"I gave what was given to me," she responded.
"Think of the disgrace of being in that court-room!"
"I didn't mind the disgrace," she replied; "but it swarmed with horrible
spirits. Each one of those poor criminals had a cloud of other base,
distorted, half-formed creatures hovering about him. It was like being
in a cage with a host of obscene bats fluttering about." She shuddered.
"It was horrible! It was a sweet relief when you and Leo came, for a new
and happy band came with you. You helped my band drive away the cloud of
low beings that oppressed me; and now there is something calming and
serenely helpful all about me. It comes from Mr. Bartol. I am no longer
afraid; I am perfectly serene."
Victor made no attempt at elucidating her exact meaning; there was
something depressing to him in this continued dependence upon spirit
guidance, a guidance that had led them into so much trouble and
discredit. He sat by the window, watching the faintly-outlined moonlit
landscape flowing past, feeling himself to be a very small insect riding
on the chariot of the king of tempests, with no power to check the speed
or direct the course of his inflexible driver. His own future was but a
flutter of vague shadows, his boyhood a serene, sun-warm meadow, now
swiftly receding into the darkness of night. Would anything so beautiful
ever come again?
His mother, sitting as if entranced, was looking down at her folded
hands, her brow unlined; but a plaintive droop in the lines of her
sensitive mouth told that she was wearied and secretly disheartened.
"Poor little mother!" he said, laying a hand on her arm, "you are
tired."
The tears came to her eyes, but she smiled back radiantly. "I don't care
what comes, if only you believe in me," she said, simply; and he took
her hand in both of his and pressed it like a lover.
At last Mr. Bartol folded his paper and put away his glasses. "Well, we
are nearing Hazel Grove," he announced, smilingly. "It's only a little
village, a meeting of cross-roads, but I think you'll like the country;
it's the fine old rolling prairie of which you've heard."
The moon was riding high as they alighted from the coach upon the
platform of a low, wooden station in the midst of green fields. A clump
of trees, and the lights in dimly discerned houses, gave only a faint
suggestion of a town; but an open carriage was waiting for them, and
entering this, they were driven away into the most delicious and
fragrant silence.
Instantly the last trace of Victor's anger and unrest fell away from
him. Of this simple quality had been the scenes of his life at school.
In such peace and serenity his earlier years had been spent; indeed, all
his life, save for the few tumultuous days in the city--and he was
immediately restored and comforted by the sounds, sights, and odors of
the superb spring night.
"Isn't it glorious!" he cried. "I feel as if I were reaching God's
country again."
The swiftly stepping horses whirled them up the street through a bunch
of squat buildings and out along a gently rising lane to the south. Ten
minutes later the driver turned into a large, tree-shaded drive, and
over a curving graveled drive approached a spreading white house, whose
porticos shone pleasantly in the moonlight. A row of lighted windows
glowed with hospitable intent, and tall vases of flowers showed dimly.
"Here we are!" called Mr. Bartol, with genial cordiality. "Welcome to
Hazeldean."
To dismount before this wide porch in the midst of the small innumerable
voices of the night was like living out some delicious romance. To come
to it from the reek and threat of the court-room made its serene expanse
a heavenly refuge, and the beleaguered mother paused for a moment at the
door to look back upon the lawn, where opulent elms and maples dreamed
in the odorless gloom. "I have never seen anything so peaceful," she
breathed. "Only heavenly souls inhabit here."
The interior was equally restful and reassuring. Large rooms with simple
and substantial furnishings led away from a short entrance hall. The
ceilings were low and dark, and the lamps shaded. Books were everywhere
to be seen, many of them piled carelessly convenient to lights and
chairs, as if it were both library and living-room.
The first word Victor spoke related to the books, and Mr. Bartol replied
with a smile.
"They are not especially well chosen. I fear you'll find them a mixed
lot. I read nothing but law in the city--here I indulge my fancy. You'll
wonder what my principle of selection is, and, if you ask me, I must
answer--I haven't any. I buy whatever commends itself to me at the
moment. One thing leads to another--romance to history, history to
poetry, poetry to the drama, and so on." He greeted a very tidy maid who
entered the room. "Good-evening, Marie. This is Mrs. Ollnee, and this is
her son, Mr. Victor Ollnee. Please see that they are made comfortable."
Then again to his guests. "You must be tired."
"I am so, Mr. Bartol," replied Mrs. Ollnee, "and if you'll pardon me
I'll go to my room."
"Certainly--and you may go, too, if you feel like it," he said to
Victor.
"I am not sleepy," replied Victor.
"Very well," replied his host. "Be seated and we'll discuss the
situation for a few minutes."
He led the way to a corner where two wide windows opening on the lawn
made delicious mingling of night air and study light, and offering his
guest a cigar, took a seat, saying: "I run out here whenever the city
becomes a burden. I find I need just such a corrective to the intense
life of the city. It is my rule to give no thought to legal troubles
while I am here; hence the absence of codes and all legal literature.
You are a college man, Mrs. Joyce tells me."
"I was at Winona last Saturday, and expected to stay there till June,
when I was due to graduate. Then the devil broke loose, and here I am.
When will my mother's case come up?"
"Not for some weeks, I fear. If you wish to return to your studies we
can arrange that."
"No. I'm done with school. I'm only worried about my mother. What do you
think of her case, Mr. Bartol?"
"I'm not informed sufficiently to say," he replied, slowly. "The whole
subject of hypnotic control seems to be involved. I must know more of
your mother before I can even hazard an opinion. The theories of
suggestion are all rather vague to me. I have only what might be called
a newspaper knowledge of them; but I have some information as to your
mother's profession I gained from my friend Mrs. Joyce, so that I am not
entirely uninformed. Besides, it is a lawyer's business to know
everything, and I shall at once proceed to bore into the subject."
Mrs. Ollnee returning brought him to his feet in graceful acknowledgment
of her sex, and placing a chair for her, he said, "I hope you don't mind
tobacco."
"Not at all," she replied, quite as graciously.
He placed a chair for her so that the light fell upon her face, and she
knew that he intended to study her as if she were a page of strange
text.
"I'm glad you like it here," he said, in answer to her repeated
admiration of his home, "for I suspect you'll have to stay here for the
present. The city is passing through one of those moral paroxysms which
come once in a year or two. Last year it was the social evil; just now
it concerns itself with what the reformers are pleased to call 'the
occult fakers.' The feeling of a jury would be against you at present,
and as I have promised Mrs. Joyce to take charge of your defense, I
think it well for you to go into retirement here while I take time to
inform myself of the case."
"I do not like to trouble you."
"It is no trouble, my dear madam. Here is this big home, empty and
completely manned. A couple of guests, especially a hearty young man,
will be a godsend to my cook. She complains of not having men to feed.
Don't let any question of expense to me trouble you."
"Thank you most deeply."
"Don't thank me; thank Louise Joyce, who is both client and friend, and
the one to whom I owe this pleasure." He bowed. "I never before had the
opportunity of entertaining a 'psychic,' and I welcome the
opportunity."
She did not quite know how to take him, and neither did Victor; and
perceiving that doubt, Bartol added: "I am quite sincere in all this. I
hear a good deal, obscurely, of this curious phase of human life, but
never before have I been confronted by one who claims the power of
divination."
"Pardon me, sir, I do not claim such power."
"Do you not! I thought that was precisely your claim."
"No, sir, I am a medium. I report what is given to me. I divine nothing
of myself. I am an instrument through which those whom men call 'the
dead' speak."
"I see," he mused. "I will not deceive you," he began again, very
gravely. "This charge against you is likely to prove serious, and you
must be quite frank with me. I may require a test of your powers."
"I am at your service, sir. Make any test of me you please--this moment
if you like."
"I will not require anything of you to-night. Writers tell me that
'mediums' are a dark, elusive, and uncanny set, Mrs. Ollnee, and I must
confess that you upset my preconceptions."
"There are all kinds of mediums, as there are all kinds of lawyers, Mr.
Bartol. I am human, like the others."
"If you will permit me, I will take up your defense along the lines of
hypnotic control on the part of this man Pettus."
"I cannot presume to advise you, sir, but you must know that to me these
Voices come from the spirit world. I am the transmitter merely--for
instance, at this moment I hear a Voice and I see behind you the form of
a lady, a lovely young woman--"
"Mother!" called Victor, warningly. "Don't start in on that!"
"Proceed," said Bartol; "I am interested."
The psychic, leaning forward slightly, fixed her wide, deep-blue eyes
upon him. "The maid conducted me to the room which had been your wife's,
but I could not stay there. This lady who stands beside you took me by
the hand and led me away to another room. She is nodding at me now."
"Do you mean the maid led you from the room?"
"No, I mean the spirit now standing behind you led me here. She says her
name is Margaret Bartol. She said: '_Comfort my dear husband. Restore
his faith._' She is smiling at me. She wants me to go on."
Bartol's face remained inscrutably calm. "Where does the form seem to
be?"
"At your right shoulder. She says, '_Tell him Walter and Hattie are both
with me._' She listened a moment. She says, '_Tell him Walter's mind is
perfectly clear now._'"
Victor thought he saw the lawyer start in surprise, but his voice was
cold as he said, "Go on."
"She says: '_Tell him the way is open. I am here. Ask him to speak to
me._'"
Bartol then spoke, but his tone plainly showed that he was testing his
client's hallucination and not addressing himself to the imaginary
ghost. "Are you there, Margaret?"
"_Yes_," came the answer, clearly though faintly.
The renowned lawyer gazed at the medium with eyes that burned deep, and
presently he asked, "What have you to say to me?"
Again came the clear, silvery whisper: "_Much. Trust the medium. She
will comfort you._"
Victor thrilled to the importance of this moment, and much as he feared
for his mother's success, he could not but admire the courage which
blazed in her steady eyes. She was no longer afraid of this mighty man
of the law, to whom heaven and hell were obsolete words. She was
panoplied with the magic and mystery of death, and waited calmly for him
to continue.