"Somebody is playing a joke on me," he insisted, hotly. "I'm going to
strike a light."
Again a voice, this time almost full-toned, but with a metallic
accompaniment, as though it had passed through a horn, poured into his
ear, "_You shall bow to our wisdom._"
He braced himself to receive a blow, and answered through his set teeth:
"I will not. I am master of myself, and I don't intend to take orders
from you."
"_You are fighting great powers. You will fail_," the voice replied.
"_Your heart is defiant. Expect punishment._"
Victor threw out his left hand in rage. It came into contact with
something in the air, something light and hollow, which fell crashing to
the floor, and a faint, gasping, indrawn breath from the sleeper on the
bed followed it. For an instant all was silent; then Mrs. Joyce cried
out:
"She has returned! Your mother has returned! Don't strike a light. Wait
a moment." She moved forward a little. "May I touch her?" she asked.
Victor thought she was speaking to him, but before he could reply the
invisible one whispered: "_Yes. Approach slowly._"
Mrs. Joyce laid her hand on the sleeper's brow. "She's warmer, Victor!
She's breathing! She has certainly come back to us."
"_Approach_," whispered the voice in Victor's ear.
He moved forward now, in awe and wonder, and stood beside the bed.
Slowly the room lightened, and out of the darkness the pallid face of
his mother developed like the shadowy figures on a photographic plate.
She was lying just as before, save for one hand, which Mrs. Joyce had
taken. He laid his own vital, magnetic palm upon her arm, and finding it
still cold and pulseless, called out:
"Mother, do you hear me? It is Victor."
Her fingers moved slightly in response, and this minute sign of life
melted his heart. He fell upon his knees beside her bed, weeping with
gratitude and joy.