The earth has hubbies as the water hath,
And these are of them!--_Macbeth._
While the woman he had so cruelly deceived and wronged was wandering
from city to city, and trying in vain to find rest and consolation,
Ambrose Bradley remained at the post where she had left him, the most
melancholy soul beneath the sun. All his happiness in his work being
gone, his ministration lost the fervour and originality that had at
first been its dominant attraction.
Sir George had not exaggerated when he said that the clergyman’s
flock was rapidly falling away from him. New lights were arising; new
religious whims and oddities were attracting the restless spirits of the
metropolis. A thought-reading charlatan from the New World, a learned
physiologist proving the oneness of the sympathetic system with
polarised light, a maniacal non-jurist asserting the prerogative of
affirmation at the bar of the House of Commons, became each a nine-days’
wonder. The utterances of the new gospel were forgotten, or disregarded
as flatulent and unprofitable; and Ambrose Bradley found his occupation
gone.
For all this he cared little or nothing. He was too lost in
contemplation of his own moral misery. All his thought and prayer being
to escape from this, he tried various distractions--the theatre, for
example, with its provincial theory of edification grafted on the
dry stem of what had once been a tree of literature. He was utterly
objectless and miserable, when, one morning, he received the following
letter:--
‘Monmouth Crescent, Bayswater.
‘My dear Sir,--Will you permit me to remind you, by means of this
letter, of the notes of introduction presented recently by me to you,
and written by our friends, -------- and ----------, in America? My
sister gives a _seance_ to-morrow evening, and several notabilities of
the scientific and literary world have promised to be present. If you
will honour us with your company, I think you will be able to form a
disinterested opinion on the importance of the new biology, as
manifestations of an extraordinary kind are confidently expected.
--With kind regards, in which my sister joins, I am, most faithfully
yours,
‘Salem Mapleleafe,
‘Solar Biologist’.’
‘P.S.--The _séance_ commences at five o’clock, in this domicile.’
Bradley’s first impulse was to throw the letter aside, and to write a
curt but polite refusal. On reflection, however, he saw in the proposed
séance a means of temporary distraction. Besides, the affair of the
mysterious photograph had left him not a little curious as to the
machinery used by the brother and sister--_arcades ambo_, or impostors
both, he was certain--to gull an undiscerning public.
At a little before five on the following evening, therefore, he
presented himself at the door of the house in Monmouth Crescent, sent up
his card, and was almost immediately shown into the drawing-room. To his
surprise he found no one there, but he had scarcely glanced round the
apartment when the door opened, and a slight sylph-like figure, clad in
white, appeared before him.
At a glance he recognised the face he had seen on the fading photograph.
‘How do you do, Mr. Bradley?’ said Eustasia, holding out a thin
transparent hand, and fixing her light eyes upon his face.
‘I received your brother’s invitation,’ he replied rather awkwardly. ‘I
am afraid I am a little before my time.’
‘Well, you’re the first to arrive. Salem’s upstairs washing, and will be
down directly. He’s real pleased to know you’ve come.’
She flitted lightly across the room, and sat down close to the window.
She looked white and worn, and all the life of her frame seemed
concentrated in her extraordinary eyes, which she fixed upon the visitor
with a steadiness calculated to discompose a timid man.
‘Won’t you sit down, Mr. Bradley?’ she said, repeating the name with a
curious familiarity.
‘You seem to know me well,’ he replied, seating himself, ‘though I do
not think we have ever met.’
‘Oh, yes, we have; leastways, I’ve often heard you preach. I knew a man
once in the States, who was the very image of _you_. He’s dead now, he
is.’
Her voice, with its strong foreign inflexion, rang so strangely and
plaintively on the last words, that Bradley was startled. He looked
at the girl more closely, and was struck by her unearthly beauty,
contrasting so oddly with her matter-of-fact, offhand manner.
‘Your brother tells me that you are a sibyl,’ he said, drawing his chair
nearer. ‘I am afraid, Miss Mapleleafe, you will find me a disturbing
influence. I have about as much faith in solar biology, spiritualism,
spirit-agency, or whatever you like to call it, as I have in--well,
Mumbo-Jumbo.’
Her eyes still looked brightly into his, and her wan face was lit up
with a curious smile.
‘That’s what they all say at first! Guess you think, then, that I’m an
impostor? Don’t be afraid to speak your mind; I’m used to it; I’ve had
worse than hard names thrown at me; stones and all that. I was stabbed
once down South, and I’ve the mark still!’
As she spoke, she bared her white arm to the elbow, and showed, just in
the fleshy part of the arm, the mark of an old scar.
‘The man that did that drew his knife in the dark, and pinioned my arm
to the table. The very man that was like _you_.’
And lifting her arm to her lips she kissed the scar, and murmured,
or crooned, to herself as she had done on the former occasion in the
presence of her brother. Bradley looked on in amazement. So far as he
could perceive at present, the woman was a half-mad creature, scarcely
responsible for what she said or did.
His embarrassment was not lessened when Eustasia, still holding the arm
to her lips, looked at him through thickly gathering tears, and then,
as if starting from a trance, gave vent to a wild yet musical laugh.
Scarcely knowing what to say, he continued the former topic of
conversation.
‘I presume you are what is called a clairvoyante. That, of course, I can
understand. But, do you really believe in supernatural manifestations?’
Here the voice of the little Professor, who had quietly entered the
room, supplied an answer.
‘Certainly not, sir. The office of solar biology is not to vindicate,
but to destroy, supernaturalism. _You_ mean superhuman, which is quite
another thing.
‘All things abide in Nature, nought subsists
Beyond the infinite celestial scheme.
Motes in the sunbeam are the lives of men,
But in the moonlight and the stellar ray,
In every burning flame of every sphere,
Exist intelligible agencies
Akin to thine and mine.
That’s how the great Bard puts it in a nutshell. Other lives in other
worlds, sir, but no life out or beyond Nature, which embraces the solid
universe to the remotest point in space.’
Concluding with this flourish, Professor Mapleleafe dropped down into
commonplace, wrung the visitor’s hand, and wished him a very good-day.
‘How do you feel, Eustasia?’ he continued with some anxiety, addressing
his sister. ‘Do you feel as if the atmosphere this afternoon was
properly conditioned?’
‘Yes, Salem, I think so.’
The Professor looked at his watch, and simultaneously there came a
loud rapping at the door. Presently three persons entered, a tall,
powerful-looking man, who was introduced as Doctor Kendall, and two
elderly gentlemen; then a minute later, a little gray-haired man, the
well-known Sir James Beaton, a famous physician of Edinburgh. The party
was completed by the landlady of the house, who came up dressed in black
silk, and wearing a widow’s cap.
‘Now, then, ladies and gentlemen,’ said the little Professor glibly, ‘we
shall, with your permission, begin in the usual manner, by darkening the
chamber and forming an ordinary circle. I warn you, however, that this
is trivial, and in the manner of professional mediums. As the séance
advances and the power deepens, we shall doubtless be lifted to higher
ground.’
So saying he drew the heavy curtains of the window, leaving the room in
semi-darkness. Then the party sat down around a small circular table,
and touched hands; Bradley sitting opposite Eustasia, who had Dr.
Kendall on her right and Sir James Beaton on her left. The usual
manifestations followed. The table rose bodily into the air, bells were
rung, tiny sparkles of light flashed about the room.
This lasted about a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time
Mapleleafe broke the circle, and drawing back a curtain, admitted some
light into the room. It was then discovered that Eustasia, sitting in
her place, with her hands resting upon the table, was in a state of
mesmeric trance; and ghastly and sibylline indeed she looked, with her
great eyes wide open, her golden hair fallen on her shoulders, her face
shining as if mysteriously anointed.
‘Eustasia!’ said the Professor softly.
The girl remained motionless, and did not seem to hear.
‘Eustasia!’ he repeated.
This time her lips moved, and a voice, that seemed shriller and clearer
than her own, replied:--
‘Eustasia is not here. I am Sira.’
‘Who is Sira?’
‘A spirit of the third magnitude, from the region of the moon.’
A titter ran round the company, and Sir James Beaton essayed a feeble
joke.
‘A lunar spirit--we shall not, I hope, be _de lunatico inquirendo_.’
‘Hush, sir!’ cried the Professor; then he continued, addressing the
medium his sister, ‘Let me know if the conditions are perfect or
imperfect?’
‘I cannot tell,’ was the reply.
‘Do you see anything, Sira?’
‘I see faint forms floating on the sunbeam. They come and go, they
change and fade. One is like a child, with its hand full of flowers.
They are lilies--O, I can see no more. I am blind. There is too much
light.’
The Professor drew the curtain, darkening the chamber. He then sat down
in his place at the table, and requested all present to touch hands once
more. So far, Bradley had looked on with impatience, not unmingled with
disgust. What he saw and heard was exactly what he had heard described a
hundred times.
With the darkening of the room, the manifestations recommenced. The
table moved about like a thing possessed, the very floor seemed to
tremble and upheave, the bells rang, the lights flashed.
Then all at once Bradley became aware of a strange sound, as if the
whole room were full of life.
‘Keep still!’ said the Professor. ‘Do not break the chain. Wait!’
A long silence followed; then the strange sound was heard again.
‘Are you there, my friend?’ asked the Professor.
There was no reply.
‘Are the conditions right?’
He was answered by a cry from the medium, so wild and strange that all
present were startled and awed.
‘See! see!’
‘What is it Sira?’ demanded the Professor.
‘Shapes like angels, carrying one that looks like a corpse. They are
singing--do you not hear them? Now they are touching me--they are
passing their hands over my hair. I see my mother; she is weeping and
bending over me. Mother! mother!’
Simultaneously, Bradley himself appeared conscious of glimpses like
human faces flashing and fading. In spite of his scepticism, a deep
dread, which was shared more or less by all present, fell upon him. Then
all at once he became aware of something like a living form, clad
in robes of dazzling whiteness, passing by him. An icy cold hand was
pressed to his forehead, leaving a clammy damp like dew.
‘I see a shape of some kind,’ he cried. ‘Does anyone else perceive it?’
‘Yes! yes! yes!’ came from several voices.
‘It is the spirit of a woman,’ murmured the medium.
‘Do you know her?’ added the Professor.
‘No; she belongs to the living world, not to the dead. I see far away,
somewhere on this planet, a beautiful lady lying asleep; she seems full
of sorrow, her pillow is wet with tears. This is the lady’s spirit,
brought hither by the magnetic influence of one she loves.’
‘Can you describe her to us more closely?’
‘Yes. She has dark hair, and splendid dark eyes; she is tall and lovely.
The lady and the spirit are alike, the counterpart of each other.’
Once more Bradley was conscious of the white form standing near him; he
reached out his hands to touch it, but it immediately vanished.
At the same moment he felt a touch like breath upon his face, and heard
a soft musical voice murmuring in his ear--
‘Ambrose! beloved!’
He started in wonder, for the voice seemed that of Alma Craik.
‘Be good enough not to break the chain!’ said the landlady, who occupied
the chair at his side.
Trembling violently, he returned his hands to their place, touching
those of his immediate neighbours on either side. The instant he did so,
he heard the voice again, and felt the touch like breath.
‘Ambrose, do you know me?’
‘Who is speaking?’ he demanded.
A hand soft as velvet and cold as ice was passed over his hair.
‘It is I, dearest!’ said the voice. ‘It is _Alma!_’
‘What brings you here?’ he murmured, almost inaudibly.
‘I knew you were in sorrow;--I came to bring you comfort, and to assure
you of my affection.’
The words were spoken in a low, just audible voice, close to his
ear, and it is doubtful if they were heard by any other member of the
company. In the meantime the more commonplace manifestations still
continued; the room was full of strange sounds, bells ringing, knocking,
shuffling of invisible feet.
Bradley was startled beyond measure. Either her supernatural presence
was close by him, or he was the victim of some cruel trick. Before he
could speak again, he felt the pressure of cold lips on his forehead,
and the same strange voice murmuring farewell.
Wild with excitement, not unmingled with suspicion, he again broke the
chain and sprang to his feet. There was a sharp cry from the medium,
as he sprang to the window and drew back the curtain, letting in the
daylight. But the act discovered nothing. All the members of the circle,
save himself, were sitting in their places. Eustasia, the medium, was
calmly leaning back in her chair. In a moment, however, she started,
put her hand quickly to her forehead as if in pain, and seemed to emerge
from her trance.
‘Salem,’ she cried in her own natural voice, ‘has anything happened?’
‘Mr. Bradley has broken the conditions, that’s all,’ returned the
Professor, with an air of offended dignity. ‘I do protest, ladies and
gentlemen, against that interruption. It has brought a most interesting
seance to a violent close.’
There was a general murmur from the company, and dissatisfied glances
were cast at the offender.
‘I am very sorry,’ said the clergyman. ‘I yielded to an irresistible
influence.’
‘The spirits won’t be trifled with, sir,’ cried Mapleleafe.
‘Certainly not,’ said one of the elderly gentlemen. ‘Solemn mysteries
like these should be approached in a fair and a--hum--a respectful
spirit. For my own part, I am quite satisfied with what I have seen. It
convinces me of--hum--the reality of these phenomena.’
The other elderly gentleman concurred. Dr. Kendall and Sir James, who
had been comparing notes, said that they would reserve their final
judgment until they had been present at another seance. In the mean time
they would go so far as to say that what they had witnessed was very
extraordinary indeed.
‘How are you now, Eustasia?’ said the Professor, addressing his sister.
‘My head aches. I feel as if I had been standing for hours in a burning
sun. When you called me back I was dreaming so strangely. I thought I
was in some celestial place, walking.
Bradley looked at the speaker’s face. It looked full of elfin or
witch-like rather than angelic light. Their eyes met, and Eustasia gave
a curious smile.
‘Will you come again, Mr. Bradley?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps; that is to say, if you will permit me.’
‘I do think, sir,’ interrupted the Professor, ‘that you have given
offence to the celestial intelligences, and I am not inclined to admit
you to our circle again.’
Several voices murmured approval.
‘You are wrong, brother,’ cried Eustasia, ‘you are quite wrong.’
‘What do you mean, Eustasia?’
‘I mean that Mr. Bradley is a medium himself, and a particular favourite
with spirits of the first order.’
The Professor seemed to reflect.
‘Well, if that’s so (and _you_ ought to know), it’s another matter. But
he’ll have to promise not to break the conditions. It ain’t fair to the
spirits; it ain’t fair to his fellow-inquirers.’
One by one the company departed, but Bradley still lingered, as if he
had something still to hear or say. At last, when the last visitor had
gone, and the landlady had grimly stalked away to continue her duties in
the basement of the house, he found himself alone with the brother and
sister.
He stood hesitating, hat in hand.
‘May I ask you a few questions?’ he said, addressing Eustasia.
‘Why, certainly,’ she replied.
‘While you were in the state of trance did you see or hear anything that
took place in this room?’’
Eustasia shook her head.
‘Do you know anything whatever of my private life?’
‘I guess not, except what I’ve read in the papers.’
‘Do you know a lady named Craik, who is one of the members of my
congregation?’
The answer came in another shake of the head, and a blank look
expressing entire ignorance. Either Eustasia knew nothing whatever,
or she was a most accomplished actress. Puzzled and amazed, yet still
suspecting fraud of some kind, Bradley took his leave.