"Who are you?"
"_Mother._"
The answer was so faint that no one save Mrs. Quigg could distinguish
the word. Almost at the same moment I caught the sound of other moving
lips in the air just before me. "Who is it?" I asked. Like a little,
hopeless sigh the answer came: "_Jessie._" This was the name of my
younger sister. Then the cone dropped as though falling from exhausted
hands, and I had no further message from this "spirit."
As we waited breathlessly the clear, silver-sweet voice of a little girl
was heard by every one at the table. "_Good-evening, everybody. I am
Maud; I came with my mamma. I have come to ask you to be very kind to
her._"
"I am very glad to hear you, 'Maud,'" I answered. "Are there other
spirits present?"
"_Yes, many, many spirits. My grandpa is here; he is treating my mamma
so that she will not be sick. Some one is here to see you, but is too
weak to speak. My grandpa says 'we are trusting you.'_"
With astonishing clearness this voice created in my mind (not as light
would create it) the vision of a self-contained, womanly little girl,
whose voice and accent formed a curious silvery replica of the
psychic's, and yet I could not say that the psychic's vocal organs gave
out these words. At last she said "_Good-bye_," and the cone was softly
laid upon the table.
All of this was performed in profound silence. There was no sound in the
cone, except that of the voice, no rustle of garments, no grasp of
fingers on the tin; and though I leaned far over, and once more placed
my ear close to the psychic's lips, I could not trace the slightest
movement connecting her with the movements on the table. I had the
conviction at the moment that she sat in a death-like trance at my side.
A few moments later the cone was jammed together and thrown upon the
floor--a movement, I had learned to know, that announced that the
sitting was ended.
While the sitters still waited, I said: "Now, Cameron, you may turn on
the gas, but do so very slowly. Mrs. Smiley seems in deep sleep, and we
are warned not to startle her."
When the light became strong enough to see a form, we found our psychic
sitting limply, her head drooping sidewise, her eyes closed, her face
white and calm. The cone was lying not far from her chair, separated
into two parts. The threads that bound her to her seat were to all
appearance precisely as at the beginning of the sitting, except that
they were deeply sunk into the flesh of her wrists. Her chair had not
moved a hair's-breadth from the chalk-marks on the floor.
A moment later she opened her eyes, and, smiling rather wanly, asked of
me: "Did anything happen?"
"Oh yes, a great deal. 'Wilbur' came, and 'Maud,' and 'Mr. Mitchell.'"
"I am very glad," she answered, with a faint, happy smile.