it. My zeal as an investigator does not go so far as that. I intend to free her from all connection with this uneasy world, and to that end I have wired her step-father to come on, and with his assistance I hope to end Clarke’s control of her and set to work upon the cure she expects of me.”

Weissmann smiled indulgently. “The scientist is defeated by the lover. I see; you would exclude all others from the sitting. Very well! that shall be as you wish; but it seems a shame now when we have such a wonderful chance to duplicate the Crookes’ experiments. But, as you say, it would be too much to ask of a young and lovely girl. We will sacrifice only men and the ugly crones, eh?” Morton smiled faintly and his chief went on: “Well, now, in case you find yourself sitting—” he held up a warning hand—”I say if you find yourself unable to stop these trances—”

“I have no doubt of that—provided I can take her out of her present associations.”

“Very good! I was about to say that all, or nearly all, of the phenomena of last night took place within a limited radius of the psychic. The books all came from behind her. The horn hovered near her—all of which would support the arguments of the ‘psychic force’ advocates. Lombroso and Tamburini both suggest that it is not absurd to say that possibly the subconscious mind may be able not merely to transmit energy, but to produce phantasmal forms, and I wondered last night whether there might not be some supernormal elongation of the psychic’s arms which might enable her to seize and manipulate the horn at a distance beyond her normal reach.”

“It is easier for me to believe that Mrs. Lambert did it. I am convinced that Clarke in some way played us false.”

“I’m not sure of that. I am willing to grant that it is possible for the mind to alter the circulation of the blood, even to accelerate or decrease the up-building processes among the cells. If the mind can produce a pathologic process like a blister, it can also remove warts or cancer, as the hypnotists of the Charcot school claim. If the mind can move a book or a pencil without the intervention of any known form of matter, then Clarke (as well as his psychic) may be innocent, and all that happened last night be due to thought-transference and telekinesis.”

The young man shrugged his shoulders. “To admit a single one of your premises would turn all our science upside down.”

Weissmann smiled musingly. “So said the Ptolmaic philosophers when Copernicus came. Yet nothing was destroyed but error—they established the truth.”

“I didn’t mean what I said, exactly. I meant that the whole theory is opposed to every known law of physics.”

“I’m not so certain of that, I can imagine a subtler form of force than magnetism. I can imagine the mind reacting upon matter, creating in its own right by the displacement and rearrangement of the molecules of a substance—say of wood. What is a wine-glass but an appearance? No, no! It will not do to be dogmatic. We must not assume too much. We must keep open minds. Are we not advancing? Is any one nearing the farther wall? No, my boy, each year should make us less arrogant. Ten thousand years from now men will still be discovering new laws of nature just as they were ten thousand years ago. It is childish to suppose that we or any other generation will know all that is to be known. Infinite research is before us just as infinite painful groping is behind us. I do not assume to say what the future will bring to mankind. Perhaps soon—very soon, science will shift its entire battle-line from matter to mind. To say the mind is conditioned in a certain way to-day does not mean that these conditions may not utterly change to-morrow. Great discoveries wait in the future.”

“But you would not say that a new way of squaring the circle would appear—or that perpetual motion—”

“Oh no, no! Error is not a product of enlightenment. I only say that the problem which is insoluble to you and to me may be quite simple to the biologist of the twenty-second century. Once I thought I might come to know much of the universe, now I am quite certain I shall never know but a few processes—never the mystery itself.”

As the old man talked with the light of prophecy in his gaunt face, the young man’s imagination took wing into the future, that mighty and alluring void, black as night, yet teeming with transcendent, potential unborn men and women, and his brain grew numb with the effort and his heart humble with the moments’ prophetic glance. Ay, it was true! He in his turn would seem a child of the foolish past—a fond old man to the wise future. His complacence was lost. His faith in his authorities violently shaken. He recalled a line from Whitman: “Beyond every victory there are other battles to be fought, other victories to be won.” And his eyes grew dim and his thought filled with reverence for those seers of the future, and with awe of the inscrutable and ever-beckoning and ever-retiring mystery of life.

His chief resumed: “No, we pretend to larger knowledge of living organisms; but how will our text-books be regarded by the teachers of the future? Will they not read us and smile over us as curious mixtures of truth and error—valuable as showing the state of science in our day? Do you dream of solving the mystery of life? Of bridging the chasm between the crystal and the non-nucleated cell? I do not. As I sat alone last night unable to sleep, my eyes ran over the backs of the books on my shelves—they were all there, all the great ones, Laplace, Spinoza, Descartes, Goethe, Spencer, Hegel, Kant, Darwin, all the wonder-workers. How masterful each had been in his time. How complacent of praise; how critical of the past! But here now they all stood gathering dust, and I thought: so will the unborn philosophers of the next century fold me up and put me away beside the other mouldy ones—curious but no longer useful. My book will be but an empty shell on the reef of human history. Of such cruelty are the makers of scientific advance.”

Morton was profoundly moved by the note of pathos, of disillusionment in the old man’s voice. “Would you have me believe that these men we doubt to-day are forerunners of the future?”

“I feel so. The materialists have had their day. Some subtler expression of matter is about to be given to the world, not as Kant gave it, but through experiment, and to men like Myers and Sir William Crookes may come great honor some day.”

“You would not have us weaken in our method?”

Weissmann’s manner changed. He resumed his most peremptory tone. “By no means. We must not relax our vigilant scrutiny of fact one atom’s weight, but we must keep our minds open to new messages—no matter how repulsive the source.”

Morton sat for a moment in deep study, then said: “If I fail to stop the public announcement of Miss Lambert’s powers, if Clarke’s challenge is issued in spite of my protest, I shall ask the privilege of heading the committee in order to be present and shield her. If it comes to this, will you join me and support me?”

“荣幸。”

“But suppose the president and our board object?”

“What right have they to object? So long as I do not neglect my duties they will not dare to object.”

“They will be scandalized. Two of us going into an investigation of this sort will seem to involve the whole school, and they may insist on our keeping out of it, so long as we are connected with the institution. If they ask for our resignation, the public will side with us, but all other institutions, and probably the bulk of our colleagues, will go against us. I hesitate, therefore, to ask you to take up this work. It is not a matter of bread and butter to me. I can resign, and I am thinking this is my best plan. At the same time I hope, for Miss Lambert’s sake, that the public test will not be made.”

Weissmann’s shaggy old head lifted like that of a musing lion. “What is this opposition to me? I too can resign. What my colleagues say will not matter if I feel that I am advancing the cause of science. Their flames will scorch, but I have a thick skin. Besides, I am old, with only a few more years to work, and if I felt I could better serve the world by going into this investigation than by remaining in the one in which I now am, I would gladly do it. I will not utterly starve.”

“Not while I am able to share a crust,” quickly exclaimed Serviss. “If they ask for your resignation, give it and come with me. Together we will found an institute for the study of the supra-normal. What do you say?”

Weissmann’s eyes glowed with the quenchless zeal of the experimentalist. “My dear boy, I would resign now for that purpose; but I hope it will not be necessary, for your sake.”

They shook hands like two adventurers setting out on their joint exploration of a distant and difficult country; but this moment of exaltation was followed in Serviss’s mind by a sense of having in some way dedicated Viola to the advancement of science rather than to the security of the fireside and to the joys of wife and mother.

Upon his return to his desk Serviss was delighted to find a telegram from Lambert, stating the time of his arrival, and asking for a meeting. There was a note of decision, almost command, in the wording of the despatch, which denoted that the miner had taken his warning to heart and was prepared for prompt and authoritative action.

The time of the train being near, Serviss closed the lid of his desk and took a car for the station—immensely relieved of responsibility, yet worn and troubled by a multitude of confused and confusing speculations. All the way to the depot, and while he stood waiting outside the gates, he pondered on the surprising change in Weissmann’s thought, and also upon the momentous covenant between them. More than ever before he felt the burden and the mystery of organic life. Around him flowed an endless stream of humankind, rushing, spreading—each drop in the flood an immortal soul (according to the spiritist), attended by invisible guardians, watching, upholding, warning—”and the whole earth swarms with a billion other similar creatures with the same needs, the same destiny; for, after all, the difference between a Zulu and a Greek is not much greater than that between a purple-green humming-bird and a canary; and to think that this wave of man appearing to-day on the staid old earth, like the swarms of innumerable insects of June, is but one of a million other waves of a million other years. To consider, furthermore, that all those who have lived and died are still sentient! What a staggering, monstrous conception! Nor is this all. According to the monist conception there is no line at which we can say here the animal stops and the soul of man begins, so that ants and apes are claimants for immortality. If the individual man persists after death, why not his faithful collie? No, this theory will not do. It is far less disturbing to think of all these hurrying bipeds as momentary nodes of force—minute eddies on the boundless stream of ether.”

The gates opened and another river of travellers, presumably from the great plains of the Middle West, poured forth, quite undistinguishable in general appearance from those which had preceded them; and, dropping his speculation, Morton peered among these faces, not quite sure that he would know Lambert if he saw him. As a matter of fact, he would have missed him had not the miner laid a hand upon his arm, saying, quaintly: “Howdy, professor, howdy! What’s the state of the precinct?”

He was quite conventional in all outward signs, save for his red-brown complexion and the excessive newness of his hand-bag. “How are all the folks?” he went on to ask, with a keen glance.

“They were quite well when I saw them, but they need you. You’re not an hour too soon.”

“Is it as bad as that?” he exclaimed, anxiously. “What is it all about?”

“Wait till we reach a carriage, then I’ll put you in possession of all the facts,” replied Serviss, and led the way to a cab. “I am greatly relieved to see you to-day.”

“I came as soon as your wire reached me; but the messenger arrived during a big snow-storm, and the trail was impassable for a day. Now, then, professor, let’s have the whole story,” he said, as the driver slammed the door. “Where are they and what is the matter?”

“They are here in New York, housed with a man named Pratt, a wealthy spiritist, and they are in excellent bodily health, but your daughter is threatened with a publicity which is most dangerous.”

“那个怎么样？”

“Clarke has decided to give an oration in the Spirit Temple announcing his faith and defying the unbeliever. As the climax of this discourse he intends to announce your daughter’s name and her willingness to meet any test. She objects to this publicity, but Pratt, your wife, and the ‘guides’ all unite in forcing her into acquiescence.”

“I see,” said Lambert, reflectively. “When does this speech come off?”

“Sunday morning at eleven.”

“I reckon I can stop that,” was the miner’s laconic comment.

“But this is not the only danger,” Serviss hurried on to say. “This man Pratt is a rankly selfish old man, who is surrounded by flatterers and those who live off his desire to commune with his dead wife and daughters. He is accustomed to have his own private ‘mediums’ and to appropriate their entire time and energy till he is weary of them—or till a new one comes to his knowledge—then it is his pitiless habit to ‘expose’ them and throw them into the street. He is the worst possible man for your daughter to know, and to be in his house is a misfortune.”

“How does she happen to be there?”

“Clarke took them there. He was eager to secure Pratt’s endorsement of your daughter, and also of the book he is about to publish. Your daughter hates Pratt, and is very anxious to leave, but is afraid to do so for fear of him and of her ‘controls.’ Pratt has threatened to denounce her if she leaves him.”

“Is he in love with her?”

“I don’t think so—not in the way you mean. He is bound up in her powers, and would do anything to keep her. But she must be taken away at once and Clarke’s oration stopped. I would have interfered, but I had no authority to act. Your wife is satisfied to remain, and the ‘chief control,’ her father, insists upon their remaining, and Clarke told me last night that your daughter was his affianced wife. You can see how helpless I am, even though your daughter in her normal mood begged me to save her from madness. I regard her condition as very critical. To expose her to a public trial of her powers may unsettle her reason.”

Lambert was profoundly moved by Morton’s rapid statement. “What would you advise me to do?”

“Take her away from that house and Clarke’s influence instantly, no matter if your wife opposes it.”

“Are we on our way there now?”

“Yes, we’ll be there in a few minutes. My sister likes your wife and daughter and has invited them to stay with her for a few days. This they have promised to do. I suggest, therefore, that you take them immediately to our home and so get your daughter into a totally different mental atmosphere. This plan will give you time to decide on future action.”

“Do they know I’m coming?”

“No, I was afraid you might not come, and—”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell them. I wanted to test whether that ghostly grandfather would inform them. I’m mightily obliged to you, professor,” he said, after a pause, and his eyes were moist with his emotion. “I never had a child of my own, and I’m fond of Viola. I’ve always resented this mediumistic business—she’s too fine to be spoiled by it—but she wasn’t mine, and Julia was so wrapped up in the faith I couldn’t stop it. Then Clarke came, and Julia minded what I said no more than if I’d been a chipmunk. So I climbed into the hills and stayed there.”

“You believe in your daughter’s powers?”

“In her powers, yes; but not in every voice that speaks through her. Have you attended any of her sittings?”

“We had one in my house last night. I laid the burden of the performance to Clarke. He was the juggler.”

“Oh no, you’re wrong there. I have cause enough to hate Clarke, but he’s honest. No, the power is all in Viola. I’ve had those things go on with nobody but Julia and the girl in the room. No, Clarke is a crazy fool in some ways, but he don’t cheat.”

His words were so direct, so weighted with conviction, that their force staggered Serviss, causing him to doubt his new explanation. Tolman’s generalizations ceased at the moment to convince.

Lambert went on. “I suppose she is committed to him. She wrote me that she guessed she might as well; so long as she was a medium nobody else would ever want her—or something like that. I feel guilty, I’ll admit, but you see how it was. The girl belongs to Julia, and since Clarke came into the family our correspondence has been pretty well confined to checks on my part and receipts on hers; but she’s had plenty of money, professor. There wasn’t any need of her going into anybody’s house. She could have gone to the best hotels—”

“I don’t see how you could have acted differently,” said Serviss, with intent to comfort. “But I am sure that Viola”—he spoke the name with a little hesitation—”will eagerly go with you now. She begins to doubt Clarke and to realize the fearful mental peril in which she stands.”

“That’s what I don’t understand, professor. This spiritualistic faith is mighty pretty on the face of it, but it seems to unhinge people’s minds. I’ve known two or three to go ‘locoed’ with it; that’s what kept me from interfering. It isn’t for miners to monkey with; but I was in hopes that you would go into it. In fact, I was in hopes you’d got sort o’ interested in Viola, and she in you, and that you’d help her someway.”

“I am interested in her,” replied Serviss, quickly, “and I want to help her; but so long as she is where she is, and acknowledges Clarke’s claims, I can do nothing.—Here we are!”

As they drew up before the looming front of Pratt’s house the miner whistled, “Must be one of those Wall Street pirates we read about. Nothing spirit-like about this castle, eh?”

“Nor about its lord.”

“Why, this beats the Palace Hotel in Salina,” he continued, his wonder increasing, then he smiled. “What’ll you bet I don’t catch the ‘guides’ napping! You send up word you’re here and leave me out o’ sight somewhere. I’d like to show Julia that her daddy don’t know all that blows over the roof.”

Again Serviss doubted the husband’s ability to dominate the forces in opposition—so small and inoffensive did he seem and so ill-timed was his joke.

The colored man, more funereally dignified than before, showed them into the reception-room. “I’m afraid the ladies are out, sir, but if you’ll wait a moment I’ll see.”

“Be sure Mrs. Lambert gets my card,” said Serviss, with a note of warning in his voice. After the man left the room he turned to Lambert. “Pratt has a habit of intercepting the cards of visitors, and deciding who shall and who shall not see your daughter. He hates me and may order me out of the house.” As they listened, the master’s deep grumbling vibrated through the ceiling. “You see! my card has gone to him, not to your wife. The old ruffian is probably giving instructions to have me shown the door.”

To this Lambert made no reply other than to say: “We’ll soon know, the nigger is returning.”

Some shade of the master’s mood was reflected in the voice of the servant, as he said: “The ladies are out and Mr. Pratt is engaged.” He had the air of waiting for them to go.

“Out, are they?” remarked Lambert, casually. “Then we’ll wait till they come in. When did you say they’ll return?”

“I didn’t say, sir; probably not till very late.”

“Is Clarke in?”

“I don’t know, sir. I think not.”

“But your boss is in?”

The man hesitated. “Yes, sir; but I told you he’s engaged.”

Lambert changed his tone. “Now, see here, Charley, you go right back and tell him that Joe Lambert, of Fremont Basin, is here on business, and would like to have a word with him if he don’t mind.”

The colored man saw a light, and visibly weakened. “I—I’ll tell him,” he stammered, and retired.

Lambert followed him to the door and called after him, in a clear tone: “You tell him to come down or I’ll go up. Now mind you say just those words.”

Morton smiled with joy in Lambert’s decisive utterance. “So much for having authority, as well as the will to act!”

Pratt appeared at the head of the stairs. “What is it now, Jenkins?”

“The gentleman insists on seeing you, sir; it’s Mr. Lambert.”

“Stay where you are,” commanded Pratt, “I’ll come down and see what’s wanted.”

Lambert, with quiet, upturned face, watched the master of the house descend slowly step by step, and Morton, contrasting the two men, awaited the collision with rising apprehension. The Western man seemed so small, so inoffensive in manner, in contrast with the grizzled, insolent face of the sullen old man approaching with heavy jaw set at a bull-dog angle. “Well, sir, what is it?” he contemptuously inquired.

Lambert waited so long that his questioner began to wonder, and then remarked, quietly: “So you’re Pratt!”

“我是。”

“Well, I’m Joe Lambert, of Fremont, and I’ve come to relieve you of the keep of my wife and daughter.” Nothing could have been more telling, more admirable, than his tone. Every word told, and as Pratt stood in a daze of surprise Lambert turned to the servant. “Now, George, you try again. You tell Mrs. Lambert her husband wants to see her, and you may ask Clarke to come along. I want a word or two with him.”

“Wait!” called Pratt. “I want to know—”

Lambert pointed a finger like a pistol. “You go!” and the man went. The Westerner then turned to the owner of the house and said: “Out where I live a husband has some rights which he can enforce if he is minded to do so. I haven’t looked after my family as closely as I might, but I’m going to do better hereafter. I believe my wife and daughter are in this house, and I intend to see them, and your wishes don’t count in the matter. I’d advise you not to interfere.”

Pratt began to retreat. “I didn’t know—”

“But suppose you didn’t—what right have you to supervise my wife’s affairs? Why didn’t you send Professor Serviss’s card to her? What business had you to say she was out?”

Pratt came down from his lofty pose. “So many strangers insist on seeing the psychic—”

“But Professor Serviss is not a stranger, and, furthermore, unless my wife’s mind has weakened, she’s quite competent to turn down any one she don’t want to see. I can’t understand why she is here, but I intend to find out. So long as she bears my name I don’t want her to be under any obligation to a man of your stamp.”

There was power and a quiet dignity in the little man, and Pratt began to plead his case. “I’ve tried to make it comfortable for them, and help on their work—”

Lambert looked up and down the splendid hall, and in a softer tone replied: “So far I’m in your debt, but I don’t like it. I am able to provide for my family and I don’t intend to share their supervision with you nor any other man. So far as I know, my wife still considers me the head of the family—anyhow, that’s what I’m here to find out.”

Mrs. Lambert appeared at the head of the stairs and called, in a tremulous voice: “Is that you, Joe?”

“It is, Julia. Come down.”

Viola, with a cry of joy, left her mother’s side and running down the steps, flung herself into Lambert’s arms like a frightened child. “Oh, Papa-Joe—I’m so glad to see you!”

Lambert was astonished by the warmth of her greeting, and while she hid her face on his shoulder patted her awkwardly with soothing words of endearment until at last she lifted her pale and tear-wet face and whispered:

“Oh, it’s been a terrible day—take me away, quick!”

Lambert looked up at his wife. “Julia, what’s been going on here? You both look like the dead.”

Mrs. Lambert’s face was wrinkled and haggard and wan like that of one grown suddenly old, and Morton was aware that her serenity was utterly gone before she spoke. Her voice was weak and piteous. “I thought it was all for the best, Joe. I followed the ‘guides’—”

“Follow them a little longer and you’ll all land in the mad-house,” he replied. Then to Viola he tenderly said: “Don’t you worry any more, girlie. Old Papa-Joe’s going to take you home.”

Serviss spoke. “You’re to come to us to-night. Kate expects you both.”

At the sound of his voice Viola turned with an impulsive reaching of the hands. “Oh, Dr. Serviss, that would be heavenly! I love your sister and her beautiful home.”

Lambert issued his command. “Get your outfits together. I don’t understand how you got here, but you’re going to get out with me within the next half-hour.”

Viola’s spirit rose like flame. “We’re all ready—this moment. I sent our trunks away this morning. They went to the West Park. I’ll be down instantly,” and she turned to run up the stairs, just as Clarke appeared at their head. His face was white and wild and his voice hoarse with fear and reproach as he intercepted her.

“What has happened? Who is below?”

“My step-father,” she answered, curtly, and fled away to her room.

Mrs. Lambert was about to follow when she saw Clarke descending, and drew back with a look of appeal at her husband. It was evident to Serviss that her confidence in Clarke had given place to fear.

During all this time Pratt had been standing meditatively swaying to and fro on his feet, chewing upon something which he held far back in his cheek. He resembled a sullen, chained, and vindictive elephant meditating murder. He watched Clarke descend the stairs with very little change of expression; but Lambert’s face darkened as the minister called out:

“你会怎样做？”

“That does not concern you,” he replied, and his voice cut. “Your control of my household stops right here! Julia, go get your things.” He laid an imperative hand on Clarke’s arm. “Clear the way for her!”

With a look of alarm Mrs. Lambert started to follow her daughter. “Don’t be harsh, Joe.” Then to Clarke she said, pleadingly: “It’s best, Anthony, for a little while. Viola is so nervous and morbid.”

“I know what it means,” he passionately answered. “It means the wreck of all my hopes. It means ruin to all my plans—”

Lambert again interfered. “Julia! get dressed. I will attend to Mr. Clarke.” As she hurried up the stairs he turned to Morton in apology. “I’ve been to blame for this separation. I should have asserted my rights before. No man has the right to shirk his family duty. My duty was to look after the welfare of my wife and daughter, and now see their faces! This year has made Julia an old woman.” His voice choked. When he could speak he addressed himself to Clarke. “You promised me that you wouldn’t use the girl’s name in any way, and yet I’m told you’re about to publish it broadcast.”

“The control consents—”

Here Lambert’s wrath broke bonds. “Damn the control! I don’t consent. And I serve notice on you, and on you too”—he directed a menacing look upon Pratt—”to respect the name of my wife as well as that of my daughter. Clarke has lived long enough in the West to know what I mean, but I’ll explain to you.” He faced Pratt, and with easy, almost gentle utterance, continued: “I’ve spent some thirty-five years on the border, where a man is called upon now and then to serve as his own judge, jury, and hangman. Perhaps we’re a little prone to take matters into our own hands; but be that as it may, the professor here has posted me about you and your ways, and I merely want to state, once for all, that if you utter one word public or private against my wife or daughter I’ll kill you as I would a wolf.”

The slow pulsing flow of the miner’s voice, the absence of all oaths or justifying gesture, froze Pratt into immobility and thrilled Serviss with joy, for he, too, perceived that every word came from the heart of a very determined and very dangerous man.

Clarke started forward. “You wrong me! Everything I have done has been for their good—for the good of the world.”

Lambert stopped him with a gesture. “Right here you quit, my friend. I don’t question your good intentions, but I’m sick of the whole crazy business, and so is Julia. Why, good God, man! she looks ten years older since she left the valley. You’ve been nothing but a curse to her and the girl from the very start, and here is where your trail forks.”

The preacher’s hollow cheeks were ashen gray and his throat thick with passion as he cried: “You can’t do that! You must not separate us. I love her—she is mine! The spirit forces have promised her to me. They will resent your interference, they will over-ride your puny opposition.”

“I take the consequences. They go and you stay!”

Clarke turned to Morton in a frenzy, his eyes flaming, his lips dry and contorted. “I see your hand in this! You stand there silent, but you are the machinator of this plot. You are stealing her away—”

“Be quiet!” commanded Morton, with a gesture towards the stairway. “Don’t you see them coming?”

Viola, fully dressed, and breathless with eagerness to flee, was hurriedly descending.

As she neared him, Clarke cried out, with lamentable, despairing wail: “Viola, you are leaving me!”

She gave him one awed, pitying backward glance and passed on, hurrying as if to escape his outspread hand, swift to outrun the inevitable tragic shadow of his faith.

For an instant he reeled back against the wall, then sprang to follow, but the young scientist intervened and thrust him back.

“Keep to your own trail,” he sternly said, and as he opened the door for the girl, she seemed to pass at once into the sunlit spring-time world of common life.

At the carriage-door Mrs. Lambert halted, her heart sorely smitten by the vision of Clarke’s agonized face. “Wait a moment!” she cried out. “We were too cruel. Let me say good-bye.”

“No,” Lambert replied, firmly. “You are done with him.” And with these words he gently assisted her into the coach. “Get in, professor,” he added, with a touch of the same command. “We must be moving.”

With a succinct phrase of direction to the driver, Serviss complied, taking the front seat, opposite Viola. He was horrified to find her shaking violently as if with cold, her face white, her eyes big and wild. Her physical rescue was accomplished, but it was immediately made plain to him that the invisible bonds which linked her to Clarke were being drawn upon with merciless power, for with the first motion of the vehicle she fixed a look of terror and entreaty upon her mother, exclaiming, huskily: “They are calling me! They will not let me go.”

Lambert stared in helpless dismay as he realized the force of this inner struggle; but the young scientist, filled with fierce rage at this assertion of the dark forces, met them promptly in pride of his own resources, his own desire.

“Give me your hands!” he commanded, sharply. She obeyed like a child in a stupor of pain, her breath coming through her pallid lips with a hissing sound as if she were sinking each moment deeper into an icy flood.

With both her inert hands in his, with love and mastering will in his eyes, he bent a deep, piercing gaze upon her with intent to rouse her and sustain her. “You must not give way. You are too strong, too brave, to yield to this delusion. You are clear of it all now—entering upon a free and happy life…. Think of the new conditions into which you are going…. Kate is waiting you. No one can control you if you set your will sharply against it…. Remember the Marshall Basin and the splendid sunshine…. You are leaving all hateful, evil influences behind.” In this way he labored to fill her mind with new conceptions, building up in her a will to resist, and as he felt the tremor die out of her hands and saw the color coming back into her face he smiled with a sense of victory. “You see!” he resumed, in triumph. “You are better. Your hands are warmer. You are breathing naturally again. Your enemies are being left behind.”

It was true. The hunted, piteous look had left her eyes. She seemed drowsy, but it was the languor of relief. The vital force, the sanity, the imperious appeal of the man before her had rolled back the cloud of fear which had all but closed over her head. He released her hands, saying: “We must have no more backward glances. Remember Lot’s wife.”

Lambert, filled with satisfaction, laid a silencing hand upon his wife’s arm. His faith in science, in the force of exact learning, was being met, and he was resolved to leave the hypnotist free to act, to control.

Roused and confident, the young scientist continued his appeal, leaving her no time to dwell upon the past. “You are young,” he said in effect, “and it is spring. You are false to yourself if you permit yourself to lose through any such morbid imagining a single hour of joy. All depends on your own will, your own desire to be free. Henceforth you are never to be sad or afraid. I will you to be happy and you must obey.”

She rose from the deep of her depression as a lily rises from the sod after the trampling storm-wind has passed. Her response to his call filled him with hope as well as with astonishment. It was as if he had torn from her throat the hands of some hideous beast, half-man, half-devil, and they entered Kate’s home in such normal, cheerful relationship that no one could possibly have associated any hidden grief with either of them, not even with Mrs. Lambert, and Viola met her hostess with the gay spirits of an unexpected but confident guest.

Kate was both amazed and delighted by their sudden irruption, and being eager to know all the details of their escape from the Pratt stronghold hurried Viola and her mother away to their rooms, leaving Lambert in Morton’s care.

“Well, professor,” said the miner, when they were alone, “we made the break and won out. I reckon they’re side-tracked now.”

“Yes, and I hope we are done with both Pratt and Clarke; but they’ll both bear watching. Pratt I especially fear.”

“He’s had his notice,” Lambert grimly replied. “As for Clarke, it looks as though even Julia had got enough of him. He looked like a man on the road to the mad-house, and I reckon she’s convinced of it now.”

“I pitied him, but I do not feel that you are in any sense indebted to him. On the contrary, a large part of your daughter’s slavery to the trance is due to his pernicious influence.”

“You must be something of an influence yourself, professor. It was wonderful the way you brought her out of that trance. I never saw that done before. I reckon you must have some kind of mesmerism about you.”

“Not a particle more than you have. However, I should like to believe in my power to help her. In fact, I do believe that. It is really a question of her own will. The old idea of some subtle physical force or fluid passing from the operator to the subject is no longer held. It is not even necessary to make passes nor to put the subject in a trance. All we need to do is suggest to her that no one, not even her ghostly grandfather, can control her against her will. We must keep her mind full of bright and cheerful thoughts, and convince her that by leaving the Pratt house she has attained freedom.”

“I will do what I can,” said Lambert; “but I’ve seen her taken down so many times, I’m a little doubtful. She’s in a bad way, I admit. It has its bad side as well as its pretty side, this religion. It unhinges a lot of people, and I reckon Clarke’s a little off or he wouldn’t have got my folks into that mess.”

“Don’t let Viola feel your doubt; present a confident face to her. There is nothing supernatural in the world, nothing lying outside of nature or outside of law. Many diseases which were once considered demoniacal possessions we now know to be quite as natural as any other in fact. Disease is only health gone wrong; and the mental disorder in which Viola now stands is certainly curable if we proceed properly and with confidence.”

“I like to have you say these things, professor. They kind o’ fit in with what I’ve thought over all by myself out there in the mountains. I like the man who says ‘such and such a thing is so-and-so, because I can prove it.’ That’s what science is, I take it. There’s altogether too much guess-work about this spiritualistic religion—it needs some engineer like you to get down to the bed-rock. Clarke is the kind of man who thinks he’s on the vein when he ain’t.”

“I’m giving it a good deal of thought, and may be I will some day take up the experimentation—but not with your daughter as a subject. However, we’ll discuss that later. You are tired and I’ll show you your room and bath, and after you freshen up a bit we’ll discuss our next movement.”

Lambert turned as he entered the room assigned to him, and said, with deep feeling: “I’m trusting in you, professor. I’m out o’ my latitude in this spirit enterprise. As I say, I’ve neglected my family since Clarke came into it, and it was all wrong. I should have asserted my rights. I don’t blame Julia as much as I did. Women are kind o’ weak in some ways—more religious, you may say—and Clarke got hold of Julia in a way that I couldn’t understand. I didn’t mind her thinking more of Waldron than of me—that’s natural, we all have our first loves—but I couldn’t stand Clarke’s overbearing ways in my own house.” His voice grew firm. “Well, now, here I am with time and money. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Morton’s liking for the Western man was raised almost to affection, as he looked into his earnest, remorseful eyes and listened to his low-toned confession. “You may depend on my help,” he responded, heartily, extending his hand in token. “Your step-daughter interests me deeply. There is something for you to do, but I will not ask it now.”

“Yes, tell me, so I can be thinking it over.”

Morton pondered a moment, then said: “I had a consultation to-day with a great nerve specialist, a man who uses hypnotism, or ‘suggestion,’ as he calls it, in his practice. He is perfectly sure that your daughter can be restored to mental health, but she must have a complete change of companionship and environment. He agrees with me that she must be separated not merely from Pratt and Clarke, but from her mother also. I need your help in this.”

“That will be hard on Julia,” Lambert slowly responded. “She hasn’t much else but the girl and her religion.” He looked down at the floor. “Yes, that is a rough sentence, professor, but I shouldn’t wonder if you were right.”

“It must be done, Lambert; and the very best service you can render is to take your wife and go home, leaving Viola here in our care—But that can wait till after you are rested.” And with this final word he closed the door and returned to his library to await Kate’s return and her inevitable demand for the story of what had taken place.

He took up one of the most recent books treating of Suggestion, and resumed consideration of a paragraph which had arrested him as if a hand had been placed upon his shoulder. “Suggestion does not limit or depress the subconscious self, it sets it free, exalts its powers, making it not something less, but something vastly more than the normal and the conscious self.”

Could it be possible that Viola, in common with hundreds of other apparently well-authenticated cases, possessed the “psychic force” which Maxwell, Richet, and Lombroso recognized? The hypothesis, difficult as it was, profoundly inexplicable from every point of view, was, after all, less of a wrench to the reason, came closer to the frame of his philosophy than the claims of Crookes and Wallace. To accept the spiritist faith even as a “working hypothesis” was impossible to his definite type of mind.

If these raps, movements, voices, could be related to the working of the subconscious mind, or, as Meyers called it, the “subliminal self,” then the power of the hypnotist might be able to control their order and to a certain extent their character. They were not signs of a diseased brain (according to Meyers again), but were the manifestations of a power scattered here and there among men, without system, without known law. Maxwell agreeing with this, ends by saying: “These mysterious phenomena are due, therefore, neither to spirits nor disease, but to a perfectly natural force lying within the minds of the sitters and exercised by the psychic.”

He had already derived much hope from the monumental work of Meyers and his school. Hundreds of cases of hallucinations, alternating personality, hysterio-epilepsy, and other kindred apparent abnormalities, had been studied by means of hypnotism, and certain processes inhibited or set going at the will of an operator. The latest word of these masters was most heartening. They had demonstrated that the trance was no longer a necessary part of hypnotism. That the subject would not follow out in trance any improper or criminal suggestion which he would not do in conscious state; and, “There is no great physical difference between the normal and the hypnotic state,” he read; “the real mental difference lies in the temporary removal of motives tending to counteract the suggestion, and this removal does not imply an inhibition of faculty, but an actual extension or liberation of faculty.”

In fine, these men agreed that the mind, reaching back, by its very structure, to the beginning of organic life, was limited by consciousness to a comparatively small number of its potentialities, whereas its subliminal life (on the contrary) was infinite and unsearchably subtle. All minds partook, in varying degrees, of these baffling powers, but only now and then, through unusual favoring circumstances, was the brain able to manifest its depth and subtlety. Sickness, sleeplessness, physical shock, some accidental series of events now and then permitted a display of these hidden acquirements, and thereafter the individual was marked as abnormal, possessed, according to the ancient view, by angels or devils.

Others still, by putting themselves deliberately into the study, had been able to subordinate the conscious mind, little by little liberating their subliminal forces by practice, attaining thus almost miraculous powers. In this way the “medium” became clairvoyant, clairaudient, telekinetic. In other cases still, as in Viola’s case, this subordination of the supra-liminal self had been accomplished by the suggestion of others, by submission to the will of others.

He had been profoundly instructed by Tolman’s account of a case of alternating personality which he had studied with so much care. The fact that the secondary self appeared when the subject’s life seemed at a lower ebb, and when the cerebral centres were sparsely supplied with the life-current, and the further fact that the use of a certain substance which stimulated (without poisoning) the higher brain-centres, was able to bring back the primary or supra-liminal self, was of the utmost value. It threw a flood of light upon Viola’s condition, for had she not in her trance become inert, cold, and almost without pulse? He had provided himself with this drug, and as he studied its appearance in the phial, so minute, so colorless, so helpless in its prison, he felt once again the mystery of matter, and smiled to think how childish was the popular conception of the physical universe as something dead and inorganic. Nothing is more mysterious.

“The office of this drug can be twofold. It has the power in itself to flush the cerebral centres with fresh blood, and it can also serve as a point of support for the suggestion I am about to give. It does not really matter whether she has any phase of what they call mediumistic power or not. To rid her of her trances will liberate her from a belief in her ills, and that is the main consideration.”

He found the greatest encouragement at this point in the many cases where perfect mental health had been restored by means of a complete change of mental stimuli. “All hypnotic methods,” he read, “have one thing in common, and that is the diversion of attention from the insistency of external surroundings…. The hypnotic state has one broad characteristic, and that is the working of the subliminal consciousness in directions unusual in ordinary life.”

“The way to help her is to cut off every suggestion which leads to the trance and to the thought of the dead; to centre her mind on the serene, the busy, the sunny. Thus flooding her brain with sights and sounds utterly disassociated with her past.”

The realization that she was at last domesticated under his roof made her redemption seem easy, certain, almost accomplished. There remained only the painful duty of separating her from her mother. He could see that this would bring keen sorrow upon them both, but that if she could be brought to consider him in the light of her future husband, the change would seem less violent; for, after all, it was the law of life which subordinated the claims of the mother to those of the husband.

“At any rate, the issue is now clear in my mind. A powerful chain of suggestion has been formed and fastened upon her by her own mother and by Clarke. That chain must be broken; it is broken in Clarke’s case, and no matter what the pain, the fear, this course may cause the mother, it must be pursued in order to restore Viola to health.”

He passed from this to a forecast of the radical changes in his own life which an avowal of love would make, and his mood chilled. He had always imagined the announcement of his engagement, falling into a sober and decorous paragraph among the society notes, and had figured himself receiving with dignified composure the congratulations of his associates and club-fellows. He had never considered the possibility of shrinking from these publicities, nor fancied himself in the light of finding excuses to justify or explain his marriage. He now clearly foresaw, foreheard the comment, the surprise, the opposition of his family.

He pulled himself up short with a word of derision at the length to which he had permitted his mind to run. “All this for the future. The immediate question is, Can she be freed from her bonds?”

He was deep in his book when Kate entered with excited greeting. “Morton, do you know that those women have been locked in their rooms all day for fear of Clarke and Pratt? Well, they were! Clarke has gone stark mad with jealousy, and even that besotted mother was afraid of him, and admits it. They would be there in that house prisoners this minute only for you.”

“Don’t lay your wreath on my head; keep it for Lambert. Really, Kate, he was magnificent. Little as he is, he towered. I had no doubt of his willingness and ability to kill either Pratt or Clarke; and I don’t think they questioned the integrity of his promise.”

Kate’s mind took a new turn. “She’s broken with Clarke, thank Heaven! But the mother clings to him in spite of all.”

“I am about to suggest to Mrs. Lambert that she go West with her husband, leaving the girl in your care for a little while.”

“I wish they would!”

“She must be freed from even her mother’s presence for a while—that is, if they really want to have her cured of her trances.”

“I see,” said Kate, thoughtfully. “The mother is so closely associated with all that tapping.”

“Precisely. I wish, when Mrs. Lambert is rested, you would ask her to let me see her here. I want to talk these matters over with her in private.”

“They’re both lying down, but I’ll tell her when she rises. Don’t do anything rash,” she added, with a reaction towards caution which amused him.

“你可以相信我。”

She came back a few steps, and hesitatingly said. “For, after all, Morton, the girl is abnormal.”

“So are we all—under abnormal conditions. I am going to see if I can’t so change the current of her thought that she will forget her besetments—and you must help me.”

“She’s shockingly pretty and it will be very dangerous having her beneath your very roof.” She gave a warning backward look. “How dare you permit it?”

“I am a very brave man,” he replied, with a smile, and an inflection that puzzled her.

Mrs. Lambert entered timidly, her gentle face sadder and its lip-line firmer than he had ever seen it. It was evident that the experiences of the last few days had touched her and shaken her.

Up to this time Morton had considered her as a genial but rather negative personality, a soul naturally subordinate to others, but she now rose to an importance in his life which made her real self of the highest significance. His first glance was one of sincerest admiration. Doubtless she had once been as slender and quite as tall as her daughter, and though increasing age and weight had combined to rob her of height and grace, she was, nevertheless, still a distinctly commanding figure. Her head was nobly fashioned, her eyes a candid blue, and her glance clear and unworn in its appeal.

Altogether he could not but acknowledge in her a mother of which no man need be ashamed, and in this spirit he met her and invited her to a seat. “Mr. Lambert and I have been talking of the mountains to-day,” he began. “I wish we were on our way out there this moment, for I am tired of the city.”

She brightened under his smile. “I wouldn’t mind going home at once, but I know Viola would be disappointed. She has seen so little of the city, and then Mr. Clarke—” She broke off in some confusion as if in sudden recollection of the chasm which had opened between the young clergyman and her daughter.

He seized upon this allusion to say: “I did not think of including Mr. Clarke, Mrs. Lambert. I think you and your daughter have both had too much of him. I do not doubt his sincerity, but I am quite certain that he was leading you both into an abyss. I hope you will make the most of this chance to free yourself from his influence. I quite stand with your husband in that resolution.”

Her face grew cold again. “As to that, I must wait for further illumination. These last few hours have been so disturbed we are quite cut off from our guides.”

“You depend upon them—they are very real to you, are they not?” He spoke musingly.

“They are just as real to me as you are—or any one.”

“Did you not doubt their wisdom to-day?”

She drew herself up. “Why should I?”

“They knew nothing of your husband’s coming?”

“Oh yes, they did, only they couldn’t communicate on account of Viola’s mental condition.” Then, with unshakable conviction, she added: “If I doubted them I should doubt everything.”

“I am sorry to trouble you. I am not one to needlessly destroy a comforting faith, and yet I confess I thought the time had come to invoke your husband’s aid. It was in that spirit I sent the telegram.”

“I am very glad you did, although I had no fear. I knew my father would find the right way when the time came. Let me tell you, sir,” she replied, expanding in the warmth of his interest. “Before these revelations came to me I had no real faith in God or heaven. The world beyond the grave was dark and cold. It seemed to me as if my little boy and my husband were in the cruel, wet ground. I couldn’t feel that they had gone to Christ. But now the tomb is but a portal to the light. The spirit-plane is as real as the earth-plane, and filled with joyous souls. I can hear them sing sometimes when I hold Viola’s hand, and the sound is very beautiful and very comforting.”

“I can understand that,” he answered, but quietly, critically, still studying her face. “It has a warmer charm than any other religion I know.”

She went on, eagerly: “I wish you could come to believe. Your sister said your mother and your uncle spoke last night. Why can’t you accept the faith?”

The young philosopher gained, as she spoke, a new conception of her character, and chilled with a growing sense of the difficult and ungracious task which lay before him. He began to perceive that her awe of him had kept her silent, thus concealing from him the spirit of the evangelist which he now saw she possessed. She counted more largely in Viola’s development than he had hitherto granted. Her faith was solidly based on years of experience and was not to be easily moved. As she went on he perceived that her daughter’s mediumship was much more than a theory in her thought; it was a fact, and a daily, almost an hourly, necessity. He lost his last suspicion of her, and caught a glimpse of the larger aspect of her relationship to his future. She was deceived, of course, but she was honest in every fibre. He could not accuse her of the slightest deceit or falsification.

In her lame way she tried to argue the question, quoting the platitudes of the “inspirational speakers,” as well as the pompous phrases of her spirit-father, while he listened courteously.

When she paused, he said, gravely: “My dear Mrs. Lambert, I can’t leave you in any doubt of my position. I cannot for a single instant accept what happened last night as the manifestation of the disembodied. I cannot think that the phenomena exist. I must rather think they were performed by Clarke, or my sister, or Weissmann, in joke.” She looked at him with an expression of horror, of incredulity, and he went on, quickly: “Even if I admitted the fact of direct writing or the movement of the horn, I should not by any means be driven to accept your spirit-hypothesis. There are men, and very great investigators, who would say that your daughter’s trances and all phenomena connected therewith were pathologic, explainable on the grounds of some obscure neural derangement. I do not say this is the case, but I do say that if she persists in these practices she will lose control of her mental faculties. I have had a consultation to-day with Dr. Tolman, a man who makes a specialty of such cases, and when I had laid the whole matter before him, he and Dr. Weissmann both advised the immediate stopping of these trances.”

“We can’t do that. They come from the other side. My father induces the trance, and it is entirely in his hands.”

He fixed a keen look upon her. “Did it ever occur to you that the words of your ‘guides’ were, in reality, but a reflex of the wishes of Pratt or Clarke?”

“How could that be when they came to me long before I even knew Anthony?”

“But was not the advice of a different quality at that time? Maybe your father yields to the will of living people when they are strong enough.”

“Oh no, quite the contrary. He opposes Mr. Clarke often. Sometimes he opposes us all.”

“I am perfectly sure that the voices that spoke to us last night were a subtle delusion, an emanation from our own bodies—or the work of a joker. My reason repels them as spirits.”

She smiled a little. “I think you scientific people go a long way round to explain a very simple thing. I’ve read some of the explanations of the way in which you think these phenomena come, but they are harder to understand than the thing itself. My father, my husband, and my little son are alive. I know that. No one can destroy that faith in me.”

“I do not wish to destroy that faith—only so far as it seems to threaten your daughter.”

“I am perfectly sure they know better what we should do than any one on the earth-plane. I cannot see why you people oppose the idea of the spirit-world when it is so beautiful and could fill the world with hope. The Bible teaches it when you read it right. It is full of references to spirits. Did not Christ rise from the dead and manifest to His disciples?”

“And did He not cast out devils?”

She was momentarily at a loss, but soon recovered. “But if you admit there are 邪恶 spirits—”

“But I don’t. I said that merely to show you that a sceptic can quote Scripture to his purpose. There is no place in my philosophy for the supernatural.”

“That is what we believe,” she eagerly responded. “I used to be frightened by the things that happened to Viola, but now I know they are natural, just as natural as anything else. My loved ones are not far away, they are very near, but, oh, so intangible. If I could only touch them!” In this was the cry of her soul. She deeply sighed. “I am growing old, and that means I live in the past more and more. When Waltie comes I can imagine myself as I was when we first went to the mountains. Robert means more and more to me, and all fear of ‘the change’ is gone. Really, if it were not for Viola I would like to go over to the other side to-night. The spirit-plane seems so much more care-free and bright. This life is but a preparatory school at best.”

“That is all wrong,” he decisively replied. “Very wrong. Even if your idea of the other world were right, you should not abandon your hold on this till your work was done. A general condition of mind like yours would stop all invention, all discovery, and especially all philanthropy. In fact, the only philanthropy would be murder. To end man’s suffering here would be a duty. War would be a blessing, and disease a rescue. No, no. You must not talk like that.”

“Oh, I’m not really thinking of going. I feel that I must stay a little while longer to see Viola settled in life.”

“What do you mean by that? Do you mean married, and happy, or do you mean given over entirely to the trance?”

“I suppose she ought to marry—she is very unhappy as she is.”

“Now, that is what I especially wanted to talk with you about. I have decided to ask your daughter to put herself into my hands, and I hope you will give your consent.”

“I shall be glad to have you take charge of her, professor, and father, I know, is anxious to have you head the committee.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that! I mean something much more intimate, much more important.” This brought him face to face with himself and the decision over which he had agonized for so long, and for an instant he hesitated, then took the plunge bravely. “I love your daughter, Mrs. Lambert, and I want your permission to tell her so.”

She drew back into her chair with a gasp of surprise and a look of alarm.

“Oh, I didn’t understand! I thought you meant—I don’t know—I—” She was utterly at a loss for words, but he understood her.

“Your hesitation is not flattering to me. I hope you don’t absolutely distrust me.”

Her embarrassment was pitiful. “Oh no, indeed! But you are a sceptic. You don’t believe in us—in her.”

“Oh yes, I do!”

“And, besides, she has been promised for two years to Tony—Mr. Clarke.”

He grew a little hard at mention of the preacher’s name. “But she fears and hates Clarke. She has broken with him. She told my sister that she was done with him forever. You will not ask her to marry a man she distrusts?”

She flew to Clarke’s defence. “That was only a mood, a lover’s quarrel. He was all upset by Pratt and—and other things. I will not allow her to desert him when he is in trouble. He has been so much to us, and he is a noble character in spite of all.”

“All this is very disturbing to me,” he answered, more humorously than he felt. “But, nevertheless, I also claim to be a noble character.”

She began once more to realize his place in the world and his kindness to Viola. “I know that, professor, I fully recognize the honor you do her and me, but she is not like other girls. She is set aside to do God’s work, and ought not to marry at all. That is why the ‘guides’ have given her to Anthony; he, too, is consecrated.”

“Dear Mrs. Lambert, you shock me when you say such things. I don’t believe it is your daughter’s duty to convert people to a belief in immortality. I don’t believe in teaching men and women to depend upon an unseen world for guidance; and especially do I despise any faith which makes this life less important than some other just beyond. I love this life, and do not intend to trouble myself about what lies beyond the grave. That is really not my concern. To regard this world as a vale of tears leading to a shining heaven is a species of mediævalism from which I revolt.”

She caught this up. “That is just the reason why Viola would be unhappy with a sceptic.”

“But I am not a sceptic. I have the greatest faith. I am certain I can make her happy here and now. You surely would not permit her to go back to Anthony Clarke!”

She was troubled and confused. “I don’t know. Perhaps it would be best, after all. A great deal of her ‘power’ comes from him.” She brightened. “But I will leave all that to father.”

Again he leaned to her with tender gravity. “You must not do that. Unless you deny the value of all life here on the earth, you are an unnatural mother to devote your child to such a career as Clarke holds out to her. I love your daughter because she is a beautiful girl, a charming personality, and I am able to give her security and comfort. I will be perfectly frank with you. I think these trances have been fastened upon her by those about her, and if she consents to come to me I shall stop them forever. My aim will be to delude her into thinking life with me of more value than the highest eminence as a ‘medium.’ Now, if this seems treason to you, I cannot soften it. I want you to fully understand my position. My schooling has been all in the exact sciences, and what skill I possess I am using to make the world a healthier and happier place to live in. Your way of life (and Clarke’s philosophy of life) seems to me weak and morbid, and your treatment of your daughter mistakenly cruel. I intend to take her out of it, if I can. And, furthermore, dear lady, if you withhold your consent, which I profoundly hope you will not, I must proceed without it. If she comes to me, she ceases to be a psychic. If I can prevent it, she will never sit again.”

The mother sat as if stunned by the weight of his will, the rush of his words, the decision of his glance. She fully understood the situation. She knew that Viola already leaned upon and trusted this man more than any other being in the world, and knowing this she felt the full force of the tragic situation. It was not a question of a temporary separation, that she foresaw as by some prophetic vision. Her baby, her clinging, loving girl-child was about to pass from her arms forever, carrying with her all interest in life and all means of communication with her dead. With her she was about to lose husband, son—and all the blessed music of the happy multitudes of those on the spirit-plane. It was as if the shining portals to the world of light were about to be closed to her forever, closed and barred by the hand of this implacable young lover, and with a sudden, most lamentable cry she sobbed forth: “Oh, I can’t consent! I can’t bear to think of it!”

The sight of that placid, motherly face breaking into lines of anguish while the gray old head bowed in weakness, completely unmanned the self-centred young scientist, and bending above her, he tenderly pleaded.

“Dear Mrs. Lambert, you wring my heart with your weeping. Don’t cry, I beg of you! I didn’t intend to be harsh. I only intended to be honest with you. I wish you would trust me. Let me be a son to you. Even if Viola does not care for me as I hope she does, I can help you, and even if she consents to my treatment, the separation will only be for a few months or a year.”

“You would take my hope from me. You would rob me!” She challenged him with white and distorted face. “You are hard and cruel, and I will not give her up. I know her nature. She is necessary to the spirit-world and you have no right to destroy her power.”

“I am sorry if I seemed to attack your faith. It has many beautiful things inwoven with its morbidities. I would believe it if I could, but I can’t, and in my present state of mind I can only repeat that, however painful it may be to you, I see no other way to save your daughter from insanity. Yes, my dear Mrs. Lambert, the case is quite as desperate as that, to my thinking, and as I am beginning to centre my life in her also, you will see that I am quite as deeply concerned as any one. She has reached a danger-point. She must not go on in this way another month.”

Again those lines of serene obstinacy came back into her face, and the gentle bigot looked from her eyes. “You are all wrong. These trances are as natural as sleep. They rest her, do her good—father says so. He treats her from that side and is watching over her. I admire you, Professor Serviss, I appreciate the honor you do me, but I cannot consent to have Viola go from me. I can’t endure the thought. If you believed in the spirit-world and the guides consented, I would be glad; but you don’t. You hate everything concerning our faith, and I am afraid of you. I wish my girl had never seen you.” She rose in a panic of growing alarm. “Let me go to her!”

He detained her gently. “Just a moment. Remember I have not said a word of all this to her, and your alarm may be quite groundless. What do you fear if your ‘guides’ are so wise and powerful? Where is your proselyting zeal? Am I not worthy of being converted? Why not let Viola influence me towards your path?”

She sank back into her chair bewildered by his tone, and he went on: “You considered Mr. Clarke a most important instrument for spreading the light, but I am egotistic enough to say that my conversion would mean more to your cause than fifty Clarkes. You forget also that your father was very anxious to have me brought into the circle. You recall that?”

She faintly answered, “Yes.”

“Well, then, let that count in my favor. You call me a sceptic, but I am really a slave to evidence. I will go wherever the evidence leads. I have no proof of the spirit-world, but I am of open mind. Can you ask any more of me than that? I have said that I intend to end Viola’s career as a psychic, if I can; but if I can’t, if the manifestations go on in spite of me, I will study them faithfully, glad of any revelation of a new world which they may bring. If you are so clear in your confidence, so certain of your faith, why not consent to let me speak to her?”

She rose again. “I can’t do that. I 必须 不是。”

He offered his hand with a smile. “Your lack of confidence in me I forgive, for I think I understand your feeling. Do not be deceived, my suit does not end here. I intend, at the earliest moment, to win your daughter’s consent to my plan. There is only one thing I would like you to promise, and that is this: Don’t prejudice her against me. Let me speak to her first. Will you promise that?”

She shook her head. “I must tell her, and we must sit for council.”

“Well, then, will you promise to let me sit with you? Will you promise to put off that sitting till I can be present? It is only fair to me, as I am quite as vitally affected as any one in the result. Come! Will you promise?”

She bowed her head in sign of consent and hastened towards the door.

He stood aside to let her pass, pitying her because understanding her. “And please don’t distress her to-night. Let her live this evening as a joyous girl, undisturbed even by my question.”

She went out fear-stricken by the power of his glance, the persuasion of his voice. Her instinct at the moment was to take her child and flee, immuring herself far from those who would rob her of her only remaining interest in the world.

Viola, looking up from a piece of antique jewelry which Kate was displaying, was startled by the sadness of her mother’s face, and directed her next glance upon Morton, in the wish to discover the cause of her trouble. That the interview had been very grave and personal was evident, and with a sense of having been the subject of discussion, she rose to meet them.

Kate did not permit any explanations, for dinner was waiting and time limited. “Go fetch Mr. Lambert, Morton: unless we want to be late at the play we must go out at once.”

Morton was glad of the interruption, for he was eager to have his understanding with Viola before the mother could bring any adverse influence to bear upon her. As they went out into the dining-room, side by side, he found her nearness sweeter and more concerning than ever before; and with a realization of having in a very vital way staked his immediate future upon her word, he was unusually gay, masking his persistent, deep-hid doubt in jocose remarks. Lambert seconded him with quiet humor, and together they caused even the mother’s face to relax its troubled lines, while Viola, yielding to a sense of freedom and of youth, shook off all constraint, responding to Morton’s unspoken suggestion, thinking only of him and of the secure, bright world in which he dwelt (and in which he seemed so large and so handsome a figure), and in this confidence and comfort they came to the mixing of the salad, which Kate slangily explained to be Morton’s “particular stunt.” He had fully assembled his ingredients, and was about to approach the actual, delicate blending when the maid appeared at his elbow to say that he was wanted at the telephone.

“Well, tell them to wait,” he replied, testily. “This is a very precise moment.”

“I told them you were at dinner, sir, but they said it was important.”

He rose with a sigh. “I hope my ‘whiff of garlic’ won’t settle into a steady breeze. Be patient a moment, kind people.”

With mild wonder as to what the news might be, he took a seat at his desk and put the receiver to his ear.

“Hello. Who is it?”

A hurried, eager, almost breathless boyish voice responded. “Is this Dr. Serviss?”

“它是。”

“Can you tell me where Miss Viola Lambert and her mother are?”

“I cannot.” By which he meant he was not empowered to do so.

“I was told they left Pratt’s house with you sometime this afternoon.”

“Have you inquired at the Courtleigh?”

“No. I was so sure—”

“Try either the Courtleigh or the Colorado,” replied Morton, in the tone of authority.

The voice then asked: “Can you tell me where Clarke’s Brooklyn relatives can be found?”

“I cannot. I know nothing whatever of Mr. Clarke’s family.”

“I must find them. Clarke has committed suicide, and it is necessary to notify his friends and—”

Morton’s brain blurred with the force of this blow, “You don’t mean it! When did it happen?”

“About an hour ago. We must find the Lamberts, and if you can give us any information—”

“你是谁？”

“I’m a representative of 记录仪. Can I see you for a few minutes, Dr. Serviss?”

“I am just starting for the theatre,” hurriedly answered Morton, his voice as casual as he could make it; “and I fear it is impossible.”

“It is very important, Dr. Serviss, for Pratt has told me that you know the Lamberts and all about their relationship to Clarke. If you—”

“It is quite impossible,” replied Morton, with decision, and hung up the receiver. For a few moments he sat in deep thought, his mind leaping from point to point of this new complication. As he analyzed the far-reaching consequences of this tragic and terrible deed he bitterly exclaimed: “You’ve reached us now, Anthony Clarke! You have involved the woman you pretended to love and all her friends in a screaming sensation. Your name will be writ larger to-morrow than at any time during your whole life. You could not have hit upon a more effective revenge.”

The situation grew each moment more satanic. “My name will be involved quite as prominently as hers. The mother, frantic with grief and remorse, will hate me and bitterly reproach us all. She will accuse us of causing his death. But, most important of all, what will be the effect of this news on Viola’s mental condition?” His thought ran to her as he had just left her radiant with hope and new-found happiness, and it seemed as though the dead man had reached a remorseless, clutching hand to regain final dominion over her. His shadow hovered in the air above her head ready to envelop her.

“If I can only keep this from her for a few days, till my own control of her has strengthened. I 必须 keep it from her. She must not see to-morrow’s papers with their ghastly story.” He chilled with a fuller sense of the suicide’s power to torture her. “She must leave the city to-night. She will be called before the coroner, her mediumship and Clarke’s control of her will be howled through the street—” He groaned with the shame and anguish of the scene his imagination bodied forth. “Pratt’s hand will also be felt. He will have his own tale, his own method of evasion, and will not hesitate to dishonor her.”

Furthermore, this threatening shame so far from arousing a new distrust and a desire to escape further connection with her, swept him into a profounder desire to serve and shield her. His heart filled with pity and love, and into his eyes a stern light—the light of battle—came. “She shall not be tortured so, if I can defend her or lead the way to escape. Lambert must leave the city at once and take them both with him.”

He rose and walked about the room in order to recover command of his face and voice. “Truly the miserable fanatic has wrought well. He has promised himself that his spirit, freed from the body, will be able to possess and control his victim. The mother will understand and accept this. Will Viola?” The thought of her, dominated by this new and revolting delusion, filled him with dismay and horror. “She, too, will be smitten with remorse, and the scale may be turned against me and my influence.” This was indeed the most disturbing consideration of all.

Realizing at length that every additional minute of absence made his explanation more difficult, he returned to his guests with impassive face and resolute determination to control his thought even from Viola’s mind-reading power.

Kate saw at once that some dark thing shadowed him, “What is it, Morton?”

“One of my acquaintances has met with trouble—financial trouble—and wants my help. I’ll tell you about it later,” he curtly replied, attacking the salad again. She was silenced though not satisfied, and dinner was resumed in almost painful silence and in general depression.

Viola was especially troubled by the change in Morton’s face, and with a desire to be of some comfort to him softly said: “Perhaps you would rather not go to the theatre to-night. Please don’t do so on our account.”

Her glance and her tone, both more intimately sympathetic than she had hitherto permitted them to be, touched him deeply, and with an effect of throwing off his gloom he cheerily responded: “We will not let any outside matter interfere with our happiness. There is nothing to be gained by staying at home. Please forget all about this interruption.”

As he spoke she sat with hands before her, gazing straight at him with eyes that slowly lost their outward look. Her eyelids fell, she began to whiten and to droop, and her hands twitched and trembled.

Seized for an instant with an unreasoning fear—a belief that she had been able, after all, to penetrate his mind and read its dreadful secret, Morton sat irresolute, in the grasp of a blind despair, a palsy of the will. Clarke’s dead hand seemed at the instant more powerful than the living man had been. This stupefaction lasted but a single second, for back to the young scientist’s heart, like a swelling wave, came the red blood of his anger, his love, his mastering will. Rising swiftly but calmly, he caught her hands in his saying, gently: “You are forgetting your promise to me. Look at me. I want to see if you are really going to disobey my commands.”

She slowly raised her face to him, but only faintly responded to his voice. “I cannot permit this,” he went on. “You have left this behind you, I will not permit you to give way. It is a kind of treason to me—your physician. For my sake you must put this weakness aside and assert your real self.” He spoke gently, tenderly, as the lover, rather than as the man of science, and the mysterious power of his hand, the passionate pity of his eyes restored her to self-mastery, and she murmured:

“Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to do this.”

“I know that. But you must not invite your trouble. You laid your hands upon the table. You must not do that. I’ll order you to eat off the mantel-piece, if you do that again,” he added, with intent to make her smile.

Mrs. Lambert, who had risen to go to Viola’s relief, sank back into her seat with a sense of being forgotten at a time when she should have been her daughter’s first thought. She was no longer necessary. Her place had been taken by another, a man and a stranger, hostile to her faith, and with this knowledge her heart grew cold and bitter with defeat and despair, the anguish and the neglect which are to be forevermore the darker side of the mother’s glory had come to her at last with cruel force.

The entire attack lasted but a few minutes, but it served to bring Viola nearer to her lover than all the hours of their more formal intercourse, though the full revelation of his true relationship was yet to come.

She loved and trusted him, but as her friend, her defender. She rose at last to demonstrate that she was entirely herself again. “I am ashamed of myself,” she said, humbly. “Please don’t look so concerned.” She turned to Kate. “I assure you it was only a little faintness. You see I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Let’s not try to go out,” interposed Kate. “You’re tired.”

“Oh no; please, 请 don’t let me spoil the evening. I will never forgive myself. Truly I want to go.”

Morton’s glance instructed Kate, and she said: “Very well. We will go dress while the men finish their coffee. Come, Mrs. Lambert.”

Mrs. Lambert rose silently and the three women left the room together with an effect of haste.

No sooner were they out of the room than Morton turned to his guest with most serious look and tone. “Come to my study, Mr. Lambert, I want a few very private words with you.”

The miner followed his host with mild wonder expressed on his face, and as the door closed behind them and they were secure of being overheard, he remarked, with a chuckle: “You headed off old Daddy McLeod out there. First it was Clarke and then Daddy. I thought he had her this time.”

Morton ignored this remark and, with most decisive utterance, said: “You must take your wife and daughter out of town by the very next train. Clarke has killed himself, and Viola will be the centre of a flaming sensation to-morrow morning. She must be taken away to-night.”

Lambert remained standing, perfectly rigid, for a few moments then slowly seated himself. “Was that your trouble over the ‘phone?”

“是的。”

“谁告诉你？”

“A reporter ‘phoning from Pratt’s house apparently.”

“什么时候发生的？”

“He said an hour ago. That may mean more or less—A fiend could not have planned a more inclusive revenge. We will all be involved in it. If he died by poison we may even be accused of killing him. They are already in pursuit of you, and the police may arrive at any moment. At the least we will all be summoned before the coroner.” He paused a moment. “But that isn’t all. I fear the effect of this news on Viola’s mind.”

Lambert’s eyes lost their keen glitter, and his facial muscles fell slack. He spoke in a low voice weighted with deepest conviction. “He will manifest.” Then, as a light came into his eyes, he exclaimed: “He was trying to control her just now!”

Morton ignored this remark. “If we can keep this news from her for a few days, I defy any of her so-called ‘controls’ to affect her.”

Lambert stirred uneasily in his chair. “I don’t know about that. Clarke had a strong hold on her.”

“He is dead. He has done his worst,” responded Morton. “I tell you, it is your business to get as far from the city to-night as you can and keep ahead of the news if possible.”

“That won’t do any good. She is clairvoyant. She’ll know of it.”

“She didn’t know you were coming to-day, did she?”

“没有。”

“And she has no knowledge yet of Clarke’s death. Her attack at the table may have been, as she says, only a feeling of faintness. Besides, he’s been dead two hours, and these manifestations always take place at the exact moment of death, do they not?”

Lambert brightened. “That’s so! But I’m scared of what’ll happen if he 应该 manifest.”

“Be assured. He can no more ‘manifest,’ as you call it, than a dead dog. Keep the newspapers from your wife and daughter, and it will be a long time before they learn of his death through any occult channel. I stake my reputation on that.”

“I wish I felt as certain of that as you do,” the miner answered. “I’ve seen so many impossible things happen. I’m kind o’ shaky. I wish I could have your help.” He rose with a shiver of dread. “You’re right. I see that. We’ve got to get out of here, but it won’t do to go back home.”

“Take ship and go abroad.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t leave my business so long.” He paced up and down. “Suppose I had a telegram to meet a man in Montreal—a mining man.”

“A good idea!” exclaimed Morton. “You could cross the border before the news could overtake you. The Canadian papers will make little of the suicide. But will your people go?”

“They’ll have to go,” replied Lambert, firmly. “Leave that to me.” He took a telegram from among several old ones in his pocket. “I’ve just received this, you understand?”

Kate knocked, and called; “We’re all ready, Morton?”

He opened the door. “Come in, Kate, I want to talk with you. I’m afraid our theatre-party is off. Mr. Lambert has received a very important message which may take him out of town.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Kate. “Can’t you wait till to-morrow?”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Lambert. “Looks like I’d have to go to-night, and I want the girls to go along with me.” And so saying, with the telegram open in his hand, he went out into the sitting-room where Viola and her mother were standing dressed for the carriage. “Girls,” he called, persuasively. “Don’t you want to go to Montreal?”

“When?” inquired Viola.

“今晚。”

“Oh, not to-night! We want to go to the theatre. Wait till to-morrow.”

Kate was about to join in this protest when Morton drew her into his study and shut the door. “Don’t stop them!” he said, almost fiercely. “They must go.”

“Do you mean to escape Clarke?”

“Yes, Clarke, or rather his ghost.”

“His ghost! What do you mean?” she asked, with startled eyes.

“He has killed himself—hush, now! they must not know it, and they must flee. Don’t you see that this may undo all my plans for the girl’s redemption and may enslave her more deeply than ever? The papers will be full of Clarke to-morrow morning. Pratt’s wealth, my connection, with an institution, insures a tremendous scare-head. The mother will be conscious-wrung, and the whole weight of the infernal tragedy will crush down on Viola. The only possible respite for her is to cross the border into Canada, outrun the newsmongers, and trust in time to heal her mental derangements.”

Kate’s eyes expanded with the same fear that filled Lambert. “You don’t suppose he will be able to haunt her? Was that what happened at the table?”

“No, not in the sense you mean. He is dead, and I have no fear of his ghost, but the memory of him will torture her soul; and if she 相信 that he is able to come to her, the belief will be almost as tragic as the fact.”

“Morton, it is a test!” she exclaimed, with breathless solemnity. “If there is any truth in spiritualism, he will manifest himself to her and you cannot prevent it.”

“I know it is a test and I welcome it! I stake all that I am on the issue. She was at her merriest when he was dying. She has no hint of his deed at this moment, and with all her clairvoyance I am perfectly certain she will not be able to read what is in our minds if you can restrain your tongue. If you can’t do that, I beg of you to stay in your room.” He was harsh and curt in his tone; and she shrank from him. “Her mental health, her sanity, may be in peril.”

“I can keep silence,” she replied, “But, oh, Morton, think of that poor girl—up there in some bleak hotel in Canada, with only these two old people! Suppose 他是这样的 come to her there, what can they do? Wouldn’t it be better to keep her here—let her learn it here—where you can help her?”

“And be haled before the coroner, to be charged perhaps with poisoning Clarke, or some other equally monstrous thing? No, I have been all over the ground, and I tell you there is no other way. She must go to-night. The police may arrive at any moment.”

“Then you must go with her,” she retorted, with a decision almost equal to his own. “She needs you.”

“No, no. I can’t do that,” he replied, impatiently, almost angrily. “I would be accused of abducting her. It is utterly out of the question.”

Kate, knowing that she was asking a good deal, went resolutely on: “She has no one but you to lean upon. She trusts you, and she ought to have some strong, sane person on whom to rely. I would be worse than useless up there. I am scared out of my wits at thought of Clarke’s possible revenge upon 这里! Besides, by going with her you will escape some of the notoriety about to thrust upon you.”

He was plainly vacillating. “Think of the fat news-items my flight will add to the stew.”

Kate shuddered. “Oh, I know! I hope you don’t blame me.—It’s true, I am to blame. I 做了 insist on your going to see her.” She was beginning to suffer with this thought, when he put out his hand and drew her to him with affectionate wish to comfort her.

“Don’t assume that worry, Kit. She profoundly interested me from the first, and I do not regret my acquaintance with her—even at this moment. I believe she is essentially untouched by this business and that she can be cleansed of all Clarke’s influence. His death removes her worst enemy; and if I can persuade her parents to leave her with us, I am perfectly certain I can root out the deepest of her delusions.”

“Then go,” she said, in final surrender. “Conventions ought not to count against saving a sweet, good girl. Go and help her, and if you bring her back here, I’ll receive her gladly.”

Morton opened the door, and while Kate went to Viola he said: “Mr. Lambert, if you will add me to your party, I will be glad to go with you.”

Lambert seized his host’s hand and wrung it hard. “My boy, you save my life! I thought of asking you, but I couldn’t find the nerve. We’ll all need you—the girl worst of all.” Tears were in his eyes as he added, huskily; “Yes, we need you.”

Viola, with shining face, came running towards them, “Oh, Professor Serviss! Is it true? Are you going?”

“Yes, if you will let me.”

“Let you! Oh, you don’t know what it means to have you with us.”

He looked down upon her with a smile whose full message she could not read, but it expressed something very tender and disconcerting. “You can’t know what it means to me to go. You see, I daren’t quite trust you alone with these indulgent parents and as your physician it is my duty to see that my prescriptions are fully carried out.”

During the bustle of preparation for the journey, he found opportunity to reassure Kate: “Thus far, she has no inkling of what is in our minds.” He closed his fist as if shaking it in the face of an implacable foe, and, through his set teeth, added: “I accept the challenge! I welcome you and all your dark band to the utterance!”

Kate turned pale. “Don’t say that!” she whispered. “It’s like tempting Providence.”

“I fear neither Providence nor demons; but I am afraid of you. Keep away from Viola as much as you can. If there is any truth in mind-reading she is likelier to divine your thought than mine.”

Kate’s eyes suddenly grew dim. “Morton, I brought this on you, and I’m beginning to doubt. I don’t believe I want you to go with her, after all.” She put her hands on his shoulders and gave way to a feeling of loss and loneliness. “I’ve always hoped—I’ve always looked forward to your having a splendid, dignified wife; and though I like her. I don’t believe—she’s up to you.”

“Now, don’t trouble about that, sis. The important thing to me is, am I worthy of her? She entered my heart the first time I saw her, and has never left it. She came at a time when I was certain no woman would ever move me again. I am indebted to her—now, that’s the truth. And so”—he stooped and kissed her—”if she decides to come to me, I shall feel grateful to you. If she decides not to come—you can be grateful to her!”

With a conviction that he was entering upon a new order in his life, Morton Serviss opened the door of the coach for Viola and her mother. Never before had he evaded a contest, or asked for consideration from authority, and deceit had been quite foreign to him; but now, after a deceptive word to the hall-boy, he was conscious of furtively scanning the people approaching on the walk, aware of his weakness and his doubt, for no man of regular and candid life can become a fugitive with entire belief in the righteousness of his flight. He must perforce of conscience look back for a moment.

Once within the carriage he put all question aside and joined Lambert in his attempt to keep from the women the slightest suspicion that his sudden departure involved any serious change in their fortunes. The miner had taken his place beside his wife, thus bringing the young people side by side on the forward seat, and this arrangement had much to do with filling Morton’s mind with a new and delicious content, for Viola’s face was almost constantly lifted to his, and at every lurch of the vehicle her soft shoulder touched his arm, while the faint perfume of her garments rose like some enchanter’s incense, dulling his sense of duties abandoned, quickening his delight in her beauty, and restoring his joy in his own youth. What did the judgment of the world matter at such a time?

He said little on the ride, just enough to hold the conversation to subjects far removed from the causes of their retreat. He was convinced of Viola’s ability to read (in a vague way) what lay in his thought, but he also believed in his power to prevent this by a positive and aggressive attitude of mind. Beneath his silences, as beneath his words, ran an undercurrent of suggestion from his subliminal self to hers. Lambert rose nobly to his duty and directed the conversation to the mine and its increasing generosity of output, and to news of the men and their families in whom Viola took deep interest. In the midst of this most wholesome recollection they ended their drive.

At the station Morton remained on guard with the women, while Lambert attended to the trunks and boxes, and at the earliest moment, with care not to betray haste, they passed through the gates and into their car, but no feeling of relief came to either of the men till the train began to move. Then Lambert, with a profound sigh, exclaimed: “Well, now we’re off and we’ve got the trunks, so let’s be happy.”

Mrs. Lambert alone remained sad and distraught, and her husband soon drew her away to their own seat, leaving the young people together, a deed for which Morton silently, but none the less fervently, thanked him, affording as it did the chance for his long-desired personal explanation.

The car was sparsely occupied and the section opposite was quite empty, and, with a sense of being quite alone with Viola, he lightly began: “I feel like a truant school-boy, and I’m wondering what Weissmann will say to-morrow morning when his ‘first-assistant’ fails to appear.”

“I hope you are not neglecting your work for—for us,” she said, losing a little of her brightness.

“Nothing will suffer. I do not profess to be the main prop of our laboratory, and, besides, I don’t care. I’m off for a holiday, whether or no.” At the word “holiday” Clarke’s grisly shadow rose between them and would not down. To the suicide his holiday was due.

Viola again seemed to dimly divine his thought, for she hesitatingly said: “I am troubled about Mr. Clarke. I must write him a letter and tell him that I don’t hate him now. I really begin to feel sorry for him, and I wish I hadn’t been so hard.”

“You have nothing to reproach yourself for, and you would better let him pass entirely out of your life, and be glad the wrench is over,” he decisively replied.

She sighed and shivered a little. “He knew we were deserting him. His look haunts me. I wish I had stopped to say good-bye. He will be very lonely without us.”

“He is too fanatic to win my sympathy, and he has forfeited yours.”

“But he was sincere, professor. He really wanted to make the world happier.”

He was resolute to keep her mind clear of all thought of Clarke, and imperiously said: “Don’t call me professor, and let’s talk of other and pleasanter things than Clarke. We are well out of his shadow-world, and you are never to re-enter it. I want you to forget that you ever sat in a ‘circle’ or heard a ‘voice.'”

“Oh, I can’t expect to pass entirely out of that,” she exclaimed, as though the possibility came near her for the first time. “On mother’s account I must continue to sit now and then. She couldn’t live without her communion with papa and Waltie.”

This brought him face to face with his opportunity, and he seized it manfully. “Your saying that, gives me opportunity for saying something which has been taking shape in my mind since last night. I do not pretend to fully understand the basis of your mother’s faith, and I do not blame her, but I am filled with indignation that you should be called upon to suffer bondage to the dead. I rebel against it.” His voice was tense with feeling. “And I will not have it so. I lunched to-day with Dr. Tolman, of whom you’ve heard me speak, and after describing your case to him—without using your name, of course—I asked his opinion. In reply he gave me every encouragement. The fact that you are young and in good physical health, he said, makes it possible for you to become as normal as any other girl.”

“Do you believe that, Dr. Serviss?”

“I am perfectly certain of it, if you will meet my conditions. I am confident of my power to free you from your trances and all their phenomena, but you must, at once and for all time, break every tie that binds you to your ‘controls.'”

“I’m afraid they will not consent.”

“You must not say such a thing, much less think it,” he sharply interrupted. “Your soul, your mind, should be sovereign. You should look rather to science for guidance”—here he smiled meaningly—”and to me, of course, as a representative of science. If you acknowledge the authority of the dead, or even that of your mother, my power is to that extent curtailed. It is to be in effect a war of light and darkness, science and superstition. We are willing to join issue with your shadow foes, provided your best self is with us in the struggle. I engage myself to free you if you will permit me to act.”

She leaned towards him with pale face and limpid, heavenly eyes. “You have been good to me, but I cannot ask you to fight my battles. You have so much else to do in the world.”

“I have nothing better to do,” he responded, with a lover’s glance. “Nothing can interest me so profoundly; nothing will give me greater pleasure.”

She went on, fervently: “I can’t tell you how you comfort me. When you are near me I have no fear of anything; but you oughtn’t to give up your work to treat me. We can never pay you for what you’ve already done for us.”

“Don’t try, and pray don’t exaggerate my sacrifices. You must remember I am an investigator, and you—are a most absorbing problem.” She drew away from him slightly, and he returned to a more serious tone. “The influence of mind over mind is the present, or at least the coming, problem, and you have opened a new world to me. The question of your future, your cure, absorbs me, and while I am by no means a rich man, as money runs these days, I am quite able to follow out any line of investigation which may interest me.”

Her face clouded, “I wish I didn’t have to be investigated.”

“So do I, and that brings up something which I must say, even at the risk of seeming hard and cruel. If you wish to live your full, free life, you must cut yourself off from 所有 of your old associations. Clarke and Pratt have passed out of your life, but your mother—” He paused abruptly. When he resumed his tone was almost pleading: “You have said that you trusted me, that you wished for my help. Did you mean it?”

“I did, indeed I did!”

“Very well, then,” he went on, “I will speak my mind. I must be very candid, even if I seem harsh. When I say you must cut yourself off from all the associations of the past, I mean your mother also.”

She started up in dismay, understanding his full meaning at last. “Oh no, not that!”

“Yes, just that, and finally that. She is your mother, and you love her; but you are a human soul as well as she, with a right to healthy, normal life. It is contrary to the law of progress to sacrifice the young to the old. Your mother’s comfort has been your undoing, and I cannot for an instant agree to your submission of this question to her. You must assert your right to yourself, and she must surrender her authority to me, and she must leave you for a time. I would say this even if my own mother spoke to me through you. Your struggles tear my heart, and your mother’s presence only prolongs your sufferings.”

“You must not blame her,” she loyally insisted. “I am to blame. My guides tell me that if I would surrender myself completely to them I would find peace,” she ended, slowly, sadly, as if in confession.

“Peace! Yes, the peace of the epileptic or the mad. No, no, joy and health do not lie that way. If I were the scientist merely, I would say, ‘Keep on, and I will stand by to observe your struggles.’ But I am not, I am something else than scientist. It angers and agonizes me to see you tortured. I cannot endure it and I will not. In order that I may do all that I hope for, you must give yourself wholly into my care.” He was speaking now in a low and throbbing voice, oblivious of time and space. “I must be something more than physician or friend. I have been saying ‘must’ to you, but I am, after all, a very strange autocrat. My power is dependent on you.” Then, in answer to her questioning eyes, he hurried on: “I love you, dear girl, and if you find you can trust yourself to me, fully, in this way, then I am sure of victory. Can you say this? I hope you can, for then I will have the most powerful magician in all the world fighting on my side. Are you able to do this? Can you say you love me and that you will come to me, trusting in me as in a husband?”

No one was astir in the car but the porter, but had it been filled with clamoring tongues and seeking, impertinent eyes, she would have been conscious only of his tender glance, his earnest voice, and the momentous question being pressed upon her. She struggled to speak, but could not, and he hastened on: “I will be honest with you. Your mother does not trust me. She knows and resents my feeling towards you. She knows also that I consider her separation from you necessary, for a time, and is hurt and saddened by it; but she will come to see the necessity of this measure. I do not ask an immediate answer—though I wish your heart were mine this minute—but I do want you to know that from the first moment I saw you your life has been a part of mine. I could not forget you, though I tried to do so, and I will not now give you up.”

She still sat like an exquisite statue of meditation, looking out into the night, benumbed and breathless with the passion his words evoked. Suddenly she turned and vehemently exclaimed: “You ought not to ask me this. I’m not fit to be your wife.”

“让我来做判断吧。”

“But you don’t realize what I am. You must not think of me in that way. I can’t let you. I am different from other women. You must not deceive yourself.”

“I do not. I know, to my joy, that you are different from other girls; that is why I am here and asking you to be my wife. That is why I loved you that day on the mountain-side, because you were different.”

“No, no!” she despairingly exclaimed. “You don’t understand. I mean that I am surrounded by spirits, and they will make you ashamed of me. Think what your friends would say?”

“I am not responsible to my friends. I don’t care what they say. They are not choosing my wife for me. I do know what you mean, and your protest increases my love for you. I am not concerned with your ghosts—only with your character.”

“But I am a 中等!” she went on, desperately. “I have this awful power. You’re all wrong about mother and Mr. Clarke. They have nothing to do with what happens.” Her beautiful hands were clinched and her face set in the resolution to force her confession upon him. Her bosom rose and fell piteously as she struggled for words, “You must not misunderstand me. I believe in the spirit-world. Sometimes I say I don’t, but I do.”

He spoke soothingly: “There is nothing wrong or disgraceful in your theory; it is your practice of trance, of mediumship, to which I object, and which I intend to prevent.”

“I want you to do that. I hate my trances and those public circles. But will that put an end to the rappings and other things that go on around me when I am awake? That is the question.”

This was the question, but he rode sturdily over it, resolute to subordinate it if not to trample it under foot.

“Not at all. The real question is very simple: can you trust yourself to me, fully, because you love me? If you do I will answer for the rest. I do not know why you meant so much to me that day. I do not know why, out of all the women I know, you move me most profoundly; but so it is and I am glad to have it so.” He said this with a grave tenderness which moved her like a phrase from some great symphony, and as she raised her tear-stained, timid face to his she saw him as he seemed at that first meeting on the mountain-side, in the sunset glow, so manly, so frank, so full of power that he conquered her with a glance, and with that vision she knew her heart. Her eyes fell, her throat thickened, and her bosom throbbed with a strange yearning. She loved, but the way of confession was hard.

Understanding her emotion, and mindful of the place in which they sat, he softly said: “You need not speak—just put your hand in mine and I will understand.”

Her hand, like some shy sentient thing, first drew away, fell hesitant, then leaped to his and nestled in his palm. He had planned to be very restrained and very circumspect, but the touch of her trembling fingers moved him out of his predetermined self-possession, and, careless of all the surroundings, he stooped and kissed her, then exultantly, warningly said: “Remember, I am now your chief ‘control,’ and there are to be no other ‘guides’ but me.”

With those words, all fear, all question, all care (save that vague distrust which the maiden feels when yielding herself to the first caress of the lover) dropped from her. The powers, the hallucinations, which had separated her from the world of womankind were forgotten, lost in the glow of her confidence and love.