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?"

"With pleasure."

"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.

XVIII

LAMBERT INTERVENES

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."

"How is that?"

"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!"

"I am."

"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:

"What are you going to do?"

"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.

XIX

SERVISS ASSUMES CONTROL

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.

"You may trust me."

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.

XX

THE MOTHER'S FAITH

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 _evil_ 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 _must_ not."

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.

XXI

CLARKE SHADOWS THE FEAST

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?"

"It is."

"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--"

"Who are you?"

"I'm a representative of _The Recorder_. 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 _must_ 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, _please_ 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?"

"Yes."

"Who told you?"

"A reporter 'phoning from Pratt's house apparently."

"When did it happen?"

"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?"

"No."

"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

_should_ 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.

"To-night."

"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

_believes_ 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 _he does_ 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 _her_! 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 _did_ 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!"

XXII

THE SPIRITUAL RESCUE

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 _all_ 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."

"Let me be the judge of that."

[Illustration: "'YOU NEED NOT SPEAK--JUST PUT YOUR HAND IN MINE

AND I WILL UNDERSTAND'"]

"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 _medium_!" 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.

THE END

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End of Project Gutenberg's The Tyranny of the Dark, by Hamlin Garland