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<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tibby, by Rosetta Luce Gilchrist</title>
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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69307 ***</div>
<div class='tnotes covernote'>
<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p>
<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
</div>
<div class='chapter ph1'>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div>TIBBY</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/i_logo.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'>
</div>
<div class='titlepage'>
<div>
<h1 class='c002'>TIBBY<br> <span class='large'><em>A Novel Dealing with Psychic Forces and Telepathy</em></span></h1>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c003'>
<div><span class='large'>BY</span></div>
<div><span class='xlarge'>ROSETTA LUCE GILCHRIST</span></div>
<div class='c004'>Author of “<cite>Apples of Sodom</cite>,” etc.</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c005'>“The practical effect of a belief is the best test of
its soundness.”—<em>Froude.</em></p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='sc'>New York and Washington</span></div>
<div><span class='large'>THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY</span></div>
<div>1904</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div><span class='small'>Copyright, 1904</span></div>
<div><span class='small'>By</span></div>
<div><span class='small'>ROSETTA LUCE GILCHRIST</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c006'>To my daughter Jessamine,
who discovered and introduced
Tibby to the Author</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c007'>CONTENTS</h2>
</div>
<table class='table0'>
<tr>
<th class='c008'><span class='small'>Chapter.</span></th>
<th class='c009'> </th>
<th class='c010'><span class='small'>Page.</span></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>I.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Fair Unknown,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_9'>9</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>II.</td>
<td class='c009'>Tibby’s Eyes,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_18'>18</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>III.</td>
<td class='c009'>The New Acquaintance,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_27'>27</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>IV.</td>
<td class='c009'>Through Clairvoyant Vision,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_33'>33</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>V.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Letter,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_44'>44</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>VI.</td>
<td class='c009'>An Old-Fashioned Journey,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_48'>48</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>VII.</td>
<td class='c009'>In the New Home,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_64'>64</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>VIII.</td>
<td class='c009'>Mother and Child,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_74'>74</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>IX.</td>
<td class='c009'>A New Development,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_81'>81</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>X.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Ghosts of the Cabinet,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_86'>86</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XI.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Fire,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_96'>96</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XII.</td>
<td class='c009'>A New Medium,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_104'>104</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XIII.</td>
<td class='c009'>A Domestic Jar,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_114'>114</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XIV.</td>
<td class='c009'>Before the Public,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_122'>122</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XV.</td>
<td class='c009'>Welcome Guests,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_126'>126</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XVI.</td>
<td class='c009'>An Old Acquaintance,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_136'>136</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XVII.</td>
<td class='c009'>An Old-Time Seance Amidst Old-Time Scenes and Old-Time Folks,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_151'>151</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XVIII.</td>
<td class='c009'>Major Walden,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XIX.</td>
<td class='c009'>Led into Error,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_180'>180</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XX.</td>
<td class='c009'>Spirits of the Air,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_193'>193</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXI.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Reaper,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_202'>202</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXII.</td>
<td class='c009'>New Arrivals,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_209'>209</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXIII.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Counterplot,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_223'>223</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXIV.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Trail of the Serpent,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_232'>232</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXV.</td>
<td class='c009'>Tibby Conquers,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_241'>241</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXVI.</td>
<td class='c009'>Esther’s Disappearance,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_255'>255</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXVII.</td>
<td class='c009'>A Legal Document is Received,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_260'>260</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXVIII.</td>
<td class='c009'>Horace Wylie’s Philosophy,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_271'>271</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXIX.</td>
<td class='c009'>Drifting,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_277'>277</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXX.</td>
<td class='c009'>The Coming of the Storm,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_287'>287</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXXI.</td>
<td class='c009'>Caught in a Blizzard,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_301'>301</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXXII.</td>
<td class='c009'>A Surprise,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_314'>314</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c008'>XXXIII.</td>
<td class='c009'>Conclusion,</td>
<td class='c010'><a href='#Page_327'>327</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='chapter ph1'>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div>TIBBY</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER I<br> <span class='large'>THE FAIR UNKNOWN</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The great bell of the cathedral chimed musically
the hour of six, its vibrant tones mingling with the
muffled din and clangor of smaller bells, steam
whistles, town clocks and street-car jingle, making
itself heard above the roar and rattle of travel over
the stone-paved streets of the Forest City.</p>
<p class='c005'>Away at the north the blue lake rolled, its waters
dotted by the many white-clothed vessels and smoke-trailing
steamships. The whole was made bright
by a lowering, unveiled sun, which ere long must
sink to rest in its waves. At the south a heavy cloud
of smoke and vapor rested above the river flats, hiding
the blackened roofs of the shops and manufactories,
only broken by the scarlet tongues of fire that
occasionally shot upward from seething furnaces and
tall chimneys.</p>
<p class='c005'>The rattle upon the pavement grew louder, and
the confusion of sounds greater, as the crowds of
workmen thronged the streets, homeward-bound,
after the hard day of labor.</p>
<p class='c005'>At an upper window of La Grande Hotel a lady,
screened by the hanging folds of the curtain drapery,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>looked out upon the multitude of pedestrians hurrying
along the sidewalk below. The close-fitting
gown of soft, light material revealed a plump, stylish
little figure, most attractive in its fashionable perfection.
Against the dark wood of the window-casing
rested a white, rounded wrist, and delicate,
dimpled hand, upon the fingers of which glittering
stones caught the rich sunlight and showered it in
rainbow splendor upon the opposite wall.</p>
<p class='c005'>The fluffy rings of fair hair that rested above her
forehead seemed appropriate adornment to the
bright, girlish face and careless, smiling eyes, that
showed so certainly her exemption from sorrow and
care.</p>
<p class='c005'>The perfection and harmony of her costume
showed also that she belonged to that class that “Toil
not, neither do they spin,” but are the beautiful exponents
of the art of modiste and hairdresser.</p>
<p class='c005'>Across the room, resting indolently in an easy
chair, a gentleman studied the third edition of the
<cite>Daily Leader</cite>, apparently oblivious of the presence
of the fair lady at the window. He, too, had the
well-fed, well-groomed look of the man with full
purse and few anxieties, together with an air of unmistakable
elegance and worldly wisdom.</p>
<p class='c005'>In age he appeared five and thirty. His face was
smooth shaven, except for the long, drooping mustache
which shaded the corners of his firm-lipped
mouth. His dark hair, inclined to curl, was closely
cropped. His brown eyes were marvelously clear
and penetrating, his forehead broad and particularly
full above the temples. His heavy, massive build,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>with the squarely cut and rather prominent chin
gave him an awesome individuality, which was counteracted
by the exceeding graciousness, gentleness,
and courtesy of his manner.</p>
<p class='c005'>He was well known in business circles, a man
keen, shrewd, and full of worldly cunning, but as
honest and upright as the majority of his compeers
who make or lose fortunes in a day at the mart of
speculation.</p>
<p class='c005'>At present he was connected with a steel industry,
and greatly interested in the fluctuations of the ore
and coal market, the strikes at the mines, and the
attitude of the United States Congress with reference
to tariff rates. He was yet studying the columns
before him, and balancing in his mind the advisability
of recalling salesmen from certain localities,
when the lady interrupted his thought.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Horace, have you ever noticed that pretty, sad-looking
woman, dressed in black, who goes by here
so frequently, leading a little child?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Pretty, sad woman, dressed in black—small child.
A definite description, truly. How many in this delightful
city will answer to the same, think you?
Pretty—in a city noted for handsome women; sad—few
are happy; dressed in black—the fashionable
street dress at present; and small child—not a scarce
article, I believe. Really, Nellie, you must be more
specific.” And Mr. Wylie laid his paper carefully
over the arm of his chair and smiled provokingly at
his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, you are too bad! This lady has such a sweet
face, she is really conspicuous, and she always comes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>down Leader Avenue at about this hour and turns
down Herald Street, going into one of those blocks
across the way. I feel quite sure she gets sewing to
do, for she usually carries a good-sized parcel with
her. She is very interesting.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, my dear, I am surprised at your enthusiasm.
You really seem to have been cultivating a
habit of observation.” Mr. Wylie leaned his head
against the back of his chair and looked at his wife
through half-closed eyes, while with his large, shapely
hand he softly stroked his smooth chin.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A woman with a parcel and a mystery,” he continued.
“I am not sure but you would shine as a female
detective, Nellie. Shall I send in your name
at the next meeting of the police board?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie looked at her husband with a petulant
pout of her pretty lips. “You are really unkind to
ridicule me when I want to be very serious. Truly,
I believe this <em>is</em> a woman with a mystery and history.
She has attracted me wonderfully, as she would you
could you see her. I wish I knew of some way to
learn more about her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And so you have been sitting here watching for
the unknown, when I supposed you were studying
costumes, or mentally rhapsodizing upon the architectural
beauties of the stone walls opposite. I am
afraid, Nellie, you are getting lonely. The Misses
Eldridge have not called lately, or that dear, delightful
Mrs. Lee, about whom you were raving a
month ago, has gone away. I must look into this.
When my wife is forced to seek amusement and objects
<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>of interest in the faces of the passers-by upon
the streets—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, how fortunate! There she comes now!
You shall see for yourself,” interrupted Mrs. Wylie,
eagerly leaning forward and scanning the street before
her. “She will be opposite here before long.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie arose languidly, and slightly shaking
his body to adjust his clothing, moved gracefully
across the room to his wife’s side, where, glancing
over her shoulder, he sought the described woman.
Among the throng of hurrying pedestrians crossing
the street a few rods away they saw a lady, dressed
in plain and unassuming black, slowly accommodating
her footsteps to the pace of the little toddler at
her side, who trudged along with the half-tottering,
uncertain gait of infants of her age. So slowly was
she obliged to walk that the spectators at the window
had ample opportunity for close inspection.</p>
<p class='c005'>The woman was of medium height, slender and
pliant, with a fine poise of the head and grace of
sloping shoulders. Her face was pale, too pale for
perfect health, Elinor Wylie thought, and her features
were clear-cut and expressive. But the beauty
of her face was in her eyes. As she came opposite
the hotel she seemed accidentally to glance upward.
Involuntarily Mr. and Mrs. Wylie drew back from
the window, then looked at each other and laughed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is she not lovely?” questioned Mrs. Wylie triumphantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She has rather fine features,” returned the gentleman,
absently twirling the curtain about his fingers.
“I fancy I have seen her before somewhere,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>but I cannot now remember where.” He wrinkled
his brow thoughtfully. “I do not associate that face
in my memory, however, with black robes or the
character of sewing woman in Forest City.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I knew you would be interested if you could but
see her; and now how can I learn more of her? I
might seek her in a business way to get her to sew
for me or something of that kind,” said the little
woman, looking inquiringly at her husband.</p>
<p class='c005'>He laughed, a soft-modulated laugh, that well
harmonized with his languid movements and studied
grace.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid you are premature in arriving at conclusions.
You are not yet sure that she is a sewing
woman. I think I begin to understand your mission
on earth. You should be at the head of an organized
benevolent society. You are such an adept
at fishing out cases upon which to waste your sympathy.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Please do not laugh, Horace. It is very seldom I
become interested in anything of the kind and you
should encourage me,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>And truly it was a rare thing for careless, thoughtless
Elinor Wylie to take interest in anything outside
the fashionable circle which she denominated
“our set.” Her life had been too carefully ordered
for her to have much appreciation of the wretchedness
beyond her gates.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And so you think I should allow you the luxury
of an entirely new sensation,” said Mr. Wylie, with
his habitual drawl. “All right. Be as benevolent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>as you choose, only be careful,” he continued, rising
and beginning to draw on his gloves.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie looked at him inquiringly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am going to keep an appointment with Colonel
Fenton. By the way, Nellie, did I tell you, Doctor
Lyman, the noted seer and spiritist, is coming next
week to give a series of lectures in Garrett’s Hall?
I think we’ll have to attend, will we not?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Dr. Lyman? Oh, yes; Mrs. Wallace was telling
me about him. Do you care to hear <em>him</em>?” asked
Mrs. Wylie doubtfully.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly, and so must you. People say
he is remarkably interesting; and besides, it will
never do to lose so good an opportunity to learn of
the invisible world toward which we are fast hastening;
eh, Nelly?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Horace—” Little Mrs. Wylie hesitated and
raised her blue eyes to his questioningly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, my dear, I am the personification of devout
attention; what will you have?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wonder—do you really believe he knows any
more about the other world than any one else?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Undoubtedly; a great deal more.” Mr. Wylie
assumed a serio-comic air.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t see why; but I mean, do you really believe
he is right? Do you believe <em>they</em> are right
who believe in spirit manifestation and all that sort
of thing?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do I believe in them who do believe? My dear
girl, you are asking unanswerable questions. I believe
in an infinite number of things or I believe in
nothing. It is to find out just what I believe that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>I propose to attend Dr. Lyman’s lectures. I have
listened to the preaching of orthodoxy from childhood;
now, I will absorb a little heterodoxy and
see if it is any more clear to the human comprehension.
But I must be going. Is not that the fair lady
again?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and see, she has another and different-sized
parcel. Poor thing, I wonder if it is hard work?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think I’ll go down on the street and get a nearer
view of the fair unknown. It seems to me I have
seen that face some time before this. It is probably
a chance resemblance to some one I have known, that
haunts me. Good-by.” And kissing his hand to his
wife, Mr. Wylie left the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Talk of woman’s curiosity,” laughed Elinor to
herself. “It does not compare with that of the sterner
sex.” And she watched her husband cross Herald
Street and walk down the avenue with more than
his usual celerity. Then she touched a tiny bell,
which was answered by a young girl from the adjoining
room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You may bring Robbie to me, Tibby. Mr. Wylie
has gone away and I am at leisure to amuse him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The young nurse departed, to return with a mischievous
little lad of four years, beautiful in his night
robes of linen and lace, and the mother-love, which
even the society life could not destroy, shone in Mrs.
Wylie’s eyes as she clasped him in her arms.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You may leave us now, Tibby. I will call you
when Robbie has done with his play.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The smiling, dimple-cheeked maid withdrew, and
the mother gave herself up to the enjoyment of a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>frolic with the wide-awake child. When, an hour
later, she summoned the maid to put the cherub in
his bed, she met with opposition. Robbie had not
wearied of his mother, and refused to go.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But it is bed-time, Robbie, and the sand-man will
come to put sand in your eyes,” remonstrated Mrs.
Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t tare, ain’t doin’ to bed,” asserted the wilful
child.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But you must go, dear; mother desires it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ain’t doin’ to,” persisted Robbie, with the perversity
of a spoiled child.</p>
<p class='c005'>The mother looked helplessly at Tibby, who came
forward smiling, while her eyes sought those of the
little rebel.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come,” she said sweetly, and to Mrs. Wylie’s
surprise the boy put his hand into the inviting one of
the nurse and suffered himself to be led from the
room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What remarkable eyes that girl has,” soliloquized
Mrs. Wylie as the door closed behind them. “I have
been more fortunate than I dared hope in securing
her services.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER II<br> <span class='large'>TIBBY’S EYES</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>As for Tibby’s eyes, no one had been able to decide
upon the exact color of them. On warm, sunshiny
afternoons, when Tibby yawned in a swinging hammock
on the back veranda and the pupils were small
and contracted, they appeared of a cerulean hue,
warm and languorous. On cloudy days, when the
sky was dark and lowering, Tibby’s eyes were gray
and forbidding. But when a tempest of rage shook
her pliant figure her eyes sparkled black as coal from
the mines. Her brothers called them cat’s eyes, not
only because the name Tibby was a contraction of the
more severe Tabitha of her christening, but from the
ever-varying, changing light which shone in their
restless depths, which now dilated until the least
rim of color was visible, now contracted like those
of a purring kitten.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby had not to depend upon the beauty of her
opalescent eyes for recognition, for nature had dealt
most generously with her, giving her regular features,
and so mixing and intermingling the types of
brunette and blonde in her physique that no one
could determine in which class to catalogue her.
The delicious glint of the sun in her brown hair, the
rich waves of carmine that tinged and receded from
her cheeks, the arched black brows which defined
themselves so conspicuously against the shining
<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>whiteness of her forehead were contradictions when
compared, but formed a <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tout ensemble</span></i> most charming.</p>
<p class='c005'>It appeared, too, that Tibby’s nature was as contradictory.
Wayward and wilful as she was at times,
at others she appeared of angelic sweetness, and the
soft, innocent depths of those slumberous blue eyes
captivated the hearts of all who met her, and made
them swear no evil could exist in her.</p>
<p class='c005'>And now while Tibby, like her feline namesake,
purrs most delusively in the midst of her aesthetic
surroundings, and her pink-tinted fingers effectually
conceal any hidden claws, her mind reviews a scene
but three weeks behind the present.</p>
<p class='c005'>She sees an old-fashioned, wood-colored farm-house with broad lawn, in which are bright beds of
dear old-fashioned flowers, marigolds and petunias,
bachelor buttons and scarlet poppies; and she sees
herself in calico gown and big sunbonnet standing
under the old elm, in listening attitude, while a shrill,
chirruping note sounds in her ear.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hello, Tib, what’s up?” shouts a boyish voice,
and a stout-limbed, bare-footed lad bounds down the
path toward her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hush!” she says. “Ah, you have frightened it
away! It was singing in the old elm and I hoped to
find it. It’s a tree-toad, isn’t it? Did you ever see
one, Tom?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hundreds of ’em,” replies the boy contemptuously.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What do they look like, Tom? Are they green?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They’re mostly the color of the thing they’re
<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>on, I reckon,” says the oracle. “Sometimes they’re
like the bark of the trees or fence, and then again
they’re sort of green if they’re on the grass.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Humph! You don’t expect me to believe such a
fish story as that, do you?” replies Tibby scornfully,
drawing up her straight, slim figure with dignity.
“As if any mortal thing could change its color! As
well might the leopard change his spots,” she continues
as her mind reverts to the Scripture lesson of
the preceding Sabbath.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That’s all you know about it! They’re thicker
’n spatter down in the lane, an’ I guess I know
what I’m telling you! Why, Tibby, they’re like your
eyes. A minute ago they were blue, now they’re
yeller. Mother says your eyes make her fidgety,
they’re so changeable.” And Tom laughed gleefully.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did she, Tom; when?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yisterday. I heard her tell pop. And say, Tibby,
if you don’t go down cellar and do that churnin’,
she’ll make it hot for you. She says you allus slip off
on churnin’ days.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s already done, Mr. Tom. I did it before I
came out here. But mother’ll think I haven’t, and
won’t she have a conniption fit?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Again the twain laugh.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Say, Tom, wouldn’t you like to go away somewheres,
where folks are different—into the city, or
somewhere? It’s deadly dull here, an’ then mother’s
so cross—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I dunno, pop’s all right if <em>she</em> didn’t put him up
to pitch into us.” Tom gives his trousers a jerk,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>and digs his bare toes into the grass. “An’ she tells
him you’re wilful and headstrong as fury.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby tosses her red-brown curls and purses up
her small mouth expressively, then she remembers
her quest.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Just find this toad for me, Tom, and I’ll thank
you ever so much, that’s a good boy,” she purrs as
she approaches the tree more closely. “I want to
see one for myself. Here, I’ll boost you up into the
tree. I think it’s out on that limb.”</p>
<p class='c005'>And the good-natured Tom, declining her proffered
aid, climbs the tree with an agility born of
long practice, while the girl feels her eyes dilate
with expectancy, and then he captures the singer
and brings it to her for inspection. Good Tom!
Tibby feels these same eyes filling as she looks upon
this picture. The toad is a dull gray, and looks incapable
of producing these strident sounds. What
a queer, homely thing it is. Ugh!</p>
<p class='c005'>“Put it back upon the limb, Tom. I’m afraid to
touch it,” she says with a shiver, and Tom laughs
contemptuously.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You know about as much about toads as Bess
does,” he says; “we saw some toad-stools, last
night, growing in the moss down on the bank and
she said, ‘O, ain’t they pretty, Tom? And to think
the <em>toads made</em> ’em, too.’ Ha, ha, ha! she thought
the toads made ’em.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby feels a little lump rise in her throat as she
remembers this, and as she turns away her head she
sees, as she saw then, a glittering carriage, drawn by
a handsome span of bays, come swiftly down the big
<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>hill on the east, and watches it with fascinated glance
as it spins across the level of the flats and up into the
covered, wooden bridge. It comes forth from the
nearer end of the structure, and then something happens,
for almost before the house the horses come to
a halt and the driver springs out. Something has
broken. Tibby knows that it must have been caused
by that steep pitch off the end of the bridge, which
should have been repaired, or filled in, long ago.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There,” she says to Tom, “if Path-master Morton
had attended to that place, this wouldn’t have
happened.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That comes from putting in politicians that don’t
know beans from broomsticks,” says Tom oracularly.
“A man that don’t keep his own place in repair can’t
be expected to look after the public ones.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The driver examines the carriage closely, and then
comes into the yard and asks for hammer, nails, and
other repairing material. Tom runs for the supplies,
while Tibby watches a small lady, accompanied
by a yellow-haired boy with long curls and kilts,
step daintily from the broken carriage and enter the
yard. The lady smiles upon Tibby and asks if she
may sit down to wait under the shade of the patriarchal
old tree; and Tibby replies to her questioning,
while she sits before her and tells her of her
brothers and sisters, and her heart swells with pride
at the lady’s praise of her home and surroundings.
Her eyes follow those of the lady to the old-fashioned,
weather-brown farm-house, with its low-browed
gables and spreading lean-tos, built apparently
without regard to economy of ground space;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>then to the left, where upon a little lower ground
the great red-roofed barns and spacious corn-cribs
stand, and again to the nodding, smiling flowers dotting
the lawn.</p>
<p class='c005'>Yes, it was beautiful, the old home, with all its
homely comforts, but Tibby had longed to try her
wings in flight to seek other fields of enchantment.</p>
<p class='c005'>By and by the little boy becomes restless and begs
his mother to go and ride, fidgets and whimpers.
Tibby wishes to amuse him, and looks at him longingly,
until he comes and puts his small hands in
her brown ones, and she tells him of the little singing
toad in the tree-top, and of the twittering squirrels
who make the elm their home, until his brown
eyes grow heavy and he falls asleep in her arms.
Then Tibby sits and feasts her eyes on the strange
lady’s costume, a poem of harmony in color and fit,—though
Tibby does not name it thus,—and feels the
contrast between this lady’s attire and her own, marvels
at the glittering jewels on her white fingers,
and alas, in the girl’s heart, a dormant wild desire
springs into active growth. She longs to go with
this city-bred woman and have dainty boots and
beautiful gowns.</p>
<p class='c005'>Does the cry which she feels within herself reach
the heart of the lady? Surely, surely her lips have
not spoken, but the stranger lady, as if understanding
her thought, says:</p>
<p class='c005'>“What a nice way you have with children, my
dear. I should like to have a girl like you to live
with me and help me to look after Robert. You have
done wonders with him. He is usually averse to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>strangers. How would you like to go home with
me?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should like it very much indeed,” she replies,
with conviction.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You have no mother, I believe you said,” the lady
continues.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, a stepmother. The children are my half-brothers,
except Tom and Bess. Our mother died
when I was a little girl.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And what are you now?” asks the lady, smiling.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Quite as large as you, I think,” Tibby says, with
no intentional disrespect.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is true, but I suspect you are not quite so
old.” And then the child tells her she is fourteen
and does not have to go to school any more; and
then—ah, Tibby heaves a sigh as she remembers the
fluttering of her heart while Mrs. Wylie was talking
with her husband, standing by the broken vehicle,
and how she kept saying to herself, “I want to go!
Take me! Take me!”</p>
<p class='c005'>She smiles as she remembers Mr. Wylie’s good-natured
banter and his questions as to her trustworthiness
and honesty.</p>
<p class='c005'>“As if my word would be of any worth if I were
not honest,” she thinks. And then Mr. Wylie talks
to her father, and—here she is, surrounded by all
the luxury she coveted, with the tumult and noise of
the great city beneath her window.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby rises from her chair and stretches her arms
high above her head with a cat-like yawn, then walks
with padding footsteps up and down the thick-carpeted
room, and back and forth before the long mirror,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>smiling at the trim, well-dressed figure reflected
therein. And the face in the mirror smiles
back at her, till the dimples deepen in the blooming
cheeks and the red-curved lips open to reveal the
gleaming rows of teeth behind them.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby, Tibby,” the girl whispers to the reflection,
“your feet have been shod in French slippers and set
in pleasant places. You have pretty gowns and dainty
ribbons. If you are only a nurse-girl, you have
much to be thankful for. You can learn to be a lady,
and you must be very, very good, so these advantages
shall not be taken away from you. It will be
your own fault, your own fault, Tibby Waring, if
you ever go back to—to—” She hesitates, and stopping
before the mirror she looks long and searchingly
into its crystal depths.</p>
<p class='c005'>The little Swiss clock on the mantel chimes musically.
It is nine o’clock. But Tibby’s eyes are half-closed,
and she sees beyond her own reflection the
plain family room at the farm-house, with its bright
rag-carpet on the floor and its chintz-covered chairs.
She sees her gray-haired father dozing in his chair
tilted back against the wall, with his hands clasped
before him. She sees Tom sleeping, stretched out
upon the old, green-covered lounge. She sees little
Bess and Ted in their night-gowns scampering up
the closed-in stairway to their beds. Ah, she is not
there to give them their good-night kiss when they
have repeated their “Now I lay me down to sleep.”
She sees her father rise, yawning, and step heavily
across the room to the old wooden clock in its niche
in the wall, and she can even hear the creaking of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>iron weights as he winds the clock for the night.
She sees her own little bed with its high posts and
white valances. She closes her eyes tightly to shut
out the vision and the tears that stand ready to fall.
Then she hears her father call, “Come, Tom, you
sleepy lubber! Get you up and off to bed!” She
knows how Tom will stagger to his feet and rub his
leaden eyelids, and start in the wrong direction.
Dear lad! It is harder to think of him than all the
rest. But she has had her wish. She is in the great
city, and they—Tom, Bess, father—are there at
home where the old life will go on day by day, and
she in this new life must be brave and—grateful.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER III<br> <span class='large'>THE NEW ACQUAINTANCE</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“I have succeeded in becoming acquainted with the
lady in black,” remarked Elinor Wylie, a few days
subsequent to the date of the beginning of this story,
as, with her husband, she came slowly up from the
dining-room and entered their private apartment.
“Did I tell you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I think not. Do you find her as interesting
as fancy painted her?” drawled Mr. Wylie languidly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, more so. At least, I find her very refined
and cultured. She has surely been in better circumstances.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, the pity of it, in this world of ours!” replied
Mr. Wylie, throwing himself into a luxurious armchair
and shaking his head expressively. “It is the
story common to the lives of too many Americans.
One day we’re dining at Delmonico’s, the next, starving
in a hovel. Ah, seductive, evanescent, elusive
Fortune, why do we trifle with you? To me the
pathos of life is epitomized in the words, ‘She has
seen better days.’”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have engaged her to sew for me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed!” Mr. Wylie’s eyebrows were elevated
quizzingly. “What has become of Madame Somers?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I found out by asking Mrs. Wallace,” continued
Mrs. Wylie, following her own train of thought, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>ignoring his question, “that the block on Herald
Street had an establishment for making and selling
ready-made clothing, so that I felt sure she did sewing,
and I followed her home one day and saw her
enter a stairway leading up over Mrs. Dray’s hairdressing
rooms. I accordingly asked Mrs. Dray if
she could tell me where I might find a woman to do
plain sewing or embroidery, and she spoke at once of
a worthy woman in the block who wanted to get
work, and directed me to her rooms. She is on the
third floor, in wretched little quarters, but she has
pretty things about her. She met me kindly, and
when I made known my business, seemed glad to get
work. I’m thankful that I went, for, if you will believe
me, Horace, she had been making buttonholes
for Darkson at a quarter of a cent apiece, supporting
herself and child upon that.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Such things are painful to hear of,” said Mr.
Wylie, shaking his head again. “I trust you will pay
her better.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Of course. And, Horace, she has been making
cotton blouses and overalls for workmen for eighty-five
cents a dozen. Think of it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose you learned her name and history?” he
interrogated.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes—no—” hesitated Mrs. Wylie. “I learned her
name was, or at least she told me to call her Mrs.
Lucien, and the child’s name is Dolores. Odd, isn’t
it? She nicknames her Dolly. Such a sweet little
creature, too. I wonder if that is Mrs. Lucien’s
real name?” she continued musingly as she toyed
with a tassel of the upholstering.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>Mr. Wylie sank into the depths of his chair and
studied the opposite wall intently for several moments.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wish,” he said, “I could think of whom it is
she reminds me. I believe if I could see her gowned
in white silk and diamonds I should remember.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What an idea,” laughed his wife. “I should like
to see her so dressed, I confess. She should have
more color in that pale face and less sadness in those
dark eyes, then she would shine in such a brilliant
setting. Yes, I am sure she has a history.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Which you did not learn?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Which I did not learn.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Again Mr. Wylie sat wrapped in thought, stroking
his massive chin softly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you remember, Nell, all who composed our
party two years ago in the Adirondacks? Or was it
<em>three</em> years?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“More nearly four, I think. Why, there was
Judge Matthews and wife; the Misses Eldridge—just
think, Fannie is married; Mrs. Harmon and her
brother; Tiny Lewis, Dr. Bessemer, and Cousin
Harry and Lottie,—and—no—let me see! That was
all that there were at Paul Smith’s, I believe, except
the time that we went to Au Sable Chasm we met
Major—oh—what was his name, that Major Somebody
and his wife, that Cousin Harry was so taken
with at the fancy ball? Don’t you remember her,
Horace? They went to Childwold with us, too.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie started.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I remember! He went West. He did have
<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>a lovely wife. I wonder if she is the one I am reminded
of.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And then there were the Pemberton girls who
went to Saranac with us, and old Professor Sawyer
with his bugs and beetles, hunting specimens. What
a perfectly lovely time we had that summer.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” dreamily. “We’d better be planning a trip
for next season. This fad of staying in the city because
it’s cooler won’t last, I fancy. I’ve been thinking
of Ocean Beach,” tentatively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And I of Bar Harbor; but it doesn’t matter.
We’ve been most everywhere,” Mrs. Wylie said with
a little sigh. “I don’t know but what I have enjoyed
Forest City as much as I should any other
place. It has been delightfully cool here on the
lake.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, but I suspect that my little Nell has a
hankering for the moon, just the same. I reckon
we’d better go to the seashore for a little while next
month, just to break the monotony of life. And if
you go, you’ll want to take Tibby with you, I suppose.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly. She’s a perfect treasure. I
couldn’t get along without her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I see you are becoming much attached to her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed I am. I never had a maid before so deft
and pleasing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’m afraid she’s too pretty for her position.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no; not <em>too</em> pretty. Children like a pretty
companion. Robbie never obeyed Mrs. Harbeck as
he does Tibby. But she has remarkable eyes. For
some reason she has taken a great dislike to that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>young man with the eye-glasses, on the third floor.
It’s amusing to see the look with which she regards
him. Yesterday Tibby was waiting at the head of
the stairs for Robbie and that man came along and
stared at her rather insolently through his glasses.
You should have seen Tibby. Her eyes began to
dilate like those of a tigress at bay, and she returned
his stare. The fellow started down, but for some
reason stumbled and made a very ungraceful descent
to the bottom of the staircase. It really seemed as
if Tibby made him fall. You can imagine her delight
at his mishap.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is the way of womankind,” said Mr. Wylie,
smiling. “They laugh at our downfalls, unless
we drag them down with us, which we’re apt to do.
Tibby is no exception; but seriously, do not pet her
too much, or she may forget what is due to her position
in life. She must not appear impertinent.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’m sure she behaves well. Tibby is not ill-bred.
Her parents were quite superior people, if they did
live on a farm. Tibby boasts that her mother was
a Devereaux, grand-niece to an earl,” said Mrs. Wylie,
laughing.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The little minx! She has pride enough, no doubt,
and who cannot boast of ancestors in America! She
certainly is a bright girl, and has a remarkably pretty
face. She cannot fail to attract attention, especially
as you treat her like a younger sister, rather than like
a servant. It is really unfortunate for her that she is
so unlike the ordinary maid.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have thought of all this, Horace, and I mean
to make more of her than simply a servant. In time
<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>she will grow to be my trusted friend and companion,
I am sure. Why may she not? She is well-born;
better than many in our best society.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You dear little philanthropic soul, you’d better
adopt her at once. But don’t pick up too many pretty
girls to waste sympathy upon or <em>I</em> shall be neglected,
I fear. Besides, I have often noticed how illy such
kindness is repaid. You might have cause to regret
it.” Mr. Wylie picked up the evening paper and was
soon absorbed in its columns.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER IV<br> <span class='large'>THROUGH CLAIRVOYANT VISION</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>And now, as the exhibitor of a panorama might
say, it becomes necessary to introduce our readers
or audience to new scenes and stranger people. But
these strangers being near and dear to the heart of
the writer, if not yet to the reader, become in their
lives so intermingled and interwoven in the lives and
histories of the persons first introduced that we can
no longer allow them to remain behind the scenes.</p>
<p class='c005'>We must also go back in time several years to a
period when the prairies of the West were in some
portions less thickly populated than at present, and
the mushroom growth of the towns was still a marvel
to the slower growing East. To a time, also, when
the so-called modern spiritualism was of a newer
growth and when esoteric philosophy, occultism,
and the many other <em>isms</em> dealing with the life beyond
the grave were less talked of.</p>
<p class='c005'>The place, a small town in western Iowa, and a
country farm-house, nestles down in one of the
horse-shoe coves formed by the bluffs above the
eastern border of the Missouri River.</p>
<p class='c005'>There are no neighboring dwellings in sight,
though but a few rods away are other houses situated
also in coves in the bluffs, forming quite a large community,
living near but out of sight of each other.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>Large herds of horses and cattle are seen grazing
upon the unfenced pasture land, and a small schoolhouse
standing out like a beacon from a ridge of
highland is the only building visible, except the barns
and corn-cribs belonging to the farms.</p>
<p class='c005'>The house itself is low and long, with several additions
or lean-tos, but has an air of comfort and hospitality,
looking out as it does upon the many acres
of rolling plateau, where far away is seen the dark
line of the country road winding about the base of
the bluffs or climbing steeply up the sides of them.
A long lane branches from the main road and leads
up to the house, and affords a view of any coming
visitor for some distance away, and lines of cowpaths
thread the steep hills at the back of the dwelling.</p>
<p class='c005'>Thus sequestered and hill-environed lived Squire
Bartram with his wife and two sons, enjoying the
peace and plenty of the average well-to-do farmer,
with none of the business care and excitements which
a life in town might bring.</p>
<p class='c005'>Squire Bartram was one of those who had the
good fortune to have been born in that most coveted
birth-place, Massachusetts, and perhaps, better than
all, he first opened his eyes upon the renowned and
beautiful Berkshire Hills. In early childhood he
had been taught the religion and creed of those Puritan
fathers who founded the first homes there, and
had been brought up to a most strict observance of all
moral and evangelical law. His life had been frugally
and honestly spent upon a farm up to the time
when, listening to the preaching of the early apostles
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>of Mormonism, he felt himself called to a priesthood
among the Saints.</p>
<p class='c005'>Later, when he had endured martyrdom and privations
for the sake of this belief, he found himself
face to face with the till-then concealed doctrine of
plural marriage. From this his Puritan instincts revolted
and he quitted the church with many others
who located near Council Bluffs. But, cast out from
a church he had loved, his faith shattered, his illusions
destroyed, he was ready to turn to any creed
or <em>ism</em> which came his way.</p>
<p class='c005'>As he learned more of the newly taught creed of
modern spiritism, he began to give it credence, the
more so as he believed he could understand, from
such a standpoint, the life of the prophet Joseph
Smith. Was not Smith a spirit-medium and were
not the trances and visions which he claimed to have
had similar or identical with those mediumistic exhibitions
which he now witnessed? Might not the prophet
himself have been deceived and the revelation
which he supposed to have come from God been but
the communication of a false and dangerous spirit?
In this way, only, could he find an apology for the
prophet, whom he had loved and believed in as little
less than a god.</p>
<p class='c005'>Squire Bartram’s sons had grown up stalwart,
brainy lads, ambitious and capable. Nathan, the elder,
who had lately brought to his father’s home a
bright little sixteen-year-old wife, with black eyes,
shining ringlets and bird-like movements, had prepared
a home on the Nebraskan prairies, to which
he was soon to take his bride. He had preempted a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>homestead, bought another one hundred and sixty
acres, and thus secured a nice farm on the plain some
distance north of the Platte River. He had, after the
manner of the pioneers of the country, built himself
an adobe house, and was now ready to begin life in
earnest.</p>
<p class='c005'>His wife, Lissa, whose sister lived in that locality,
was possessed of the delighted eagerness of a child
to see and occupy the new home and was almost impatient
of the delay which Nathan insisted upon,
namely, the visit of a few weeks at his father’s house.</p>
<p class='c011'>The sun had already been hidden from view by the
huge bluff behind the house, though it was still
broad daylight at the homestead, and good Mrs. Bartram
had dallied in her supper work to talk with
Nathan’s wife, when the Squire put his head in at
the door to announce that Professor Russell, the
noted seer, medium, and clairvoyant, would honor
them with a visit and give them proof of his supernatural
powers.</p>
<p class='c005'>“For the land’s sake,” exclaimed Mrs. Bartram,
“why didn’t you tell us before! Here I hain’t got
my work done up yet. How long before he’ll be
here, I wonder?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, not for a half hour or so; he stopped down
to Job Atkins to help find them that colt that was
lost,” replied the Squire.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And how can he help them, unless he’s the one
that took it? Them that hides can find, I take it,”
continued the good lady, with a sniff. “I haven’t
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>much use for these folks that knows <em>too</em> much and
whose ways are dark.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Wait until after you see the Professor, before
you judge,” said the Squire.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And so we are to be entertained to-night by one
who is in league with the powers of darkness,” said
Donald, a young man of eighteen years, as he entered
the family room and seated himself by the side of his
new sister-in-law. “Lissa, don’t you tremble at the
thought of the evil wraiths that are to fill this room?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I fear more the evil spirit that shall animate your
Professor, Donald,” replied Melissa, who in her
Eastern home had imbibed a deep prejudice against
the so-called spiritualists.</p>
<p class='c005'>“His spirit? Mne, let me see. I believe a big Injun,
Stuck-in-the-mud, or some such high-sounding
name, is his especial <em>Control</em>; but he is not confined
to one familiar. His demons are many.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How absurd,” laughed Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You won’t say so after to-night. I’ll wager the
best pony on the ranch you’ll be a firm convert before
the evening is over. Maybe I’ll add a side-saddle,
too. Eh, Lissa?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’m afraid I can’t gratify you by accepting any
such foolishness as that, even for the sake of the saddle,
or permit you to wager upon a certainty of
losing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did I ever tell you how the Professor found his
wife?” Donald asked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, but I suppose you’ll tell me through some
celestial matrimonial agency,” she replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Sure! His wife was a strongly developed medium
<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>living in London, England. One day, while in
a trance, the Professor, here in the United States,
was made cognizant of the existence of this lady by
spirit agency, and instructed to write to her, which
he did. It seems she had received a communication
concerning him at about the same time and in the
same manner, with the same instructions, which she
also followed. The two letters reached their destinations
simultaneously, and each person, with the
other’s letter in hand, could summon the writer’s materialized
spirit before him. In this way they communicated
with each other at will, and finally the
lady embarked for this country at his request. He
was kept daily informed as to her whereabouts, and
when she arrived at New York he was there to meet
her, and they were married speedily, only one letter
from each having passed between them, and yet each
was well acquainted with the past history of the
other.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Impossible! You must be very credulous, Donald,
to believe such a story as that.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Quite convenient, wasn’t it? If the black powers
would deal as kindly with me I should not long remain
a bachelor. This knowing to a certainty all
about the lady of one’s choice would remove the fear
of flying into the dangers we know not of. One
could be certain then if she did up her hair on curl-papers.”
And Donald glanced significantly at Lissa’s
shining ringlets.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Surely, you don’t pretend to believe such a preposterous
story, Donald,” she said, laughing.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We have the Professor and his wife to testify to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>it, neither one ever known to l—prevaricate; and in
the mouths of two witnesses the truth shall be affirmed,”
misquoted Donald. “At any rate one story
is good until another is told.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They must be a pair of charlatans, and I don’t
think I care to make their acquaintance.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suspect you begin to fear them. There is no
telling what they may discover,” Donald said with
mock gravity. “But here comes the redoubtable
hero himself. All hail, ye Prince of Darkness, hail!”
he continued in a sepulchral voice, as a step was
heard outside the door.</p>
<p class='c005'>A moment later the Professor entered the apartment.
Melissa had time, while he greeted the head
of the family, to note that he was a medium-sized,
wiry-looking man, of about forty, with very long
red hair hanging to his shoulders, and bristling
whiskers of the same color. His lower jaw was
prominent and his ears were flattened very close to
his head. But his most remarkable feature was a
pair of keen gray eyes, which gleamed restlessly
from under rather overhanging brows.</p>
<p class='c005'>When presented to Lissa he fixed his eyes upon
her in a way that caused her to suppress a shudder,
and regarded her steadily for a moment, then, still
holding her by the hand, which she would gladly
have withdrawn, he said:</p>
<p class='c005'>“You look like your mother, Mrs. Bartram, except
that she has blue eyes. She has a scar on her
left wrist, made in a peculiar manner.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa blushed painfully, and followed his eyes to
her own wrist as she drew away her hand. She
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>knew the history of the scar alluded to, though she
believed it unknown to any one outside her own immediate
family. She felt the inquiring eyes of her
husband’s relatives upon her, and sat down ill at ease.</p>
<p class='c005'>Presently the company were seated about a table in
the center of the room, and the clairvoyant announced
himself in readiness to afford proof of his
wonderful powers.</p>
<p class='c005'>Accordingly, two or three lines cut from a letter
from a sister of the bride were placed in his hand, so
rolled that no words written there could give any
clue to the writer.</p>
<p class='c005'>Professor Russell gazed passively at the rolled
scrap for a time, then the muscles of his face began
to twitch slightly, his eyes became vacant and partly
closed; there was a convulsive movement of his
shoulders, a long-drawn sigh, and he began to speak.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I can see a wilder scene than this, a country as far
as the eye can reach, a vast table-land, dotted here
and there with adobe houses and their contiguous cotton-wood
groves of one or two years’ growth. One
of these houses stands facing south, and in the doorway
I can see a woman. She is looking anxiously
westward, shading her face with her hand. She has
on a dress of some dark material, partly covered with
a kitchen apron. She has dark hair and—ah, now
she has removed her hand; she looks like a lady in
this room, except that she is taller, and her hair, a
shade lighter, is worn in braids instead of curls.
Her gray eyes have an anxious look in them. A
number of ponies are corralled near the house.
What is she looking at?”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>The Professor spoke slowly, as if studying the
scene of his clairvoyant vision. Nathan and Lissa
exchanged glances, while Donald rolled up his eyes
with a concealed affectation of awe. Squire Bartram
appeared interested, and glanced toward Lissa
inquiringly, while his wife, good soul, gazed sternly
and forbiddingly at the Professor as though she believed
him in league with his Satanic majesty, and
the ghosts of her Puritan forefathers were warning
her against him.</p>
<p class='c005'>Meanwhile the face of the man was working
strangely.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The house has disappeared from my vision,” he
cried, “and I can see a still wilder country, through
which runs a placid, shining river. A large party of
Indians are cantering across the prairie, mounted on
round, sleek-looking mustangs. With them is a
white man, young and handsome, with light, flowing
hair, and fearless blue eyes. He is dressed in hunting
costume, with wide-brimmed hat, and he rides a
white pony with an army saddle and large stirrups.
There is a coil of rope at his saddle bow and a couple
of pistols and a hatchet in his belt. He carries also
a rifle.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The ground over which they are traveling is torn
and trampled as if an army had lately traversed it,
and—ah, yes, I see, away in the west, a herd of buffalo
looking like a great black cloud against the sky,
and showing distinctly against the red of the setting
sun behind it. But, look, they have turned their
course toward the south and are running their horses
at full speed! They turn in their saddles and look
<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>northward. I see! There is another party coming
from that direction.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The Professor looked fixedly a moment and continued:</p>
<p class='c005'>“They are Indians, also; a larger band, and hideously
painted. The others are spurring their horses
toward the river to escape this hostile band, who
have seen them, and like the wind are rushing down
upon them. Their horses are more fleet, they are
gaining upon them—they lift their rifles and shoot!
Good! Their shots do not reach them. The white
man rises in his stirrups and returns the fire. The
Indians of his party follow his example. Their rifles
have longer range and their shots tell. Several saddles
of the pursuing party are empty.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The man spoke eagerly now. His restless gray
eyes kindled, and his face glowed with animation.
His story had produced a like effect upon his listeners,
all of whom showed more or less excitement.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa was pale, her large, dark eyes fixed intently
upon the speaker, while her small hands gripped each
other tightly in her lap. Squire Bartram peered over
his spectacles and rubbed one palm upon the other, a
habit he had when deeply moved. Donald looked
from one to another quizzingly, but said nothing.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The fleeing party have reached the river and
taken refuge behind the protecting bank—yes, their
shots speak now. One, two, three of the painted
devils reel from their ponies. More fall! Half of
them are down! On come the rest, swinging their
hatchets! They are at the bank! They fight hand to hand
with their tomahawks. Great Scott! There
<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>he is struck, he is down!—the white man is hurt!—he
topples over and falls backward down the bank!—he
sinks into the river and disappears!”</p>
<p class='c005'>A shriek from Lissa interrupted the further description
of the scene. Nathan sprang to her side,
and in the confusion that followed the Professor
seemed to lose sight of his vision, nor could he be
persuaded to again enter the clairvoyant state.</p>
<p class='c005'>Poor Lissa was greatly excited. The man had so
accurately described her brother-in-law, then living
in Nebraska, and knowing as she did that he was in
command of a party of Pawnee scouts she could not
free herself from the idea that the scene depicted
was a true one, notwithstanding her former scepticism.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER V<br> <span class='large'>THE LETTER</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“What would you give me for a letter from Nebraska,”
said Donald a few days after the Professor’s
visit, as he flung himself from his horse and sat down
on the steps of the veranda where Lissa sat, with her
lap full of flowers which she had been gathering.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Donald, give it to me quick! I can’t wait a
minute,” she cried, espying the gleam of white sticking
from the pocket of his coat.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But tell me first, before you read it, whether you
have any faith in Professor Russell’s vision,” he said,
teasing.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, no; I don’t know. I can tell better after I
have read Alice’s letter.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Of course, but that will not demonstrate your
faith. However, I’ll be good and let you have it.”
And Donald placed the coveted missive in her hand.</p>
<p class='c005'>With the remembrance of the vision before her,
Lissa’s fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope.
The letter would confirm or refute the truth of
the Professor’s clairvoyance. And although she
would not admit for a moment even to herself that
she believed in any <em>spirit</em> agency, she understood so
little of clairvoyancy as to believe it connected with
supernatural phenomena.</p>
<p class='c005'>As she read the letter, her expressive eyes dilated
with wonder and awe.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>“What is it?” asked Nathan, noticing her agitation.</p>
<p class='c005'>She placed the written pages in his hand.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Read that, Nathan, and tell me what to think,
what to believe. Read it aloud that all may hear and
judge.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan took the letter and read as follows:</p>
<div class='lg-container-r c003'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“‘Cramer Cabin, Prairieland,</div>
<div class='line'>“‘August 28, 18—.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-l'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“‘My Darling Little Sister:</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c005'>“‘Don’t you wish you were here with me this summer
evening? Outside, the white stillness of the
great prairie woos one to meditation and letter writing.
Now you will expect something poetical and
fine, will you not? Well, the inspiration is here, but
alas, I am one of those “Who cannot sing, but die
with all their music in them.” My muse deserted
me in my infancy. Besides I have been having unexpected
duties.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Mark is at home laid up with a couple of
wounds, not serious ones, I am happy to say, but
such as to give me an opportunity to coddle and pet
him for a time. I am not sure I am <em>sorry</em> he received
them, but don’t whisper this to him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘How did he get them, did you ask? Well, he
was away on a hunting expedition with a band of his
Pawnees, when they were surprised by some Sioux.
Mark got a flesh wound in his shoulder from a tomahawk
blow, and a bullet grazed him in the left side.
Close call, wasn’t it? The skirmish was on the bank
of the Niobrara, where Mark’s party had fled for
shelter, and he managed to get under water until a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>clump of hazel-brush enabled him to climb out and
hide. He was too exhausted from the loss of blood
to fight any longer. However, his men drove off the
Sioux and found him and brought him home. Mark
says I have represented him in a cowardly position.
I hope not. He was in a dead faint when the men
found him. Anyway, I don’t see any bravery in
standing up to have your scalp taken off by a savage,
do you? But men are so very sensitive upon those
points.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘I can hardly wait for your arrival. Mark says
I act like a crazy woman whenever I speak of it.
O Lissa, Lissa, Lissa! We’re out of the world
here, but I am sure you will enjoy it. I hug myself
with delight whenever I think of seeing you so
soon.’”</p>
<p class='c011'>Nathan paused in his reading.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is wonderful,” he said. “Professor Russell
must have seen the entire skirmish.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” responded Lissa, “unless he may have
heard of it in some way. Alice does not say upon
what day Mark was hurt.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, you are yet a doubting Thomas,” Nathan
said, smiling fondly upon the winsome upturned face
of his girl-wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, only looking for a peg to hang a doubt upon.
Nathan, I am very anxious to get to our new home.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear, we shall be there in a fortnight. I must
wait until the wagon is finished, you know. I hope,
little one, you will not be disappointed when you see
what a <em>poor</em> home it is,” he continued, shaking his
head doubtfully.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>“I shall not be. Read the rest of Alice’s letter.”</p>
<p class='c011'>Nathan continued his reading:</p>
<p class='c011'>“‘Just think, sister, of having no social barriers
or stiff conventionalities to hamper one. No fussing
to prepare elaborate toilets, no two-minute fashionable
calls to make, no questioning as to what one
shall wear. I am happy and well-dressed for any
occasion in my pink gingham. It is a pretty gingham,
and made up prettily, I assure you, as I made it
myself. Then, we are all so well acquainted with
one another, and call each other by the first names,
and run about to each other’s houses whenever we
please and stay as long as we please, and talk about
our chickens and ponies, and—and—O Lissa, dear,
you cannot realize what a free, wild life this is. And
the air is so pure and invigorating.’”</p>
<p class='c011'>“And there’s plenty of it,” interpolated Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, too much, sometimes,” said Nathan.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Now don’t, Nate! Don’t say a word to discourage
me. If I were going to Kansas I should be
afraid of cyclones, but I am sure we shall have none
in Nebraska.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And if we should, you know we have the <em>dug-out</em>,”
Nathan replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’d really advise you, Lissa, to arrange to sleep
all the time in the <em>dug-out</em>. It would be so uncomfortable
to wake up some morning and find yourself
occupying some one else’s farm or tree-top,” said
Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa smiled indulgently, but made no reply, and
Nathan continued reading the letter.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER VI<br> <span class='large'>AN OLD-FASHIONED JOURNEY</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“Put on your big sun hat and dust wrap,” Nathan
had said, “we are to drive through a wild region
much of the way and shall have plenty of dust
and sun, besides you need have little fear of meeting
acquaintances on our long path over the prairie.”</p>
<p class='c005'>And Lissa had packed in big trunks, that were to
be sent ahead of them by express, all the pretty
dresses and hats which were so becoming to her, and
reserved only the most serviceable costume for that
season of the year. This she covered with an ample
linen wrap, and tied a leghorn flat over her shining
curls.</p>
<p class='c005'>They were to go in a wagon, and, contrary to the
usual emigrant fashion, an uncovered one. Nathan
wanted a light spring-wagon to use upon his farm,
and Lissa insisted that she could see the country and
enjoy the ride after the fleet little mustangs better in
that particular wagon than in any other possible conveyance.</p>
<p class='c005'>They started upon a beautiful September morning,
one of those days which seem to blend the perfection
of summer loveliness with the delightful, hazy charm
of early autumn.</p>
<p class='c005'>“All you need now is a brass band and a banner,”
Donald said, as Nathan drove up to the door with
the scrubby little ponies attached to the brightly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>painted wagon, “and you could take a bridal tour in
first-class style.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And, Lissa, if you should meet any Indians by
the way be sure you shake hands with them, and say
‘How,’ which is the Indian for ‘How d’you do.’ It
means, you know, that you are ready for decapitation
if it so pleases them and only question their <em>manner</em>
of procedure. They might be offended if you omitted
this little ceremony, and become unpleasant; and,
Lissa, if any of them shall ask you for a lock of your
hair don’t hesitate to cut off a curl and give it to them
with the sweetest smile you can muster, for they
might take a notion to take the whole of them just
to hang in their belts for ornaments, and—But I
don’t mean to frighten you, ’pon my soul I don’t!”
he continued, noting the suspicion of tears in Lissa’s
bright eyes and the tremor in her voice as she turned
to bid good-by to Squire Bartram and the irrepressible,
fun-loving brother whom she had taken into
her affection.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The wild home to which you are going will have
one star of the first magnitude to brighten it before
many days, but I reckon it will be rather dark in this
quarter of the heavens to-night,” he said, looking
graver than she had ever before seen him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Don, how can that be, when <em>you</em> are to remain?”
Lissa replied, smiling through her tears.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am a planet and only shine by reflected light,”
he replied; “not that I shall cast any reflection upon
what has gone before,” he added in his old manner.
“But don’t be surprised if you should see a stray
comet out on the prairies before many moons-there’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>no telling when one may be liable to strike
you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The sooner the better,” she responded brightly,
and with a few more words of final adieu they drove
away.</p>
<p class='c005'>They had several miles of drive to the ferry which
should transport them across the Missouri River, or
the “Big Muddy” as the Indians named its roily
waters.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It well deserves its name,” observed Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” responded Nathan, “and this river keeps its
color and current separate unto itself for many miles
after emptying into the clear Mississippi.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should say the Mississippi refused to be polluted
by it and tried to quarantine against it,” Lissa
returned.</p>
<p class='c005'>They noted the pretty villages along the shore,
which had looked so near to them from the bluffs,
before they crossed to the Nebraska side and found
themselves in the flourishing city of Omaha. There
was little to distinguish it from other cities in the
East, except the regularity of its streets and the
newer style of architecture which uniformly met
their gaze. An hour later they were out upon the
broad, balsam-scented prairie.</p>
<p class='c005'>The wind-swept grasses nodded to them invitingly
and the unrebuked sun shone down smilingly upon
the unmarred handiwork of Nature.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa was enraptured. This was the unfettered
life of which she had dreamed. Her buoyant spirit
was exhilarated by the fresh, flower-scented air and
the glory of the landscape.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>“O Nathan, I shall never want to go East again!”
she cried as they approached the Platte River and
viewed the magnificent stretch of land for several
miles up the valley, so level, so perfect, with the shining
thread of the river like a prescient nerve carrying
health and vigor to the adjacent territory. And far
at the north and south the soft gray hills arose, joining
the clear blue of the sky above as if earth, enamoured
with the beauty of heaven, had arisen to meet
the sky’s embrace.</p>
<p class='c005'>They had been riding many hours, when Nathan
said: “Look yonder, Lissa, in our way. If I am
not greatly mistaken, your desire to see a wild Indian
is about to be gratified.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa beamed with excitement. A wild Indian!
Should she be afraid?</p>
<p class='c005'>“How can you tell at such a distance? I can see
nothing but a dark object, and cannot determine if it
be man or beast,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You have not trained your eye to long distances.
I can see that it is a pony and that it has a rider, and
the swift, steady gallop, together with the position of
the rider, suggests an Indian; besides, we are in a locality
where we are more likely to meet the ‘noble
redman’ coming alone upon the prairie than his
white brother.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa watched the approach of the stranger with a
shade of uneasiness. The thought of meeting a savage
aboriginal, who to her mind was connected with
all sorts of deeds of fiendish cruelty, caused a fluttering
of the heart which Nathan’s assurances could not
wholly allay.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>“How,” was Nathan’s salutation to the man as he
drew near; and “how” was the guttural response of
the Indian as he came to an abrupt halt by the side
of the wagon, sitting in statuesque uprightness upon
his pony. Not a muscle of his face moved. His
countenance was as stolid and blank as if cut in stone,
and during the time Nathan conversed with him in
the Pawnee dialect he neither smiled nor expressed
any feeling or thought in his face.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa studied this native specimen with much interest
while Nathan detained him. He was clad in
gala costume and was going down to attend an Indian
festival at Omaha, he said. His head was
bound with a woolen scarf of red and black, knotted
behind with falling ends. Beneath this his long,
straight, black hair fell to his shoulders. Several
long feathers were stuck in this zone, and a plaited
lock of hair hung over it from the crown of his head.
His brown face was smeared with little lines of red
paint, seemingly ingrained in his skin, and his ears
had long slits in them, which were literally filled with
ear-rings of different kinds, sticking out in bunchy
confusion. A large red blanket covered his shoulders
and one arm. The other was free and cinctured
with numerous bracelets, while his hand grasped the
rope which bound the lower jaw of his pony. He
wore deer-skin leggins, fringed and ornamented profusely,
and beaded moccasins.</p>
<p class='c005'>Around his neck were strings of wampum and
other beads, and he carried the primitive bow and
arrows.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am glad you saw him,” said Nathan, “for it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>may be a long time before you will have opportunity
of seeing another Indian so magnificently dressed.
Their every-day costume is much less elaborate. Besides,
this fellow is rich. Those wampum beads
around his neck are money and current coin with
them. You noticed it was a long string, wound several
times about his neck. He also had on wampum
bracelets. That braided necklace, made of what
looked like dried grass, is a charm, and a valuable
possession. It is made from a rare grass or weed
which is found only a spear in a place, and is very
fragrant. He carried the bow and arrows, instead
of gun, to take part in the festival.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did you ever see him before?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, yes. His name is We-wan-shee. He is one
of Mark’s scouts. He tells me they have been having
trouble with the Indians stealing from the post.
Squint-eye and Handle-the-bow have been thieving,
and the chief has given them up to the Government
for punishment.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What did they steal,” asked Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Horses. They make little account of anything
else. They have not been many years subject to the
United States Government, and are quite primitive
in their habits and manners, you will find. I’ll take
you down to the reservation as soon as we are settled.
You will enjoy them immensely.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose there is no danger in going among
them,” she ventured.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no,” and Nathan laughed. “I believe you
are trembling now. You are not afraid of that one
Indian, I hope.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>“Yes,” Lissa said meekly, “I believe I was. It is
lonely on this immense prairie, with no sign of habitation
anywhere, and—he looked ferocious.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Again Nathan laughed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You’ll get used to them when you have them for
neighbors.”</p>
<p class='c005'>In the middle of the afternoon they stopped upon
the banks of the river and baited their horses, and
rested while partaking of their luncheon which they
had brought with them. They had passed through
many small towns on their way, towns of mushroom
growth, and at one of them they had bought their
dinner.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We are upon the old overland route,” Nathan
said. “Over this road many emigrants have toiled
along, suffering and dying, many of them at the
hands of the Indians. Do you see that ridge of
earth which seems to have been artificially thrown up
there? That was undoubtedly a sort of breastwork
hastily made by a party of emigrants who were assaulted
at this place.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa shuddered. “Can it be possible I am really
in this wild land of which I have read. I wonder if
any were killed here, and if the ground has been
soaked with their blood. How strange it all seems!
I can imagine so much since seeing that Indian. He
does not look much like those I have seen at Niagara,
selling bead-work.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not much; and you will receive another impression
should you ever see a band out on a war expedition
against a hostile band, fully decorated with warpaint
<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>and feathers. They really look formidable
then.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa shivered again.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We have made good time to-day. How far do
you think we have driven?” Nathan asked as, toward
evening, they approached the suburbs of a
small town.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure I have no idea. The ponies have trotted
steadily all day. These mustangs are good travelers,
if they are small.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They have endurance. I have been out on a hunt
with the Indians when we have kept in the saddle for
a hundred miles at a time, the ponies loping or running
most of the way.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But how could you stand it to ride so far?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, I can sleep in the saddle if necessary. One
never knows what he can do until he is put to the
test. But I think we have come about forty-five
miles to-day. Yonder is the town. They are just
lighting it. How pleasant it looks, doesn’t it, this
evidence of life after so many miles of uninhabited
wilds.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The ride has been perfectly delightful,” said
Lissa. “I never better enjoyed a day in my life.”</p>
<p class='c005'>They drew rein at a freshly painted building, bearing
a sign “Badger House.” The landlady was evidently
a Yankee, for she began a series of questions
to Lissa. Where did they hail from? Where were
they going? Had she ever been West before?</p>
<p class='c005'>To Lissa’s responses she vouchsafed a consolatory
remark: “Well, I’m kind of sorry for you. There
is nothin’ but work out here. Ye don’t look as if
<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>ye’d seen much hardships. Ye’ll git awful homesick,
I reckon. What with the poor crops and the hot
winds, and the grasshoppers, there ain’t much to look
for’d to.” After which she left the room to see to
their supper.</p>
<p class='c005'>The next morning they started early, that they
might get well on their way before the intense heat
of mid-day. They had been traveling for some time,
when Lissa suddenly started and grasped Nathan’s
arm.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Stop, stop!” she cried; “I’ve been here before.
I know just what is before us! Ah, how can it be—and
yet, yet, I’ve seen it all before. Just beyond that
large tree the ground descends to a river. There is
a marshy strip of ground at the left, and a log lying
diagonally, thus.” Lissa indicated the position by
crossing her hands. She was excited and eager.
“What does it all mean? Am I, too, clairvoyant?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We will see,” he said, chirruping to his horses.
They soon came to the height overlooking the river
flats. Before them lay the scene Lissa had described.
The tears started in her eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Nathan, have I ever lived in another form
than this? I certainly could never have been here
before. I cannot understand it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not unless you have been here in a dream.” At
the word, Lissa started.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I know now. I remember! It is a dream!
It is written down in my journal. I wrote it when
I first began to keep a journal, many years ago. The
dream made such an impression upon me, I wrote it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>down, and a description of the scene. I have frequently
read it over since.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What happened here, do you remember?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I could not remember at the time, but I
awoke with great fright, trying to cry out, with the
feeling that I had been passing through some terrible
experience, with this scene clearly imprinted upon
my consciousness.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is a very strange coincidence, Lissa, but this is
the place where a white man was flayed alive a number
of years ago by the Indians.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I remember reading of it, and how horrible
it was.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The man brought the punishment upon himself.
He wantonly shot an Indian woman. It was a terrible
method of torture, however. He was flayed before
the eyes of his friends, and afterwards burned, I
am told.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, dreadful, dreadful!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The remainder of the party were allowed to go,
I believe, after being made to witness his suffering
and death. I used to know the man when I lived in
Illinois,” Nathan added. “Remember, it is not so
many years ago. We are to go among the same tribe
of Indians. Probably those who committed the outrage
are still living.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t let us speak of it. It horrifies me. I will
look up the date of my dream in my journal, when
we get home, and see if it corresponds with the date
of the tragedy. If it should prove to be the same, I
should believe that I saw the crime in my sleep.
Ugh!”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>“We will stop to rest under this tree,” said Nathan.
“This is the first large tree we have seen for
some distance.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Later in the day they halted at a ranch, and bought
some delicious water-melons of a smiling and inquisitive
Dutch farmer, who grew them. After mid-day
they stopped by the side of a lovely, quiet river, and
enjoyed their luncheon, taken in this primitive fashion.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wonder if I was ever so hungry before,” said
Lissa. “These peaches are delicious, and surely
melons were never so sweet and appetizing. The biscuits
are ambrosia and this lemonade is nectar. It
was a good idea to bring this ice, for the river water
must be very warm to drink.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The lunch ended, Lissa went down to the water
and bathed her face and hands in its limpid depths.
Suddenly she found the skirt of her gown covered
with persistent burrs, which stuck to her fingers as
she tried to remove them, and pricked and irritated
her hands intolerably.</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan laughed heartily at her discomfiture.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, those are only sand-burrs, dear. I wonder
if you have never before made their acquaintance?
We have no patent upon them, and you may find
them in many parts of the country, East and West.
We don’t lay entire claim to them here.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should hope not,” said Lissa ruefully; “at least,
we might dispense with them, if they would permit
us to, which is doubtful.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa tried again to free herself from the noxious
<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>weed. With Nathan’s help she at last succeeded, and
they resumed their journey.</p>
<p class='c011'>The sun was painting the western horizon a glorious
crimson when they entered the last town on
their route.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Now, Lissa, we have twenty miles farther to
travel before reaching home. We have already come
over forty miles to-day. Shall we stop in this town
and wait until morning?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no, no, no, not for anything. Alice will be
looking for us and I am so anxious to see her and
our home. Do let us go on, or will it be too great
a drive for our horses?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They can endure it better than you, but I don’t
think Alice will expect you before to-morrow night.
People usually take four days to drive through.
However, if you wish we will not stop.”</p>
<p class='c005'>It was pleasant driving in the cool of the evening
and the ponies sped along rapidly, apparently little
wearied by the many miles behind. They had gone
but a part of the distance, however, when the sound
of a galloping horse over the soft turfed ground
struck upon the ear. Soon it was beside them and a
cheery voice saluted them.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hello, Nathan, is that you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, Mark, how d’you do?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan grasped the hand of the handsome, yellow-haired
fellow who came along beside the wagon.</p>
<p class='c005'>“This is our brother, Mark Cramer, Lissa.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And this is the little sister I have known so well,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>but never seen,” said Mark. “You are very welcome
to this western borderland, I assure you. Alice is
wild with happy anticipation of your coming.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa’s sister had come West and married the year
before, and this was Lissa’s first meeting with her
brother-in-law.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I heard in C—— that you were seen to drive
through, so I hurried on to catch you. My horse is
fleet, but I have run him all the way. You drive
fast.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think our desire to reach home has been communicated
to the horses. They have needed no urging,”
Nathan replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wish you would change places with me,” Lissa
said. “I am tired of riding in a wagon, and a horseback
ride would rest me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark hesitated. “My horse has never been ridden
by a woman, or in fact only once or twice by anybody,
and is but illy broken. I took him from a herd
of wild bronchos from the plains. They were
brought here a few days ago. I fear he isn’t altogether
safe; besides, the saddle—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Lissa is an expert horsewoman,” said Nathan, interrupting
him. “If he is not really vicious, I think
she can manage him. As to the saddle, she is used
to that kind. Turn the off stirrup to this side, and
it will be all right.”</p>
<p class='c005'>All being soon arranged for her, Lissa stepped
from the wagon to the horse’s back, and experienced
a delightful sensation of rest and exhilaration at the
idea of a canter in the dewy, evening air over this
wild, strange country. She started on ahead. Her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>horse sprang into a lope, increased his speed to a
run, and she was soon skimming over the road at a
pace unparalleled in her experience. She became
alarmed and sought to check him, but was unable to
do so. The spirited, half-wild thing had taken the
bit in his teeth, and heeded not her utmost strength
upon the bridle rein. She heard the wagon coming
behind her, and knew they were running their horses
at their highest speed to try to keep her in sight, but
the mustangs, jaded as they were, were no match for
the swift-winged Pegasus beneath her. On, and on,
and on he sped, faster, faster, and faster, until the
gentle breeze became a strong wind, taking her
breath. How long would she be able to hold out,
she wondered. At the rate they were going it would
not be long before they would reach home. Home—what
a meaning that word had for her. But suppose
the pony took a wrong road; this road was marked
only by the borders of high grass on both sides.
There might be branches leading no one knew where.</p>
<p class='c005'>She had passed beyond the sound of the wagon
now. On, on, on the swift creature flew, no pause,
no break in his mad flight. They must have covered
five miles at least, she determined. Her breath was
coming in frightened gasps, and her hands were
trembling. She felt that she could not keep her seat
much longer. Suddenly the horse stumbled slightly
and slackened his gait. Lissa nearly fell, but by a
desperate effort recovered herself. She was holding
tightly to the saddle horn. Again the horse stumbled—there
must be holes in the ground. Slump,
slump, slump. What was the matter? The broncho
<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>was going much slower now, and Lissa spoke soothingly
to him, and drew up on the rein. He submitted
to her, and subsided into an easy canter. At last,
as the soil seemed to frequently give way under his
feet, he came down to a walk and permitted her to
keep him slowly at that gait, until she heard the welcome
sound of the wagon behind her, when she
halted and waited until they came up.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What a fright you have given us!” cried Nathan,
a quiver of relief in his voice. “We feared you had
been carried off bodily to the plains or thrown down
by the way-side. Why did you ride so fast?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“For the reason that I was obliged to. Whirlwind—I
have named him—paid no more attention to my
commands for him to moderate his speed than if I
had been a gad-fly. He fairly flew with me until
he stumbled, back here. He seemed to lose courage
or confidence then, and went slower.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wonder you did not fall,” said Mark. “I was
afraid of prairie-dog town. These little fellows undermine
the ground until it is hardly safe to ride
over.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And we, then, have been over a prairie-dog settlement?”
questioned Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, there is a large one here extending a mile
on either side of the road. If you had come through
here in daylight you would have seen them coming
out of their little houses, and heard them bark.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think I did hear one. Have they a little piping
voice?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, very likely you did hear them. You will
<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>often pass here and have plenty of chance to study
them,” said Nathan.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do they do any harm?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, except to undermine the ground and make
it treacherous to travelers.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The remainder of their journey was uneventful,
and before midnight the two sisters were united, and
talking so animatedly that the night bid fair to be
sleepless.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, Alice,” Mark said at last, “Lissa must be
very tired and you are to have weeks and months together
now to tell everything to one another. You
don’t want to make her ill at the beginning.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I do not. But it does seem glorious to have
some one to talk to.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“As if we were not of any use in that line?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice made a pretty grimace.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are away so much. And then it—it is different.”</p>
<p class='c005'>But Alice kissed her sister, and left her to spend
the remainder of the balmy night in her new home.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER VII<br> <span class='large'>IN THE NEW HOME</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The next morning when Lissa awoke the sun was
shining brightly in through one of the small windows
of her adobe house and she had leisure to look about
her, and to survey this new, and to her, novel style
of architecture.</p>
<p class='c005'>The house was built of sod and mud, the roof being
formed of poles of cotton-wood covered with
sod, and brightly green with the upspringing grass.
The inside of the house was lined by a strong paper,
firmly stretched and fastened at the corners, and presented
a smooth and cleanly looking wall. Through
the windows Lissa could see the vast prairies level
gray, dotted with small houses, similar in construction
to this one to which her husband had brought
her.</p>
<p class='c005'>There were but two large rooms in the house, and
one bed-room. No second story, as the roof was
low. A large cupboard stood in one corner of the
kitchen and another in the bed-room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That shall be my dressing-case,” said Lissa to
herself; “in this other I will put up some hooks and
a curtain, for a wardrobe.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Just back of the house was a symmetrical little
grove of cotton-wood trees of perhaps three or four
years’ growth. Some ponies corralled near, together
with herds of cattle grazing at a distance, gave life
<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>to the scene; the sunlit grass sparkled and waved invitingly,
and the halo of the early morning enveloped
all, presenting a landscape of pleasing attractiveness.</p>
<p class='c005'>All this Lissa noted with the eye of an artist as,
while dressing, she peered from the door and window,
wondering what had become of Nathan, for he
had risen while she slept.</p>
<p class='c005'>She was interrupted in her musing by the arrival
of Alice, who came in, bright and cloud-dispelling,
bearing a basket which she placed on the table, while
she laughed at the wonder in Lissa’s large eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ve come to take you over to breakfast with me,”
she said. “Ah, I see you haven’t even thought of
breakfast yet. What a lazy girl! We get up early
here in the West. The sun doesn’t have to climb any
mountains or tall tree-tops before he reaches us.
Why, how bewildered you look! I’ve been to the
post this morning, pony and I. Nate sent by me to
get a few things which are in the basket.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You don’t mean to say you carried that big basket
on the back of that diminutive pony?” Lissa exclaimed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“To be sure I did, and another one like it. But
come now, we’ll walk over. It will give you an appetite
for breakfast.”</p>
<p class='c005'>When Lissa had once more returned to her own
home, which, humble as it was, had an irresistible attraction
for her, she found plenty of employment in
unpacking and arranging the contents of the large
trunks which had been brought out from C—— the
previous day. Although at first it seemed impossible
to find places for so many things, there was pleasure
<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>in devising ways and means. Lissa found that the
trunks could be utilized as packing-cases and window-seats,
the dry-goods boxes converted into cupboards
and wardrobes, and before many hours, with
Nathan’s assistance, she had succeeded in arranging
everything to her satisfaction.</p>
<p class='c005'>As they were seated at their little table for an early
tea, Lissa suddenly gave a faint scream and overturned
a cup of the scalding fluid which she was
handing to her husband, soiling the snowy whiteness
of the table-cloth.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, Lissa, what is the matter?” cried Nathan,
in alarm; but following the direction of her eyes, he
saw the face of an Indian flattened against the pane
of glass of their small window, and his alarm
changed to mirth.</p>
<p class='c005'>The redman, seeing he was noticed, presented himself
at the door, and drawing in his chest, and assuming
a most woe-be-gone expression, said “te-cawpox,”
accompanying his words by a gesture indicating
that he desired something to eat.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He says he is hungry,” said Nathan. “What
can we give him?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa lifted the plate of warm biscuits from the
table, but Nathan interposed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He’ll take them all without any compunction if
you offer them,” he said, and selecting a couple, he
handed them to the Indian, who dropped them into
a dirty-looking sack he carried, then spoke again in
his harsh guttural words, which Nathan interpreted
as a request for water-melon.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He knows I have them growing out here and has
<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>probably helped himself as fast as they have ripened,
in my absence. Now he will beg the remainder.
Well, I must give him one, I suppose.” And going
to the little garden at the side of the house he plucked
one from the vines and gave it to the Indian, who returned
a grunt of satisfaction and departed.</p>
<p class='c005'>Then Nathan related anecdotes of their savage
neighbors until Lissa, her fright over, laughed merrily.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid I shall be constrained to keep the curtains
down in your absence if there is any danger of
being frequently startled by such apparitions,” she
said, with a shake of her curly head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You’ll mind nothing about it in a short time. I
must take you out to the reservation, and show you
the noble redman in his home. But, come to the
door, I have a present for you. I see Mark has
driven over the ponies.”</p>
<p class='c005'>They stepped into the open doorway, and as Nathan
whistled a call, a beautiful white pony started
up from the group grazing near, and came cantering
toward them.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have had this horse in training for a long time,
and she is as docile and gentle as a kitten. Puss,”
he said, stroking the pony’s smooth neck, “this is
your new mistress. No one shall ever drive or ride
you from this day, but this little lady.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa flushed with pleasure and put out her hand
to caress the pretty creature, which seemed to understand,
and acknowledged her acquaintance by dropping
its head and rubbing its pink nose in her palm.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, jump on her back. She requires no bridle,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>but will move in any direction you may indicate by
the motion of your hand.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa permitted Nathan to seat her, and at the
word the gentle little creature lifted her ears and
stared across the prairie at an easy lope, most delightful
to the rider. Lissa was charmed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How delightful! How intelligent! How easy!”
she cried, as the pony, obeying the wave of her hand,
turned back toward the house. “As easy as a rocking-chair.
How I shall enjoy going about with her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“She is perfectly safe, and never scares at anything
except farming implements. She usually prefers to
make a detour whenever she sees a drag or plow.
We tried to hitch her to a mower when we first
brought her here, but she utterly refused to be coerced
into service and tried to get away by vaulting
into the air, lying down in the harness, and performing
other gymnastic feats. In fact, she behaved in
such an utterly demoralized manner, even kicking
and biting, that we concluded we would not subject
her to such a trial again.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The poor thing! She felt it to be a degradation
and would not submit to it. I do not blame her.”
And Lissa caressed her pityingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>A few days subsequent to this Nathan announced
his intention of going to the trading post and Indian
village, inviting Lissa to accompany him.</p>
<p class='c005'>Accordingly, one bright morning they mounted
their horses, and after a refreshing canter of several
miles came in sight of the reservation.</p>
<p class='c005'>They overtook on the way a number of Indians,
bestriding scrubby little mustangs, which they managed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>with rope reins tied to the under jaws of the
ponies. At the post Nathan was greeted by a shout
of “Ho, ho, ho, Cheiks-ta-ka-la-sha!” which Nathan
interpreted as a greeting to the “white-man-chief”
from the approaching brave.</p>
<p class='c005'>The lazy aboriginal then begged the privilege of
sharing Nathan’s pony. He was weary and would
ride. But Nathan declined to grant the request, telling
him the pony was not strong enough to carry
double.</p>
<p class='c005'>Several other Indians welcomed him in the same
manner, each one asking about the <em>chuppet</em> who accompanied
him.</p>
<p class='c005'>Soon they were at the village, a collection of Indian
huts covering quite an area of ground, built of
sod or mud and most of them circular in form, with
but two openings, one at the top for the escape of
smoke, and a low passageway through which one
must stoop to enter.</p>
<p class='c005'>At this season of the year the huts were but little
occupied, being infested with fleas, and small tents,
made of poles covered by blankets or bison skin, afforded
more inviting shelter from sun and rain.</p>
<p class='c005'>Little nude children ran about here and there, or
ducked in the waters of the river, like so many young
goslings. Stalwart Indian-braves sauntered to and
fro lazily about the wigwams or squatted on the
ground under cover of their tents. The Indian industries
seemed to be confined to the women, who
were laboriously employed roasting corn in holes in
the ground or scraping and rubbing the bison skins
which had been recently brought in from the plains;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>for the braves were just home from their summer
hunt, and preparations were going forward for their
great green-corn festival.</p>
<p class='c005'>In vain our Eastern woman looked for the beautiful
Indian maiden of poesy and song. She concluded
no poet could find inspiration to write of these dirty
humans, with unpleasant faces and tangled locks.</p>
<p class='c005'>Presently they rode to the tent of the chief of the
tribe, who invited them to dismount and enter.</p>
<p class='c005'>As Lissa followed Nathan into the small tent she
confessed to an instinctive desire to flee in the opposite
direction, for as she sat down upon the cushion
her host placed for her, six Indian warriors entered
and squatted down in a circle around her husband
and herself. A timid look at Nathan, however, met
assurance, and she tried to banish fear, but the
thought of the white man flayed on the banks of the
river would force itself upon her, and she found herself
looking at their hands with a feeling of horror,
which with an effort she sought to keep from appearing
in her face.</p>
<p class='c005'>Two women were laboring assiduously at a large
bison skin at the door of the tent, scraping, pounding,
and rubbing it, until it was white as a piece of
cotton, but paying little attention to her, save now
and then a stolen glance up from their work.</p>
<p class='c005'>Then Lissa was attracted to the movements of the
chief, who took a long-handled, red-clay pipe and
filled it from several bone cups, filled apparently
with a variety of herbs, then lighted it, and
after taking two or three whiffs passed it to the Indian
at his right, and thus it was handed around the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>circle. The herbs gave out a pungent odor as they
burned, which to Lissa was sickening, and she was
thankful that she was passed by and only Nathan invited
to smoke with them their <i><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">calumet</span></i>.</p>
<p class='c005'>The chief then took another of the odd-looking
cups, and filling it with a kind of chowdered, dried
meat gave it to Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>She was embarrassed, for she dared not refuse it,
yet shuddered at the thought of tasting it. Nathan
answered her imploring looks by laughing and explaining
to the donor that the white squaw was from
the land of the rising sun and had not learned to appreciate
such a treat. The chief, too, smiled, a little
contemptuously Lissa thought, at her ignorance of
this dainty, and called to one of the squaws to bring
her corn.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa was glad to accept the shining ear of maize,
roasted within its husk to an appetizing brown, and
she ate it with a relish, much to the satisfaction of
the Indians and the woman who brought it.</p>
<p class='c005'>In the mean time, Nathan, his eyes twinkling with
amusement, was carrying on an animated conversation
with one of the Indians in their dialect, and gesticulating
toward Lissa, as if she might be furnishing
the topic of discussion. She felt relieved when
her husband arose and proposed their departure.</p>
<p class='c005'>When they were again in their saddles and careening
over the flower-strewn sward Nathan explained
that the Indian was attempting to bargain
for the “white chuppet,” offering for her his three
squaws, two ponies, a wagon, some wampum—in
fact, all of his possessions.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>“And you were really bartering me before my
face, and I ignorant of it?” said Lissa. “Well, I like
that!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and the fellow was terribly in earnest too.
He thought you would make a good wife to hoe his
corn and work for him,” laughed Nathan.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, the horrid creature! How my ideal of the
‘noble redman’ has fallen since coming here.” And
she quoted:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Black and glossy were her ringlets,</div>
<div class='line in2'>As the tresses of the sea;</div>
<div class='line'>Gloomy as the starless midnight,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Pretty star-eyed Estollee.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c005'>“O Nate, where are they, those beautiful children
of the forest, whom Longfellow and other poets
dreamed of? The squaws are positively ugly with
their tangled hair, narrow eyes, high cheek bones,
nakedness and dirt. The men are not bad. They are
at least straight and symmetrical,” she added.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The women are bowed down and deformed by
hard labor and heavy burdens,” Nathan replied.
“Be thankful for what civilization has done for
women.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, it is dreadful! Those great lazy fellows lying
about and doing nothing. ‘Noble redmen’ indeed!
Ignoble, rather.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, the Quakers are at work among them. We
may expect an improvement in the next generation,
if not in this. But here we are at the post. Come,
we will go in and look about.”</p>
<p class='c005'>In addition to the stores and trinkets of Indian
manufacture for sale, Lissa was interested in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>girls of the Quaker school, who, though dressed in
the calico dresses of civilized America, were yet far
from the ideal maiden she thought. They were shy,
hiding their faces if she looked at or attempted to
speak to them. And these were the real American
girls, the product of the soil.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Lissa,” said Nathan, when they were again in
their saddles, “Major Andrews, who has charge of
the government stores here, offers me a position as
bookkeeper in his office this fall and winter, and I
think I had perhaps better take it, as I can do little
on the farm until spring. What do you think?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa’s heart sank at the thought of his being away
from home, but she answered bravely: “By all
means accept it if it will be for the best. It will keep
us through the long winter, and we can start fairly
upon the farm when the spring comes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>So it was arranged, and in the years that followed,
when crops were blighted from the drought or hot
winds, and other accidents impoverished them, Nathan
could earn a livelihood at the office desk, and
fared better than his neighbors.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER VIII<br> <span class='large'>MOTHER AND CHILD</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“Come, darling, dinner is ready,” and Mrs. Lucien
held out her arms to the tiny sprite who was
busily engaged in pinning a scrap of torn lace about
a broken-nosed doll, her face a study in its eager intentness
of purpose.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O mamma, has we somefin’ nice?” she exclaimed
as her eyes fell on the small table bearing the
articles of food. “Why tan’t we have oranges every
day?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear, mamma has not had money to buy
them, but a good lady has given mamma work to
do, which brings money. Is not baby glad? Maybe
we may have good things to eat every meal, for
Dolly, now.” Mrs. Lucien kissed the child’s little
face passionately, then turned away her own, lest
the tears should be seen that trembled in her lashes.</p>
<p class='c005'>It was a mean little room, as Mrs. Wylie had said,
only lighted by one narrow window, but the taste of
its simple furnishing accorded with the faces of
mother and child. Mrs. Lucien’s was one of those
rare faces seen only occasionally among the masses,
purely oval, with soft outlines and exquisite delicacy
of expression. The eyes seemed to index the soul
in their spirituality and clearness. It seemed impossible
to think of guile or hypocrisy finding lodgment
in the heart of a woman with such a face. The tinge
<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>of melancholy resting upon it only added to its attractiveness.</p>
<p class='c005'>The child was the counterpart of the mother, even
to the soulful eyes and mobile lips. It was evident,
as Mrs. Wylie had observed, that Mrs. Lucien had
seen better days. There was an unmistakable air of
culture and refinement in her manner, a dignity and
grace of carriage that could come only with one to
the manner born. She appeared to be a stranger in
Forest City and was markedly uncommunicative as
to her past life and history in her intercourse with
the few who sought further acquaintance with her.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. St. John, on the second floor, had been attracted
by her face, and tried, through the child, to
know more of her, but succeeded illy. The child
was as reserved as the mother, or had been kept in
ignorance of its history. One thing she noticed, it
never spoke of its father, and Mrs. St. John discreetly
withdrew, and refrained from further investigation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There must be something wrong when people are
so much afraid to let you know anything of them,”
she reflected. She could not afford to risk her own
reputation by becoming associated with her.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie, too secure in worldly caste to be deterred
by such considerations, had a new interest,
and would leave no means untried to learn more of
her protege.</p>
<p class='c005'>She found she had an endless amount of sewing
to be done, and made many calls with reference to it,
as well as necessitating much going to and from her
own rooms by Mrs. Lucien. And in all of those interviews
<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>the little woman chatted away as blithely
as though her caller were an intimate friend instead
of a stranger sewing woman, this being characteristic
of Elinor Wylie, and the outgrowth of her kindness
of heart, which neither fashion nor society, conventionality
nor worldliness could repress.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie joked her daily upon her enthusiasm,
which increased with acquaintance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She is entirely lovable, Horace, and entirely refined
and cultured. I have not her superior in my
whole circle of acquaintances,” she reiterated one
night, when he had chidden her for spending so
much of her time with Mrs. Lucien. “If she were
not so proud I should have gotten her out of that
dark little jail of a room before now, but I dare not
openly offer her charity. But, Horace, I have made
a discovery. She was formerly from New York,
and she came here to be among strangers. I suspect—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, what do you suspect?” said her husband,
as she hesitated in her speech.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why—I half suspect she has run away from her
husband,” admitted Mrs. Wylie reluctantly, hastening
to add, “I am quite sure she had a good reason
and that no blame can attach to her, whatever the
cause.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie shook his head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do not let your enthusiasm blind your eyes, Elinor.
I give you credit for being pretty keen-sighted
usually, but a woman with such a history may not
be a desirable associate for my wife.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Horace!” the blue eyes were raised reproachfully
<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>to his face. “Even if my suspicions are correct,—and
they are only suspicions,—we may suppose a
case where she might be entirely blameless, and oh,
so much more to be pitied, because of these very circumstances
which may cast a shadow over her fair
name! Surely she needs my friendship so much the
more.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You precious little philanthrope!” said her husband
fondly. “It is difficult to answer you, but
suppose there are plenty of associates for Mrs. Horace
Wylie whose characters are above suspicion and
need no vindication. And yet,” he continued gravely,
“the woman’s face is vindication for her. Do as
you think best. Shall we invite her to attend the lecture
with us to-morrow night?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, if you will. She so seldom goes anywhere,
and I am sure she needs recreation. I could wish it
was something besides Dr. Lyman’s lectures, however.
I am always glad to get home from one of
them, and I dream of ghosts and goblins when I
sleep afterwards.”</p>
<p class='c005'>There was a compassionate look on Mr. Wylie’s
face as he turned toward his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am surprised, Nell, that you cannot appreciate
what I enjoy so much. Surely, Dr. Lyman is a very
interesting speaker.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“A good talker, yes, but I do not like his subject,”
and the little lady drew herself farther upon the sofa
and pursed up her lips defiantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And yet the subject is one that may materially
affect us?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not believe it can <em>materially</em> affect us; if it
<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>does spiritually, why, it may. We shall find out
after we leave this world, probably, all about it.
What is the use of believing that the spirits of our
friends can communicate with us. I don’t want them
to. It’s horrid, the whole of it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not see anything particularly horrid about
it. If I should die and live again in the spiritland
and should come back and reveal myself to your
material sight and talk with you as I do now, would
you consider it particularly horrid? That is,” he
continued with his pleasant drawl, “supposing I
come in immaculate broadcloth, shining boots, etc.,
and present you with a check for a few thousands to
squander in bon-bons.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, do stop talking so dreadfully! I will not
think about it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Then you will not want me to come back?” he
queried provokingly. “Especially if you are wedded
to your second, and well provided for?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes—no—I do not know. I think I should be
dreadfully afraid of you if you did.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Aren’t you a little afraid of me now? Come,
confess. Aren’t you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie made a grimace.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I hope not, but I am afraid of Dr. Lyman.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And why do you fear him?” said her husband,
laughing as he bent over and twirled one of her
bright curls over his finger. “What do you fear in
him?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid he will mesmerize me and make me
think as he does. There you have my reason for disliking
<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>him, and to go to the Lyceum,” said Elinor,
flushing slightly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Again her husband laughed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, that is it. Do you think there would be any
harm in that?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, I think it would be dreadful to be hypnotized;
to have any one control your will and make
you think and do things you would not do otherwise.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have an idea,” cried Mr. Wylie; “let me try it
on you. Come, look me right in the eyes, relax all
your muscles and think of nothing but me.” Mr.
Wylie fixed his mischievous dark eyes upon his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>She closed her own eyes tightly, and turned her
face away.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Never! It would make me forever your slave.
I have not much will of my own now, and you would
take that away from me. No, thank you!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“As if a woman ever lived who did not have her
own sweet will and way. But, Nellie, you may call
upon Mrs. Lucien to-night, and ask her to accompany
us. I shall be curious to know her opinion of
the Doctor and his hobby.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mne! How kind you are! Man’s curiosity
again! Well! I’ll go just to gratify you, but she
may not be willing to go to such a place even in your
company.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie smiled indulgently, but made no reply.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Horace, I can almost believe Tibby exercises
some such influence over Robbie. It is really remarkable,
the ease with which she can subdue him,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>and put him to sleep at any time she desires. Mrs.
Harbeck used to fuss for hours.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby exercises a power woman has, since the
world began—the power of her beauty. Tibby is
such a pretty girl, and Robbie is susceptible to it. I
remember when I was a youngster, the pretty teachers
always had the least trouble with me. Children
have aesthetic instincts, and Robbie recognizes the
influence, if he does not yet understand it. Dame
Harbeck was a good old soul, but she did lack winsomeness.
Eh, Nellie?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie laughed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wonder if that does make a difference.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly, and is it not a moral duty to cultivate
beauty in the race?”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER IX<br> <span class='large'>A NEW DEVELOPMENT</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>True to her promise, Mrs. Wylie called the following
afternoon at the small room she had learned
to designate as Number Nineteen, and invited Mrs.
Lucien to accompany herself and Mr. Wylie to the
Lyceum.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien’s pale face flushed slightly, and an
eager, pleased look came for a moment into her eyes,
then she shook her head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are very kind, Mrs. Wylie, but you forget—that
I never go out.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I know you <em>should</em> go. You are growing as pale
as a calla, shut up here so closely. You owe it to
yourself and little Dolores here, to go whenever you
can. Besides, I have quite set my heart upon having
you with us, and I am supposed to always have my
own way,” she added playfully. “I want some one
along who can enjoy a good lecture, if I cannot, and
Mr. Wylie thinks Dr. Lyman a very fine speaker. I
am sure you will reconsider your answer and go with
us.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, your husband—I am afraid—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Will be delighted. In fact, he first proposed
your going,” said the other, feeling that Mrs. Lucien
was yielding. “You shall bring little Dolores to
our rooms and Tibby will look after her with Robert.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>She’ll be sure to enjoy it, for Tibby is a rare
entertainer. Robert is quite happy with her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Dolly never makes any one any trouble,” replied
Mrs. Lucien, smiling fondly upon her child. “It is
true I have taken considerable interest in Dr. Lyman’s
lectures as reported in the papers, and in his
subject. I have myself witnessed phenomena in the
so-called spirit manifestations which I could not account
for by any knowledge of my own, scientific or
otherwise. If it is not spirits, then what is it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie shook her head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I confess I am very incredulous,” she said, smiling.
“I think sometimes with old Mr. Hucklebone,
that it is the work of the Evil One, and feel like
avoiding it; but my husband is interested in the subject,
and I go to these lectures to please him. I cannot
say that I enjoy them, however.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Can you not believe the soul is immortal? And
if so, why may not one come back to this earth and
linger near those one has loved? Shall spirits be
limited by time and space? These are finite things.
Does not the spirit belong to the infinite?” Mrs.
Lucien’s voice was low, sweet, and persuasive.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not deny that it may be so, because I see
nothing to entirely disprove such a possibility; but
I cannot see what good it can do us or any one else
to seek intercourse with those who have passed to the
other world. There has been a boundary line and a
veil of death placed between Time and Eternity,
mortals and immortals, and it better remain. What
I cannot countenance is that people give up their religion
to take up spiritism. Why the testimony of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>the spirit of mortal man (admitting that it may testify)
should weigh more than the great Spirit of the
Universe, in whom even the wild Indian believes and
whom we designate our Creator, is to me a strange
thing. It is making a religion of spiritism that I
object to.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie spoke with unusual seriousness and
her friend did not immediately respond.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not think <em>I</em> believe in making a religion of
it either,” she said after a moment of silence; “but
there is so much one does not understand, and if by
actual converse with those who have gone before and
tested the mysteries of the unknown we may learn
without doubt of the life in store for us, it is a satisfaction,
to say the least.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But <em>can</em> we know without doubt? Do we know
with what we are conversing? I confess I have seen
so much charlatanry I cannot be sure of anything.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have you not had experiences in your life, dear
Mrs. Wylie, which have demonstrated to you a
psychic power beyond explanation, save by this theory
of spirit force?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Possibly; though I only think of one instance
now which might be of this class,” said Mrs. Wylie
reflectively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And may I ask if you will tell me that?” questioned
Mrs. Lucien eagerly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It happened several years ago. I took a sudden
determination to visit my parents, and started immediately,
without notifying them of my coming.
Arriving at the station I found my father waiting
for me, he having been impressed with the fact of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>my coming, in some unaccountable way; my
thought of the early day having been communicated
to him by a sort of mental telegraphy, I imagine.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, yes, there are so many instances of that kind.
I have had many myself. I wonder, sometimes, if
I am naturally superstitious. There have been many
peculiar examples of second sight or clairvoyance in
our family. It has been traditional for generations,
and proven by accumulated evidence, that no great
calamity can befall any member of us without forewarning,
not alone to the victim, but to the others of
the household. The warning always comes in the
same way.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And that is—?” Mrs. Wylie questioned.</p>
<p class='c005'>“By a footstep at the door,” continued Mrs. Lucien.
“Before any death or evil to any one of the
house we are startled by hearing a footstep come to
the door, step heavily once or twice and then vanish
from sound and sight. If the door is opened no one
is visible to mortal eyes. Sometimes it comes more
than once the same evening, and we know the evil
is near at hand.” Mrs. Lucien spoke in a low, soft
voice, of indescribable sadness, as she continued:
“It has come to me several times, once before a trouble
worse than death. Ah, and the footsteps were
heavy and loud. I can hear and feel them yet, treading
on my very heart. Then they came again before
my darlings died, and I knew there was no hope, no
hope that God would hear my prayer and spare them
to me, though they were all I had. Truly, I can say
there is no justice in the heavens. But forgive me,
dear friend, I did not mean to so far forget myself,”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>she added, turning her white face toward the little
woman, whose eyes were filled with tears of sympathy.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And you have had other children, and lost them?
How sorry I am for you,” cried Mrs. Wylie impulsively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, three; but I do not think of them as lost,
only gone before. They come to me at night and I
feel the touch of the tiny hands upon my forehead—only
Freddie, he never comes to me. But I see you
are surprised. As I said before, I have seen much
of spiritism, enough to make me credulous. It is a
blessed thought to me that my darlings may be near
me, and that possibly when I am myself more spiritual
I may reach out my hands and grasp their little
ones and enjoy more fully their loved presence. I
am glad I may go to hear Dr. Lyman. He may
make plain to me those things I desire to know, may
teach me how to make such things possible.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie knew not how to respond to her.
There was so much about this theory to which she
was opposed. She was disappointed in her friend,
and yet she could not condemn her. She took her
leave shortly, wishing Dr. Lyman at the antipodes.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER X<br> <span class='large'>THE GHOSTS OF THE CABINET</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“My dear, I have come to invite you to a real materialistic
seance,” said Mrs. Wylie, a few weeks
later, as she called at the door of Mrs. Lucien’s improved
lodgings.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien’s eye brightened, and she clasped her
hands with childish naivete.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Really?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, really! Mr. Wylie has an especial invitation
and tickets given him, so we shall not feel that
we are intruding. He bade me come at once and tell
you, as he knew how much you desired to witness
such an exhibition.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How kind you are, dear Mrs. Wylie. I cannot
express how grateful I am to you for such an opportunity,”
said Mrs. Lucien warmly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is arranged, then; we will call for you at half-past
seven this evening.” And Mrs. Wylie tripped
away, feeling that she had at least given pleasure by
the invitation, little as she herself desired to attend
the seance. The lectures of Dr. Lyman, which she
had attended to please her husband, had rather prejudiced
her against than converted to his teaching,
and she could not appreciate the interest which her
friends seemed to take in them. As for this seance,
she would go that Mrs. Lucien might have the desired
<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>privilege of attending, but her conscience disapproved
of it.</p>
<p class='c005'>At the appointed time the trio took a carriage to
Scoville Street as directed, and stopped before a
small story-and-a-half house, with an “L” upon one
side, and a broken paling in front.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am bound to investigate everything thoroughly,”
said Mrs. Wylie, in a whisper, as they went toward
the house.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly, that is your privilege, my dear. I am
sure the spirits will have no objections,” said Mr.
Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>They were met at the door by a grave-looking
man, who asked for their credentials, and when Mr.
Wylie had presented his card of invitation they were
ushered into a small square room furnished only by
a centre table holding a lamp, a little old-fashioned
carpet lounge standing in one corner, upon which
two or three persons were seated conversing in subdued
tones, and a tall base-burner stove offering
warmth to a small group of people gathered about
it.</p>
<p class='c005'>No one spoke to the members of our party, who,
while warming themselves by the fire, gazed into an
empty room adjoining. This room had only the
light of a single lamp fastened near the ceiling in one
corner and covered and shaded by a Japanese umbrella.
A string depended from this lamp to the
cabinet in the opposite corner of the room. An antique,
black hair-cloth tete was near the cabinet, and
a carved mahogany stand stood between the only
two windows in the room. The remaining space of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>the apartment was taken up by chairs for the invited
spectators.</p>
<p class='c005'>All these separate details Mrs. Wylie observed and
noted. Then she turned to the man who admitted
them.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Am I permitted to examine this room?” she
asked smilingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly, madam, we court the most careful investigation
in this matter. Examine thoroughly
everything in this room,” and in a solemn manner
he conducted them forward to the cabinet and lifted
the curtains of plain black cloth which hung before
it. Rolling these, he threw them over the top of the
pole, that she might enter the cabinet and explore
the interior.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie felt of the wall, which was covered
with a faded paper; tapped it to see if there were
closets in the partition, pressed it to learn if it was
movable, examined for cracks or evidence of secret
panels, but could discover nothing. She even examined
the carpet and saw that the tacks holding it
to the floor were rusted as if not recently lifted or
changed. She looked under and behind the tete,
but could discover no possible place of concealment
in the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are you satisfied, my curious Pandora?” said
Mr. Wylie, who had been watching her with a faint,
indulgent smile upon his lips.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I find only plain, bare walls, and no visible
outlet, save by the one door through which we entered.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>“Good! Perhaps your scepticism will vanish after
to-night.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie shook her head and peered again at
the ceiling and dependent lamp. She was prepared
for trickery, even if she could not fathom it.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Still unconvinced? Oh, most doubting of
Thomases!” said Mr. Wylie, with a gesture of despair.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Only cautious and conservative,” whispered Mrs.
Lucien.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Conservatism, what crimes of doubt and unbelief
are committed in thy name!” responded the other.</p>
<p class='c005'>By this time people were beginning to file into the
room, until the chairs were filled.</p>
<p class='c005'>Our friends sat down near the door, where the
hard-coal fire cast a dim light into the room, and directly
opposite the cabinet. No other light was left
in the room after the entrance of the medium.</p>
<p class='c005'>This person, who was tall and large-framed, and
who weighed apparently about two hundred and fifty
pounds, walked over to the tete and sat down.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I will sit here for a time, and perhaps we may
have a manifestation before I am under control,”
she said. “Will anybody please sing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The spectators began to sing religious hymns, and
almost immediately, to Mrs. Wylie’s astonishment,
the curtains parted by invisible power and a little
figure of light, with indistinguishable features,
stepped forth.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good-evening, everybody. How do you do?”
came from it in a thin, piping voice.</p>
<p class='c005'>Some of those present, who had evidently seen the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>apparition before, addressed it as Starlight, and the
vision vanished.</p>
<p class='c005'>The medium then arose and stepped into the cabinet.
No sooner had she done so than three or four
men’s voices were heard speaking together. One,
a Jack Tar, with nautical phrases; another, the guttural
voice of the American Indian, a third that of
an educated citizen.</p>
<p class='c005'>Some in the audience seemed to recognize and
greet the voices.</p>
<p class='c005'>After a period of quiet and another hymn the curtains
again parted and a slender woman appeared.
No one approached her as she stood before them and
delivered a short oration, the theme of which was
“Universal Progress,” the diction and thought in
no wise remarkable.</p>
<p class='c005'>She withdrew to give place to another figure,
which called a name in a soft, plaintive voice.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, it is my wife!” cried a man in the audience,
and he went forward, and grasping the materialized
spirit by the arm, he led her forward about the room,
while she shook hands with other friends who
seemed to recognize her.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie shook in an agony of apprehension.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t, don’t let her come near me!” she gasped,
while her heart beat to suffocation. She looked at
the white, eager face of Mrs. Lucien, and the not less
interested face of her husband. She clutched him
by the arm, while she grew hot and cold by turns.
But the figure turned away before reaching her, and
stepped back into the cabinet. Then several others
<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>came out and were recognized, kissed, and spoken to
by friends.</p>
<p class='c005'>At length came the figure of a man, who spoke in
a faint voice.</p>
<p class='c005'>The usher came to the lady sitting next to Mrs.
Wylie upon the left.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is for you,” he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>The lady arose, went across the room to the cabinet,
clasped the figure in her arms, calling him her
dear brother, and when he disappeared came back
to her seat, sobbing and crying bitterly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie wrung her hands in the pause of darkness
and silence which followed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh! Mrs. Lucien, Mrs. Lucien, the next will be
for you,” she whispered. As if to confirm her words
a figure of light advanced, so clear, so luminous, so
fair that a suppressed murmur arose from the spectators.
It seemed to float through the air and hover
suspended before the cabinet. Mrs. Lucien had
arisen and moved forward with outstretched arms.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mamma, mamma!” a bird-like voice repeated,
and fluttering like a bird in the air the tiny hands
brushed the white face of the entranced woman.
Then by its side a second figure appeared, larger but
less distinct. For a moment they hovered flutteringly
before her, then disappeared, and the usher led
the now nearly fainting Mrs. Lucien to her seat.</p>
<p class='c005'>Another figure appeared, a man. A woman behind
Mrs. Wylie arose and went forward.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Jim!” she cried.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have been so sorry,” a feeble, moaning voice replied,
“that I did not do more for you when in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>flesh. I had no opportunity, before I passed over,
to tell you what was in my heart. I realize now that
I blighted your life by selfishly yielding to my appetite.
I would undo it all if I could, but it is too late.”
With a groan he disappeared.</p>
<p class='c005'>Then a little boy ran out from the cabinet and
cried:</p>
<p class='c005'>“I want my mash!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, that is little Eddie!” exclaimed a girl from
the audience, and she ran forward to clasp the little
figure in her arms.</p>
<p class='c005'>At last came a figure of beauty and light, with extended,
fluttering hands and eager face. “This is
for you,” said the usher, coming toward Mrs. Wylie,
who felt bound to her chair and unable to move.</p>
<p class='c005'>As the man approached her she felt as though her
heart ceased to beat, but she passively suffered him
to lead her to the cabinet.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Sister, sister,” whispered the little sprite, and its
tiny hands sought to take hers. She felt the soft,
cool touch of its hand upon her own, then drew back
with uncontrollable fear.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She wants to kiss you,” said the man, but Mrs.
Wylie was too terrified to permit it. Then the figure,
so transparent and ethereal, vanished in the cabinet
and again all was darkness.</p>
<p class='c005'>When Mrs. Wylie was again seated there was a
sound as of rushing wind, and two little Indian
girls came running out of the cabinet. One ran
back. The other called her out again.</p>
<p class='c005'>“This is little Moonlight. Come on!” said number
one.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>“Good-evening, everybody!” said number two
timidly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Number one laughed and danced about, while
number two ran back into the cabinet.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Dance for us, Starlight,” said a gentleman who
seemed to recognize her as a well-known favorite.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mne! No music,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>The gentleman began to whistle.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, no good,” cried Starlight.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie could never after account for the influence
which prompted her to lean forward and clap
her hands to the time of a waltz, while she hummed
a gay air.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mne! That’s good!” cried Starlight, and her little
feet kept time with the grace of a ballet-dancer.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good-night, good-night, good-night!” she cried,
and danced back behind the curtains of the cabinet,
and all was still.</p>
<p class='c005'>The audience arose and began to go out of the
room, and Mrs. Wylie, with a dazed, unnatural sensation,
turned to her friend. “Am I asleep or
dreaming?” she asked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I feel like asking the same question,” said Mrs.
Lucien. “What a wonderful experience this has
been.”</p>
<p class='c005'>When they were seated in the carriage, and proceeding
homeward, Mr. Wylie turned to his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, Nellie,” he said, “what do you think of
it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think,” responded Mrs. Wylie slowly, “that I
was hypnotized.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>“Hypnotized!” exclaimed Mr. Wylie and Mrs.
Lucien in unison.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, hypnotized. I began to grow cold and feel
so strangely as soon as that medium sat down there.
I think she sat outside long enough to mesmerize us
all. You remember she had them sing to distract
our thoughts.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I must say, Elinor, when you try to be idiotic you
succeed a little better than any one I ever knew before
you.” Mr. Wylie looked his annoyance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Horace, if I was not under some influence,
why did I sing and clap my hands for that spirit to
dance? Do you think I would have done such an absurd
and unheard of thing of my own volition?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“There’s no telling what you might or might not
do, Elinor. I confess you surprise even me very frequently.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie sighed. It seemed difficult to combat
the now apparently fixed belief of her husband in
spirit manifestation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did you hear the music that seemed to be playing
in the air above our heads from the moment the medium
entered the room?” inquired Mrs. Lucien.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I did not notice it; did you, Horace?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie shook his head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How strange! I heard the sound of many instruments
blending in a wonderful harmony,” murmured
Mrs. Lucien.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A further proof that we were hypnotized,” replied
Mrs. Wylie. “You, Mrs. Lucien, were the
most susceptible and first brought under control?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. Wylie looked disgusted.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>“A proof, Elinor, that you were too frightened to
know what was transpiring about you. I am not
surprised that Mrs. Lucien should perceive harmonies
beyond the hearing of our ears, or of less
sensitively organized ones. We were curious, antagonistic,
unbelieving. We were determined not to
hear and therefore were deaf to the melodies which
entranced her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Entranced?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I think we were all entranced, and made to
see or hear anything,” replied Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XI<br> <span class='large'>THE FIRE</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-b c013'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Again has come the Springtime, with the Crocus’s golden bloom,</div>
<div class='line'>With the sound of the fresh-turned earth-mould and the violet’s perfume.”</div>
<div class='line in48'>—Samuel Longfellow.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c011'>It is the spring of Lissa’s second year in her Nebraska
home. Nathan, through with his winter duties
at the post, has become farmer again, and the
prairie, yet gray with the tall wild grass of the previous
year, is black-dotted with patches of newly
plowed land, while the upspringing verdure gives
the landscape a gray-green tint of great beauty.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa has grown to love this Western home, and
as we see her now, tripping about the floor of her
humble cabin, there is a maturer look in her bright
face and pliant figure, and though she is paler in
cheek and lip, her smile speaks the joy in her heart.
Her neat calico gown is supplemented by a white
cambric apron, and as she critically glances about
her she is a picture of womanly contentment. She
is obliged to make up in swiftness now the time demanded
from her work to care for the little seraph
who kicks, squirms, and even cries in her waking
hours if she is not given immediate and undivided
attention. Their house has grown with their family,
and a nice little lean-to has been built, giving an
extra room, and Lissa seems to have forgotten to
wish for the spacious walls or wide balconies of her
former home. She has as good as her neighbors,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>and luxuries are only comparative, after all. It must
be confessed, Lissa is not a little vain of the handsome
silver, few pieces of cut-glass, and dainty
napery which were among her wedding gifts, and
which she can now display on occasions to the admiration
and envy of her less fortunate neighbors.
Only Alice, of all her neighborhood, can outshine her
in this, but Mark is an army officer, and quite the
great man of the place, and she cannot feel envious
of one of the family.</p>
<p class='c005'>It is nearly dinner time and baby must be put aside
while Lissa prepares the table. A motherly solicitude
shines in her dark eyes as she places the little
autocrat in her crib (a large wicker clothes-basket),
puts in her clutching, uncertain grasp the rubber
ring, and turns toward her work.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“There, there, baby Lucy, lie still with your toys,</div>
<div class='line'>For papa is coming and does not like noise,”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c014'>she sings, in her clear treble.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Hush, hush, there’s a deary, or mamma ’ll be weary;</div>
<div class='line'>There, there, but a minute, you’ll have to be in it,</div>
<div class='line'>Till mamma makes dinner, then baby’s the winner.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c014'>Thus sings and rhymes the girl-mother, and the
cloth is laid in a short space of time, and few moments
later the dignified, manly figure of Nathan
enters.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How smoky it is getting outside,” Lissa says as
she catches a glimpse of the atmosphere through the
open doorway.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, the fires must be making considerable headway
<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>across the river. The smoke is much denser
than it was this morning when I began plowing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You think it is all across the river? No danger
of its getting over here?” Lissa questions, a note of
anxiety in her voice.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no; the river ’ll protect us. I should think
Linkwell and Jordan, over there, would need to start
back fires, though.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We’ve been fortunate, this spring, not to have
any started on this side,” Lissa says.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, with as much tall, dry grass as there is
about. We don’t generally have any fear of fires at
this time of year. It’s the fall when they rage worst.
The spring burning is unusual,” continues Nathan
in his measured speech. “But I suppose some one
thought he’d burn off his piece of ground before
plowing, and was careless about it, as we were once
upon a time. His plowed strip may have been too
narrow, or the wind too high.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, one cannot be too careful!” Lissa says with
feeling. “I think what a close call we had when you
let me fire the ten-acre lot by the canon, and all because
the sod was not quite overturned on that rocky
place at one corner.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, but I reckon it was a good thing to happen.
You wouldn’t have known how to fight a fire if we
had not had that experience. Now if one should
start up you would know what to do.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” she says reflectively.</p>
<p class='c005'>The meal ended, Nathan goes again to his work,
which is now upon the upper end of the farm, nearly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>two miles from the house, and Lissa, when the dinner-work
is over, sits down to rock her baby to sleep.</p>
<p class='c005'>The smoke has become quite dense by this time,
and as she looks out across the river she sees leaping
spires of orange-colored flames amidst the lifting,
rolling clouds of smoke.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, baby Lucy, we are fortunate not to be over
there,” she says, and clasps the little one more closely
while she croons a lullaby.</p>
<p class='c005'>Suddenly she is attracted by the strange actions of
the family cat, which has been stretched out upon a
rug across the room. Puss darts across the floor to
the window, and placing her forepaws upon the window-seat,
looks out. Then with a look of terror she
runs to Lissa, and crouching at her feet begins to
mew piteously.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is it, Menkin?” asks Lissa, putting down
her hand to stroke the creature’s back. The cat darts
again to the window, and Lissa, following her, sees
that which blanches her face and lips to chalky
whiteness.</p>
<p class='c005'>The fire has crossed the river! The wind has carried
the burning cinders even to the nearer bank,
and now, only three-quarters of a mile away, she can
see the curling smoke, and tongues of red fire lapping
the dry grass.</p>
<p class='c005'>Frantic with alarm, her thoughts work rapidly.
She drops her baby into the basket and rushes out to
the well, which, with its buckets, stands near the
house.</p>
<p class='c005'>Heavens! How long it seems ere, working desperately,
hand over hand upon the rope, she can
<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>bring the filled bucket to the top of the curb. Then
with a pail of water and a gunny-sack she flies
across the fields to meet the oncoming fire. With
supernatural strength, evolved from her terror, with
the wet sacking she beats back the ravening flames
madly, frantically, and with all the force of over-strained
muscles and fear-nerved energy she fights
the merciless element, until at last, blinded by smoke,
and scorched and blackened, she turns toward the
house, and flies with all the strength left her, her
only hope now to get her baby and run with it to the
only haven of safety, the black soil of the plowed
land.</p>
<p class='c005'>Snatching her child from its pillow and folding it
in her smoke-begrimed arms she dashes again
through the doorway and runs on and on over the
soft earth, until, with many yards of the moist, upturned
sod about her, she pauses and turns her eyes
backward toward her humble yet beloved home.</p>
<p class='c005'>With fascinated gaze she watches the flames creep
nearer and nearer, now only like red snakes in the
grass, then as the tall weeds catch, like sheets of
scarlet, wound and twisted in smoke-clouds.</p>
<p class='c005'>The fire has parted at the place where her frenzied
efforts have been most effective, and one part is
sweeping down the side of the road opposite the
house, the other around the barn-yard toward the
stables. She can see the horses corralled beyond the
barn, and anticipating their fate she hides her face in
her child’s clothing and sobs.</p>
<p class='c005'>She is startled by hearing the sound of galloping
horses and looks out to see a drove of frightened
<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>animals come madly down the road ahead of the
flames. Will their instincts guide them toward a
place of safety? A burning stack across the road is
adding to the blinding smoke, and she can see
through smarting eyes but a short distance around
her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O God! spare the poor creatures tied there and
helpless,” she prays. “Oh, why didn’t I think to
loose them?”</p>
<p class='c005'>She crouches down over her child and gives away
to her grief. Suddenly she hears steps near her,
and glancing up, the pink nose of Puss, her pony,
is thrust into her hand.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O you dear creature, how did you get away?”
she falters. Then as she perceives the dragging
rope, yet fastened to the up-pulled stake, she knows
what Puss in her fright has been able to accomplish.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We all have superhuman strength given us in our
time of need,” she murmurs. She strains her eyes
for a glimpse of the burning house, but the smoke is
so painful she is fain to hide her face, while her
faithful horse rubs its head against her as if to assure
her of sympathy.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Lissa!” cries an anxious voice near her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Nate! Oh, our poor horses and our home!
What shall we do?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am thankful <em>you</em> are safe, Lissa. I feared you
might not remember to come here soon enough.
Keep your eyes covered and crouch down close to
the ground. This smoke from that burning stack is
overpowering.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>“And our burning house and barns! O Nate,”
wails Lissa, “those poor, poor horses!” She bows
her head again, and for some moments neither
speak.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Lissa, Lissa, look up!” cries Nathan suddenly,
his voice thrilling with a note of exultation. “Our
home is safe! Do you hear? Safe!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa raises her eyes. The smoke has lifted, and
to their surprise and joy they see revealed to them
the buildings standing, unharmed. The fire, although
raging across the road, has let the barrier of
only a few feet, the width of one wagon-track, turn
its course, and now, passing on, has left only a blackened,
smoking trail behind it.</p>
<p class='c005'>It has passed back of the stables, turned by the
yards, and left them and the horses untouched.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is a miracle, Lissa!” says Nathan devoutly, his
slow speech giving force to his words. “As soon as
the turf cools we can go home,—home—think of it!”</p>
<p class='c005'>But Lissa is weeping hysterically.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What, crying when the danger is over? This is
not the time to cry. What is it for, little girl?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Nate, Nate—Nate! I—can’t help it! I—I’m—so
happy! I—I’m so glad!” she sobs.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There, there, give me the baby. Your nerves are
all unstrung, that is certain, and small wonder at it.
But what’s this? What’s the matter with your
hands? Why, child, they are all blistered and
burned. What have you been doing?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I—I fought the fire,” falters Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My poor child!”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>“I beat it back just as long as I could,” she pants.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And divided it, and saved our home! I understand
all now,” Nathan answers in broken tones.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, it was the yards, I think. It was a miracle.
I only beat it out up to the road.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And kept it on that side. But these poor hands
must be looked after. Aren’t they paining you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I—I haven’t thought of them,” replies Lissa.
“How could I when these poor animals and—and
our house were in such danger.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XII<br> <span class='large'>A NEW MEDIUM</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“My dear Mrs. Lucien—why, what is the matter?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie ran hurriedly to her friend’s side, but
stopped, frightened at the unseeing, vacant stare
which met her. During the fortnight intervening
since the seance she had met her friend daily, but
never had seen her as now.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien sat by a small sewing-table, her hands
resting upon it, her eyes gazing vacantly into space.
Her expression was uncanny in its fixity, and her
hands moved restlessly over the smooth surface before
her. Her aspect was that of one whose outer
senses were locked and all thought and sight turned
inward.</p>
<p class='c005'>The little Dolores, who had opened the door to
Mrs. Wylie, resumed her position by her mother,
her hands resting in her mother’s lap, her troubled
eyes searching her mother’s face.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie, unable to win any response or recognition,
stood silent and frightened, watching the entranced
woman. Then her eyes fell upon the swiftly
moving fingers. What was she doing? Surely she
was forming letters—writing. Was it possible?
She seemed to see her own name spelled from the
ends of those fingers. Mrs. Wylie had seen such
things before from professed mediums. Suddenly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>a thought came to her. She detached the little gold
pencil from her watch guard and laid in with her
shopping-tablet on the table before the woman. In
a moment Mrs. Lucien seized the pencil and was
writing rapidly, her eyes still fixed and unseeing.</p>
<p class='c005'>When she at last relinquished the tablet Mrs. Wylie
took it up, and read in letters scrawling and unlike
the chirography of her friend, the following:</p>
<div class='lg-container-l c003'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“My dear friend:</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c005'>“Why do you hesitate on the dark borders of prejudice
and ignorance? Why not come into the full
light of the truth? Our hands would gladly lead
you if you would take them. There is much to believe
that is truth; there is much to reject that is
untruth. You accept much untruth. But you shall
soon know all.</p>
<div class='lg-container-r'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“E. M. B.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c011'>What did this meaningless missive prove? That
Mrs. Lucien was other than she seemed? Mrs. Wylie
could think of no one having those initials. Ah,
yes. She did have a friend, long ago, by the name
of Emma Boyleson. She could not remember her
middle name, or if she had one. It might have
been “M.” But she was dead, died a long while
ago, when only a little more than a child. And why,
if it came from her,—Mrs. Wylie’s instincts denied
the possibility,—why should she write such stuff as
this? Simply to mystify her? Could she be mistaken
in Mrs. Lucien? Could it be possible that she
was one of those dreaded charlatans? But if so,
how could she have known anything about Emma
<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>Boyleson? She had never mentioned her, so far as
she could remember, even to Mr. Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>She would arouse Mrs. Lucien and sift this affair
thoroughly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mrs. Lucien! Mrs. Lucien!” she said imperatively.</p>
<p class='c005'>She was gratified to see a change pass over the
woman’s face. Mrs. Lucien started, shivered,
pressed her hands to her forehead.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is the matter, Mrs. Lucien,” again demanded
Mrs. Wylie, bending over her.</p>
<p class='c005'>The dazed woman brushed her eyes and looked
about her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have I been asleep?” she asked plaintively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and writing me a letter in your dreams,”
chirruped her visitor gaily. “Now you may arouse
yourself and interpret it for me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien shook her head, while the look of
awe deepened in her face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, can it be possible,” she murmured, “that Dr.
Lyman told me the truth, and that I am really a medium?
How strange it seems, and yet he promised
me it should be.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You a medium?” Mrs. Wylie shrank from her
hostess involuntarily.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Dr. Lyman told me I was mediumistic, and
that if I would sit down at just the same time every
evening, and allow myself to become entirely passive
I would soon be made the instrument to take and
convey the words of the invisible to the visible. I
did not think, however, to obtain this so soon.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Mrs. Lucien, how could you lend yourself
<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>to such experiments? You would not deceive me,
would you? Tell me truly, did you know what you
were doing when you wrote that message to me?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No more than I know what I do in my sleep. I
have a feeling that I have had dreams, but I cannot
recall them.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did this ever happen before?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have had this feeling and a partial remembrance
of dreams, but I do not know what I have ever written.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you think Dr. Lyman had anything to do
with this?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, only so far as he has assisted in developing
me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What do you mean by that?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think he exercised some—mesmeric power or
influence over me, while in attendance at his lectures.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You horrify me! And would you continue to go
and hear him, when you knew this?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, yes. I hoped he might develop me into a
medium. Why should I not?” Mrs. Lucien’s innocent,
dark eyes looked up inquiringly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think it is dreadful—dreadful! I would not be
under his influence for anything.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But it is not his influence. It is—Oh! I cannot
tell you. It is a power from beyond. Why
should I fear to speak to those I love?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I cannot bear to think of it,” Mrs. Wylie said,
shivering. “We do not know to whom we are talking.
We have no proof of their identity, and know
not if the power be good or evil.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>“What, not when we see, as we did a short time
ago, the faces of those we have known and loved
here on earth?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie shook her head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A delusion of the senses!” she said positively.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien gazed pityingly upon her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure, dear Mrs. Wylie, that when we see
a photograph taken of a spirit face we can not doubt
its genuineness. Cameras do not lie.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t they? I am not sure. I have heard that
people have tried to get pictures of materialized spirits,
and failed. The camera plate reveals <em>nothing</em>,
proving the delusions. Did you ever see an authentic
spirit-photograph?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“My father did, and I have often heard him tell
the story, although he does not profess to believe in
spiritism. He is a member of the Masonic fraternity,
and while in the West, a number of years ago,
one of his brother knights sickened and died. The
family had no good portrait of the man, and my
father, who was superintending the funeral arrangements,
obtained permission to get some one to take
a picture of the corpse.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There was a young lady photographer a few doors
away and she was called in. She told them she was
out of negative plates (they were in a country town
where supplies were not readily obtainable) but that
any glass would do. Accordingly she found a pane
of window glass, and cut it to the required dimensions
and prepared it otherwise for the holder. My
father propped the man upon pillows as well as he
could, and the artist focused upon him with care.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>Removing the plate she took it to a dark closet, previously
prepared, to apply the developing solution,
and then brought it forth to show to my father. He
looked at it, and exclaimed in surprise, for instead
of the dead man alone, there were three figures
upon the negative, a very good portrait of the corpse,
and on either side a man and a woman, their faces
growing more distinct as they looked. The artist
was as much surprised as my father, and could not
account for the phenomenon. At last they called in
a friend of the family, who at once recognized and
pronounced the portraits to be those of a deceased
brother and sister of the dead man. The widow corroborated
their statements, recognizing them and
calling them by their names. My father ordered the
artist to take another picture, as he wanted to keep
this, and she did so, obtaining one of the dead man
alone. I have not only my father’s word for this,
but that of others who were present at the time and
acquainted with the facts. Certainly, dear Mrs. Wylie,
that could have come only from actual materialized
spirits before the camera.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Unless the images were already stamped upon
the plate by some natural process before the picture
was taken. The glass might have been some old
cast-off negative from a studio; or I have read of
breath pictures stamped upon window-panes by natural,
if not well-understood, forces. There might
have been a mirror behind the dead man, which reflected
your father and the artist as the picture was
being taken. Of course it is very mysterious, but
might have a simple explanation if we could find it.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>The orientals believe they have astral bodies which
they can project at will. I am willing, I think, to believe
in <em>anything</em>, rather than spirits; for, my dear
friend, even if we grant that the spirits of our dear
departed are near us, and acting as guardian-angels
to us, do you think it would be necessary for them
to resort to so much that is unpleasant and almost
ludicrous in order to make us aware of their presence?
And even if they are able to make themselves
visible to the eye of the camera, is it well for us to
try to communicate with them and to seek to discover
that which God has hidden from us?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear, we are told to seek for the <em>truth</em>. And
why, then, is it not well? Surely, if the presence of
my children was dear to me on earth, it is dear to
me now.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, if you were in heaven with them; but I cannot
believe such doubtful converse as this, gotten
through mediumistic agency, can be well for any
one.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I can see no possible harm in it,” returned Mrs.
Lucien, with an air of conviction. “Even Christ materialized
after his crucifixion.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But He didn’t have a cabinet and a medium to
assist Him,” replied Mrs. Wylie, with some asperity.
“There is really so much that is despicable and
demoralizing connected with the history of this belief
that I confess I have little patience with the
followers of it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear, wrong has been done in all sects and
societies. Any new belief is apt to draw to itself
many who are no honor to it.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>“But think of all this buffoonery of materialization
in a cabinet, and table-rappings, and tying with
cords, and so forth. I cannot believe in it. Hermann
can surpass it by his magic.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did not Moses and Elijah materialize?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not in a cabinet. Besides, the days of miracles
are passed.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I cannot think so,” said Mrs. Lucien, clasping
her hands and looking upward with a rapturous
glance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well,” said Mrs. Wylie, rising, “I am sorry you
are so much interested in the subject. I have never
seen anything but sorrow come of it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is there not sorrow everywhere, Mrs. Wylie?
This day is, I think, symbolical of life, or of many
lives.” She threw open a window, and the two stepped
out upon a small balcony above the street.</p>
<p class='c005'>A heavy calm was over and about all nature. The
whistle of the oncoming train, the rattle of the car
over the pavement was louder and more discordant
than on brighter, sunnier days. Even the voices of
the people on the street grew distinct and harsh, as
the air, damp with the approaching storm, bore their
words with clearness to the twain above them.</p>
<p class='c005'>Little gusts of wind caught up the dust from the
trampled pavement, and whisked it over, in tyrannous
derision, and a dusky, yellow hue shone upon
the faces of humanity. The swinging signs before
the shop creaked and groaned ominously, and the
flag upon the tall pole in the park shook out its folds,
then wound them about the halyards and hung limp
and spiritless.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>The faint muttering of a cloud skirting the horizon
was at times heard, when the sound of busy humanity
was for a moment hushed.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien stood, leaning over the railing of the
veranda, her pale cheek resting in the soft upturned
palm of her hand, and her eyes fixed on the moving
panorama before her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I feel as though listening to the voice of God
coming from yonder storm-cloud,” she said. “How
responsive is all nature to the ominous warning
there. Even the trees seem to be holding their
breaths and waiting for the presence to pass by. Notice
how different is the quiver of the leaflets now
from their usual merry, rollicking dance in the wind
and sunshine at other times.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose the atmosphere is more dense and
heavy,” said Mrs. Wylie, determined not to be betrayed
into sentimentality.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I like to think they understand the portent of
the thunder and are afraid,” replied the other.
“They are saying their prayers now, and asking that
they may survive the blows and buffeting of the
coming tempest. Hear the sparrows chirp to call
their families together. To me there is no time so
grand, so inspiring as this.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But if you were in the West, where cyclones are
common, what would you feel?” asked the practical
Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Fear, terror, and trembling like the leaves, no
doubt,” replied Mrs. Lucien. “The anger and fury
expressed in a tornado must be dreadful. I shudder
at the thought of it. But after the wind comes a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>still small voice. Ah, how can people who live and
breathe the beneficent air of heaven, who witness the
wonderful phenomena of nature, say or believe there
is no grand, marvelous unity controlling it all?
Truly, it <em>is</em> the fool who sayeth in his heart, there
is no God.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We can feel His wonderful love and care in the
beautiful earth and flowers about us, can perceive
His righteous law in the retributive justice of all
nature, and His might and omnipotence in the thunder-storm
and cyclone. Ah, it is a wonderful thing
to live, to know that in a little while we shall have
crossed to the other side, beyond time and eternity.
And then we may see and know the Law-giver, this
Almighty One, who carries worlds in his hands, yet
deigns to note a sparrow’s fall.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” assented Mrs. Wylie, “it is a wonderful
thing to live.” But she sighed. She could not forget
the scene that presented itself to her eyes earlier
in the morning, and she bade her friend good-by
abstractedly, and passed out into the hurrying
world upon the street, her mind heavy and oppressed.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XIII<br> <span class='large'>A DOMESTIC JAR</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Mrs. Wylie went back to her home in a very dissatisfied
frame of mind. She mentally scourged herself
for having been instrumental in bringing Mrs.
Lucien under Dr. Lyman’s influence. The whole
subject was distasteful to her and she resolved to
keep away from Mrs. Lucien as much as possible in
the future. She could not rest, however, until she
had unburdened herself to her husband.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Horace, I am very sorry we ever met Mrs. Lucien,”
she said that evening as they sat in the quiet
of their parlor at the hotel.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Regret meeting Mrs. Lucien?” Mr. Wylie raised
his eyebrows quizzically. “And why, may I ask?
Am I to infer that you do me the honor to be—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, no, of course not. But—I feel that we have
done her harm—an incalculable amount of harm.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We do her harm? Will you be so kind as to explain
your anomalous words? I am not accustomed
to think of myself as a dangerous character, either
specially or as regards the body-politic,” he replied,
frowning.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I mean that, by our aid, she went to hear Dr.
Lyman, and I am afraid his pernicious theories
will ruin her,” faltered Mrs. Wylie, as she detected
her husband’s disapproval.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear, I would have you choose your adjectives
<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>more carefully. Pernicious is an offensive
word to use in connection with a subject of which
you know so little. Oblige me by deferring your
judgment until you are better acquainted with the
subject. Your blind prejudice is making you censorious.”
Mr. Wylie employed his most lofty tone
and manner.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I never want to know more of the subject, and I
shall always regret that I ever went or took Mrs.
Lucien to hear that man!” Mrs. Wylie’s blue eyes
filled with tears.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, see here, Puss, you seem more out of humor
than usual. What has happened to Mrs.
Lucien?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Matter enough! She is entirely carried away
with that—that Dr. Lyman’s creed,” she stammered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me where
she has gone,” he suggested with serio-comic gravity.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie smiled through her tears.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, she is here yet, at least in body, but her mind
is up in the clouds roving around after familiar spirits.
She was in some kind of a trance when I went
there to-day, and wrote me a letter purporting to
come from some mystical source.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah?” Mr. Wylie became interested.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It didn’t amount to anything. The whole thing
was dreadful.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why dreadful? Did you keep the letter?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, here it is upon my shopping-tablet.” She
detached the ivory ornament and handed it to him.
He studied it carefully, then said:</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>“And she was unconscious when she wrote this,
you say?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, apparently.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Strange, strange. It is as I thought. Mrs. Lucien
will develop into a writing medium. It is such
ethereal natures as hers that are chosen.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Horace, I cannot endure the thought of
such a thing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And why not, pray?” Again his eyebrows were
exasperatingly elevated.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Because there is no good in it. Because it will
ruin her, body and soul. Whoever goes into that belief
does so at his peril. He either becomes insane
or helplessly demoralized before many months or
years.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Where have you learned so much, Mrs. Wylie?
It appears to me I have never seen you so much excited
over anything before. Who has been talking
to you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I heard Mr. Smalley’s address at church last Sunday
evening, which you would not go to hear. He
said it was a most pernicious and dangerous theory
to follow. That it led to—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, I know. It is the wholesale condemnation of
heterodoxy by orthodoxy. It is believe what I believe
or be damned. All else is of the Devil. It has
been the habit of most people since the world began
to denounce as heresy, or ridicule as madness, things
too high for their sight or too deep for their comprehension.
But the day has gone by for this sort of
thing. It is merely a confession of ignorance, now-a-days,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>to assert a total disbelief in psychic and supernatural
phenomena.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Horace, there is much fraud and trickery
connected with it. Think of that exposé last winter
of that Mrs. Brunner.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, that is liable to happen in any creed or theology.
There are always some who make pretensions
from merely selfish motives.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Horace, this is no theology. That is what
I think so dreadful about it. If people would only
not make a religion of it and accept the utterance of
the so-called spirits for their guide in spiritual maters.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It seems to me spirits should be good guides in
spiritual matters,” said Mr. Wylie, smiling.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Horace, Mr. Smalley said that, as a rule, false
religions always led to sexual immorality; that we
would find the history of spiritism associated with
divorces and worse. Husbands separating from
their wives, wives from their husbands, minds becoming
unbalanced, business neglected, and a general
lowering of the whole social fabric, mentally
and morally. You know, Horace, many spiritists
are free-lovers.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am surprised that my wife has permitted herself
to listen to such utterances. Hereafter, I prefer
you do not go to hear Rev. Mr. Smalley. I will
take you with me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And I will <em>not</em> go with you to any more of those
horrid seances!” said Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Very well. I shall not compel you to do so. But
this childish anger and lack of self-control is very
<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>distasteful to me. I hope I may not have a repetition
of it.” Mr. Wylie arose and left the room,
while his wife threw herself upon a sofa and shed
tears of anger and grief over this experience of marital
infelicity.</p>
<p class='c005'>A small wedge may divide in halves a tree, but
when divided no power on earth can unite them as
closely as before; and little cracks in the soil of
home life may form a place for germ deposits in
which dissensions, strife, and all manner of unpleasantness
are bred.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie would not have confessed to her dearest
friends that her life the succeeding winter was
less happy than before, but it was true she felt a
growing estrangement between herself and husband.</p>
<p class='c005'>He was, possibly, as kind and indulgent as ever,
treating her as a fond parent might treat a wayward
child, but she missed the old-time confidences and
evening talks.</p>
<p class='c005'>Probably there had never been that true unity of
soul with soul that should constitute the real marriage,
but Elinor Wylie’s husband had always
seemed so proud of her, and fond, that until this
winter she had felt no lack in his affection. But,
alas, so small a thing will turn and divide a shallow
stream, and when turned, how far apart the separate
branches may run. And the ideal marriage of
true unity of thought and purpose is so rarely consummated.
Hence the world of divided lives.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie felt that they were drifting away
from each other, and every wife knows what that
may be. To feel the division growing wider and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>wider, deeper and more impassable, and be impotent
to stop it.</p>
<p class='c005'>The little coolnesses and differences which are
at first made up with kisses of cementing power
grow more frequent and bitter. The endearing
word is less frequently given. By and by the good-by
kiss is forgotten when he leaves her, the salute of
greeting omitted when he returns, and each heart
grows harder and harder, bitterer and bitterer, until
at last he thinks of her but to censure and condemn,
she of him but to dislike and fear. And finally,
as Byron writes, “Hating one another, wishing
one another dead, they live respectably as man
and wife.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Only the first act of this drama of life had as yet
come to Mrs. Wylie, but the little imp of unrest had
crept into her breast, and the quiet happiness of
other days was no more. Horace Wylie spent less
time at home than formerly, and when there buried
himself in books and papers, and thus the little
woman was left much to herself to seek pleasure and
excitement where she could.</p>
<p class='c005'>The one thing which caused Mrs. Wylie more
heart-ache than any other was her husband’s growing
interest and adherence to the creed of Dr. Lyman.
Although that subject was tabooed between
them, she knew he regularly attended seances during
the winter and no longer even asked her to accompany
him.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie was grievously disappointed in Mrs.
Lucien and went less frequently to see her, for she
knew her friend had been led into giving public seances,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>and as a writing medium and psychometrist
was being much talked of in the city and sought after
by a certain set, many of whom Mrs. Wylie felt she
would not care to acknowledge as acquaintances, although
they belonged to a psychical society or club
of which Mr. Wylie was a member. This club had
made much of Mrs. Lucien and brought her before
the public.</p>
<p class='c005'>Hence, Mrs. Wylie, being left to her own resources,
went more in society, was gayer, more extravagant
and fashionable than ever, and little Robert
was left more and more to the care of the remarkable
Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby grew and waxed beautiful, and became
more and more a fact and factor in Mr. Wylie’s
household. She was no longer only nurse to the
child, but companion and friend to Mrs. Wylie. It
was Tibby’s fingers that brushed away the headache
brought on by social dissipation. It was Tibby’s
sympathy and advice that soothed away the little
vexations that sometimes distressed her mistress.
Mrs. Wylie would as soon have thought of giving
up little Robert as this Tibby who had grown into
her heart and love. Even Mr. Wylie was not insensible
to the charm of her presence. He began to
treat her more as a daughter of the house and indulge
her in any whim or fanciful taste she might entertain.</p>
<p class='c005'>Truly, Tibby was in a fair way to become spoiled,
according to his earlier theories; but Mr. Wylie
seemed to have forgotten those early fears, and now
helped in the spoiling.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>And thus, when Mr. Wylie’s business required his
removal to the Pacific slope, Tibby went with this
family of her adoption, secure in her present and future
needs.</p>
<p class='c005'>And there, among strangers and strange scenes
she was known as the adopted daughter of the
wealthy Mr. Wylie. Teachers were procured for
her, and a broader culture and further accomplishments
were added to the native graces of our little
country girl.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tom and Bess became pleasant memories of that
past which now seemed to Tibby so far away, and
though she laughed and shed tears occasionally over
their misspelled and somewhat illegible letters, she
no longer pined for the companions of her childhood.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XIV<br> <span class='large'>BEFORE THE PUBLIC</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The large hall of the Lennox is filled with a curious
and heterogeneous assemblage of men and
women. The majority of those present are believers
in spiritism, and ready and more than willing to
credit all the phenomena witnessed to spirit agency.
A few are there who came in the honest endeavor
to learn the truth and to discover if there is something
in the mystic realms beyond the sight which
may be made clear to their comprehension. There
are others, however, who came with malice aforethought,
desiring to thwart and expose the trickery
which they believe is practised by the medium.</p>
<p class='c005'>Before all this multitude she whom we have called
Mrs. Lucien appears to give an exhibition of psychometric
reading and slate-writing.</p>
<p class='c005'>She has changed slightly since we saw her. She is
even thinner and more ethereal looking than she was
then. Her eyes have a pained, timid look in them,
as if the life she is leading is fraught with haunting
ghosts and mocking spectres, with tortured nerves
and sleepless nights. Mrs. Lucien has had much to
cause her extreme dejection and pain.</p>
<p class='c005'>These exhibitions which she gives are for the most
part but as dreams to her. She has little realization
of what she says or does in the trance state into
which she passes. But it has happened once or twice
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>that she has been unable to become fully passive and
entranced. Then she has been obliged to simulate
such a condition or wholly disappoint her audience
and make an utter failure of her work. It is the fear
of this deception, to which she may be compelled to
resort at any time, which frightens her and fills her
with self-loathing.</p>
<p class='c005'>She has that fear upon her now as she comes forward
and sits down before the audience, her pale face
waxen in the gaslight.</p>
<p class='c005'>If she should fail! She sits very still, seeking to
hold her thoughts in abeyance, that she may woo
that sweet forgetfulness and waking dream which
reveals to her the mysteries of the invisible.</p>
<p class='c005'>It is coming.</p>
<p class='c005'>Her hands grow cold and sink weightily upon her
lap. She feels the mystic power enveloping her,
creeping down, over and around her. The lights
grow dimmer and dimmer. Her eyelids are
freighted with leaden compresses.</p>
<p class='c005'>Soon eyes and ears are closed to all external sights
and sounds. Strange melodies, fitful and harmonious,
sound within, and strange lights, like electric
sparks, flash across and illumine the recesses of her
brain.</p>
<p class='c005'>She feels as if mind and body had become separate
and apart. Thoughts new and uncalled for come to
overwhelm her. Then voices from out of the distance
are heard. Words, words come in numbers,
half-consciously to her lips, but she hears them as
afar off. She sees with closed eyes, and in this inner
vision message after message written out before her.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>Words written upon a scrap of paper and crushed
in her hand stand out in bright distinctness before
her mental vision. Words in languages other than
those she speaks are known to her. She forgets
them as soon as uttered. No—hark! “Tell Harry
his mother is waiting for him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Did her lips utter those words? She cannot tell.
Words, words, words—where do they come from?
She is under control. No power or volition of her
own consciousness moves her. Songs, sweet songs,
she hears. Does she sing them? Is she out of mortal
life or in it?</p>
<p class='c005'>It is over!</p>
<p class='c005'>The world in which she has been living floats
away like evanescent smoke in ether-filled space.
She awakens to the unfriendly glare of the foot-lights,
the restless, garish crowd, the unfeeling
world again.</p>
<p class='c005'>Ugh! She shudders. If she could never more
waken. Whence comes this pain, this actual pain
which racks her?</p>
<p class='c005'>Even that is over at last, and she can arise and escape
from it all. How gladly she would shut herself
up in her own little room with Dolores again. But
it must not be. The five dollars a night for these
exhibitions must be earned and laid by for Dolores.</p>
<p class='c005'>She puts on her wraps and enters her carriage to
be whirled away to the hotel, her temporary abiding
place. What are her thoughts and reflections upon
this lonely, homeward ride!</p>
<p class='c005'>“O God, O God!” she is saying; “show me
some other way! Am I wrong, wicked to do this?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>Where does it come from, this power? From Thee
or from the shades of darkness? If I only knew!
If I only knew! Why did it ever come to me? Why
should my life be so differently ordered from that of
other and happier women? Can it be I am the same
who was once safe and sheltered in the comforts of
home? Safe? Did not the serpent enter my Eden—even
there?</p>
<p class='c005'>“O God! why did it come? Can this life be
real? If I could but waken and find it all a dream.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XV<br> <span class='large'>WELCOME GUESTS</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>We will pass over the first few years of Lissa’s pioneer
life, only mentioning one or two experiences
which, though common to that section of the country,
brought terror and anxiety to the heart of our
little bright-eyed woman. Again they experienced
the sweeping of a prairie fire near them, when Nathan
came expecting to find their home in ashes, and
another hour when a blizzard drove them terrorstricken
to their dug-out, where, during the long
night, they listened to the shrieking and pounding
of the elements, expecting every moment to have the
roof torn from the house.</p>
<p class='c005'>There had been seasons of famine and distress,
too, when neighbors had been obliged to turn to each
other for aid, and the higher and diviner attributes
of mankind had shone forth as gold from the crucible,
and others, alas! had been proven so encased in
the rock of selfishness that when Famine’s gaunt
wolf howled about they thought only of themselves
and their own safety, and consoled their consciences
by quoting, “Charity begins at home.”</p>
<p class='c005'>But these trials had drawn the little community
more closely together, and the habit of calling each
other by the first name became general, showing the
unity of feeling among them.</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan, owing to his winter employment, escaped
<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>the privations common to many, and Mark, also, had
not to depend upon the mutability of the seasons for
a livelihood.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa had grown fully in the enjoyment of her
home; and in the company of her bright-eyed little
daughter, who pattered about the house, adding to
her joy as well as care, she realized the ideal life of
a mother. What is it to her that away in the East
the luxuries of life are magnified, and things unessential
to her are there necessities?</p>
<p class='c005'>She has enough to eat, enough to wear, so far as
comfort demands; and the fashion periodical which
is sent to her each month keeps her in touch with the
outside world. She can fashion the simple fabrics
which serve to replenish her wardrobe after the latest
modes. She reads the daily papers, sent to her in
bundles six or eight at a time, and is familiar with
the doings of metropolitans. If the time shall ever
come when she shall need to go back to city life she
will be ready.</p>
<p class='c005'>Look at her now as she steps to the door in anticipation
of Nathan’s home-coming. Her shining ringlets
hang about her fair face in the way her husband
loves best to see them; her arched, short upper lip
describes the Cupid’s bow over the full under one,
and her large, luminous black eyes, gleaming with
slumbering fires, look out upon the smooth, sunlit
expanse before her. She is a beautiful and charming
picture of a happy and contented wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>A half hour later Nathan entered and greeted the
little woman tenderly, while he noted with the eye of
love the pallor of the upturned face.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>“I am afraid the care of baby and all is getting to
be too much for you again,” he said. “I must get
Neoka back from the post to help you. I think she
will prove more tractable, now the Quakers have had
her in charge so long. I want you to get out more.
You are getting to look too much like a cellar plant.
Besides, we have visitors coming and I want you to
have time to enjoy them.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa’s eyes dilated eagerly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Nate, it can’t be—Who is it? It <em>can’t be</em>—<em>mamma</em>?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, dear, and Donald.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mamma and Donald? But how did they come
together? Where are they? O Nate, I don’t understand!”
And Lissa pressed her hand to her heart.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There, there, dear. Don’t get excited. I’m
afraid I’ve told you too suddenly. Your mother
stopped with Alice to have me come on and let you
know. They’ll be here after a little while. Donald
is out tethering the ponies, and waiting, for the
same reason.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Nate, now I’m entirely happy!” And Lissa
caught up the child and laughed and cried while she
kissed it ecstatically.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hello, sis! Aren’t you embracing the wrong
one? You might save a little for the rest of us.”
Lissa looked up to see Donald’s laughing face framed
in the doorway. She extended both hands to him.
“O Don, I’m so happy, I don’t know whether to
laugh or cry!” she gasped, her tears mingling with
her smiles.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, Lissa, I don’t actually know which is the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>more becoming to you—perhaps both. I always did
like April weather. You are fully as dazzling as a
rainbow now. It was rather bad for us to come and
surprise you, that’s a fact; but I knew you wouldn’t
mind me, and Nathan tells me you didn’t receive
your mother’s letter.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, and I’m glad I didn’t. I could never have
waited for her to get here; no, <em>never</em>! I should have
started alone across the prairies, horseback, to meet
her. But how changed you are, Don. You look so
much taller and bigger, and—my!—so much older!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, it’s the added wisdom of my college years,”
replied Donald with assumed gravity. “That’s what
ages a fellow. It’s the Greek and Latin that you
see sticking out all over me that has changed me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa looked up into the smiling eyes of this big
brother and wondered if it was those four years of
hard study that had so chiseled and thinned the boyish
face of her remembrance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suspect that mustache is responsible for some
of the change,” she said aloud.</p>
<p class='c005'>“So? Shall I shave it off? It’s an outgrowth of
<i><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">calculus</span></i>.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, you’re all right as you are. I’m not sure but
you’re improved.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, that morsel of flattery is sweet, at last, and
I’ve been fishing for it so long,” said Donald, with
an expansive sigh. “I rather expected you to say
at once, ‘how much handsomer you’ve grown!’”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am very glad I did not say it,” said Lissa, with
a grimace. “But I see mamma coming. Excuse
me, Donald, I must run to meet her!” and Lissa,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>with all the abandon of a school-girl, ran down the
path to meet the stately mother, whose tears were
ready to mingle with those of her beloved child.
And when, a few moments later, Lissa came in
clinging fondly to the maternal arm, the crimson
flush of excited pleasure in her cheeks, the intervening
years seemed to have been stricken out and one
saw but the girl of sixteen who so trustingly gave
her future into Nathan’s care and bade good-by to
Donald in his Iowa home.</p>
<p class='c005'>But there is little Lucy to be shown to grandma,
and kissed and commented upon, and the tea is cold,
and the cakes in danger of being spoiled before
Lissa is recalled to her duties as hostess.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, Donald, dear, I shall let you all starve, I
am sure, before I can bring myself down to such
mundane affairs as bread and butter again. How
delightful this is. I didn’t know I was homesick
before, but now I think I must have been. But how
did you happen to be with mother, Don?” she babbled.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Our meeting was ‘purely accidental,’ as the fiction
writers say. I saw her at the station and heard
her inquiring for a carriage to bring her out here,
and so I made bold to introduce myself. Of course
she saw at a glance the honesty in my face, and knew
I was a confidence man—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, oh!” cried Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And I told her I was a poor navigator bound for
the same harbor and we set sail together,” Donald
concluded.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Clyne nodded. “That is true, notwithstanding
<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>Mr. Bartram’s rather mixed metaphor,” she
said, smiling.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, how strangely it happened, and fortunately.
And now you will spend the winter with us; and you,
too, I hope, Donald.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have to take charge of a surveying party for
a few weeks. After that I may be back to spend
some time here.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, yes, I remember you are a civil engineer.
You will enjoy the hunting in the winter on the buffalo
grounds.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not hunting buffalo, I hope. At the rate they
are being slaughtered they will soon be extinct,” said
Nathan.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Never fear, Nathan, I’ve little taste that way.
It’s too noble an animal,” replied Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, now, I have made new tea, and we will
have supper. It’s <em>supper</em> here, mother, instead of
<em>dinner</em>, and I know you are all ravenously hungry
after your long ride of twenty-five miles from the
station.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It seems to me an extremely long distance to be
from a railway,” said Mrs. Clyne, after they were
seated around the table, where Lissa’s silver shone
resplendent. “How did you happen to come so far
from one when you bought?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan smiled.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I took up the land first, believing at the time the
line would run nearer, and it is only a question of
time when it will do so.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose this is a great farming country.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We have much to contend with here,” said Nathan.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>“The ground is rich, but has little depth.
We are liable to have a wind-storm that will carry
the land from one farm to another.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Free transportation and exchange of farms,” said
Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; again, we have a fine crop of grain or corn
nearly in ear, when there will come a hot wind and
sear the leaves like a fire. We are never quite sure,
or able to prognosticate here for the future, whether
we will have corn, beans, and potatoes to eat, beans
and potatoes, or whether it will be beans alone.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And you sometimes have real fires,” said Mrs.
Clyne. “I have worried about them ever since the
one you wrote me about, which Lissa fought. How
did you do it, dear?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Really, I don’t know. I was so frightened that
I didn’t have time to think. The grass was not so
high on this side of the river or I don’t know what
might have happened.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Lissa aided in turning the fire. I doubt if it
would have spared us otherwise,” said Nathan.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I shall always believe it a real miracle that time,”
said Lissa. “It was only a day or two before that
that Nathan had brought the calves around to crop
the grass before the house. Had it not been for that,
it surely would have burned. And who inspired him
to bring them just when he did?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think you all learned something that time,” said
Alice. “You have since followed Mark’s example
and kept the grass cut around the house. But there’s
always danger in the fall, when the weeds are high
in the outlying fields.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>“When Mr. Elmer’s house was burned it was
nearly as terrifying. Nathan was thirty-five miles
from home, and men came across the fields and
lighted back fires for me. The wind was driving
the flames up from the south and burning corn-fields
and houses by the way,” Lissa said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How dreadful! You sometimes have it very cold
here also,” said Mrs. Clyne.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, but we are used to that, and our houses are
warm. Don’t worry about that, mother.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly not, I can stand it if you can, I am sure.
But how are you off socially? Have you pleasant
neighbors?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, indeed, and neighbors are neighbors, here.
We call each other by the first name,—that is, most
of us do,—and we are not above borrowing from
one another when necessary.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should think not,” laughed Alice. “We have
often loaned our dresses and shoes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And that isn’t all.” And then the twain looked
at each other and laughed again.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t see how you ever became accustomed to
it, girls. You were brought up to such a different
life,” Mrs. Clyne remarked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, it’s easy, just as easy as learning to skate,”
responded Lissa, not finding at hand any more suitable
comparison. “It comes to one naturally in a
little time.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Clyne shook her head. “I’m afraid it
wouldn’t come to me. I’m too old.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, now mother, don’t think that. You’ll really
enjoy it. And we have some really nice people
<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>here. The McClearys, for instance; and the Davitts
and the Youngs and the Garretts. Then we
<em>know</em> every one for miles away, and intimately.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” said Alice, “we know all the private affairs
of each other. If Mrs. Garrett gets a new dress all
the neighbors know of it, and if I have company to
tea, or make plum butter, it is known from here to
C——”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, it’s all beyond me,” Mrs. Clyne sighed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And when we visit one another we take our work
along and stay to tea,” giggled Lissa, “whether we
are invited or not.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And just think, mother, I have been in a carriage
but once or twice since we came here. I always go
horseback,” added Alice. “And Donald,—I’m sure
you’ll allow me to follow our custom out here and
call you so, as you are one of the family,—the young
folks go ‘sparking’ out here, and—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And sit in the corner and hold each other’s
hands,” put in Nathan.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Whew, that sounds interesting. I’m booked for
at least one winter here. Are the girls pretty?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly, and there are heaps of them, as
we say here. There are more girls than boys, for
some reason. Really I don’t know of more than half
a dozen marriageable young <em>men</em> in this section.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose with so much land in sight they preempt
a portion and marry to live upon, and secure
it,” said Donald. “But who are the girls?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, there are the Pemberton twins, who look
so exactly alike you could never tell which was
which,” continued Alice.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>“That sounds interesting! Two fair ones must be
better than one. Shall I put a mem. in my note-book
concerning them?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It will not be necessary. You will see them soon
enough, and will rarely see one without the other.
They are quite the rage, and have cropped yellow
curls, and milky blue eyes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald lifted his eyebrows quizzically.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Lissa is such a fine word photographist, one can
see their very image,” he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, Don, leave the women to their gossip and
come with me,” said Nathan. “I want a history of
the old home since you were here.” And the two
men sauntered out into the night and the wonderful
silence of the moonlit prairie.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XVI<br> <span class='large'>AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Among the visitors at Lissa’s home was one whom
she at first received with scant hospitality, if not actual
discourtesy. This was Professor Russell.</p>
<p class='c005'>How he had chanced to come to their neighborhood
she never knew. He had accompanied her husband
home from the post one evening, and the dismay
she felt at the sight of him had not been easily
disguised.</p>
<p class='c005'>Why he should have sought them was a question
that often returned to her as the months brought frequent
visits from him, sometimes prolonged into
weeks of sojourn in the neighborhood. Sometimes
for months nothing would be seen of him, then suddenly
he would appear like a dangerous comet,
bringing a feeling of uneasiness to Lissa, wherefore
she could not have told.</p>
<p class='c005'>When inquired of as to his wanderings and uncertain
appearances, he always said he had been in
the East, but added no further account of himself.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa at first distrusted and disliked him instinctively.
His bland, insinuating manner was thrown
away upon her, she told herself.</p>
<p class='c005'>And yet she feared him too much to refuse him
admittance to her home. Since that night when, at
the house of Squire Bartram, he had so accurately
described her brother-in-law’s encounter with the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>Sioux she had not doubted his power of divination
or clairvoyance, or whatever the faculty might be
termed. But it was an uncanny, unpleasant power,
and she felt a shudder of superstitious terror whenever
he approached her.</p>
<p class='c005'>She would have been glad of any justifiable pretext
to keep him from visiting them, and was happy
when the weeks would roll by without his appearing
among them.</p>
<p class='c005'>This feeling, however, gradually wore away in
some measure as she became more accustomed to his
presence, and as her sister, and later her mother, became
interested in his theories, she began to tolerate
with more patience his teaching of spiritism.</p>
<p class='c005'>He held frequent seances in the neighborhood, and
many of the families about her had become more or
less interested in the doctrines, few of them openly
opposing them and their teacher, except her handsome
brother-in-law, Mark Cramer. He was outspoken
in his condemnation of both the man and his
<em>ism</em>.</p>
<p class='c005'>One mild November afternoon, when the sisters
and mother were together at Lissa’s home, the name
of a sister who had died in infancy was mentioned.</p>
<p class='c005'>“If,” said Alice, “there is any truth in Professor
Russell’s communications, I would like to have him
bring me word from Elsie. No one here, not even
Mark, knows of her having existed, as we so rarely
mention her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa assented, and observed that it was the anniversary
of her death, the thirteenth of November.</p>
<p class='c005'>Before they had finished their conversation upon
<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>the topic they were startled by a rap at the outer
door and Lissa opened it to see the ubiquitous Professor
himself, who, after shaking hands with the
sisters and Mrs. Clyne, seated himself, and without
asking for either Nathan or Mark, observed suavely:</p>
<p class='c005'>“As both of your husbands are to be at home to-day,
I called to see if we might not invite in some of
the neighbors and hold a seance this evening.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But Nathan is absent,” said Lissa, “and will not
be home until Saturday.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And Mark is out upon the plains, forty miles
from here,” added Alice.</p>
<p class='c005'>The Professor smiled indulgently.</p>
<p class='c005'>“They are both coming home and will be here before
evening,” he said with an air of assurance.</p>
<p class='c005'>The three women exchanged glances. Was this
but talk, or did he have the power of unveiling the
future as well as the past? Or did he clairvoyantly
see Nathan and Mark directing their course thither-ward?</p>
<p class='c005'>“You speak with conviction, Professor,” Lissa at
length replied. “Have you received intelligence
from the absent ones which is not known to us?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That which I see, ye cannot now perceive,” the
man said sententiously. “Yet the time is coming
when you as well shall have the power to lift the veil
which hides the dreaded unknown and learn the
mysteries which are only revealed to those who are
willing to seek in the right manner and submit themselves
to the spirit influences which surround them.
You can never know, Mrs. Clyne, the peace you will
experience when you have ceased to resist and rebel
<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>against the gentle influences which seek only to promote
your happiness and well-being. There is one
angelic form now hovering about you and anxiously
striving to win recognition from those so near and
dear to her when on earth.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Can you tell her name,” questioned Lissa, as the
man, with his eye fixed upon the opposite wall,
paused and seemed wrapped in thought.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is a woman, young and beautiful. She must
be a near relative. Her name is E-l-s-i-e—Elsie.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice looked at her mother with awe-shaded eyes.
Whence did this man’s knowledge come? It was
certainly remarkable. He could not have known
Elsie.</p>
<p class='c005'>Further speculation or conversation was arrested
by the sound of a horse’s feet outside the door, and
in a moment the handsome, smiling face of Mark
Cramer appeared. His curling, yellow hair hung in
womanish profusion to his powerful shoulders, over
which a large soft hat rested becomingly. His hunting
costume of gray, with belt and pistols, spoke of
his wild, free life; and his clear blue eyes, florid
complexion, and Herculean frame made a magnificent
picture of manly strength and perfection, as for a
brief time he stood framed in the open doorway
against the back-ground of the setting sun.</p>
<p class='c005'>A moment later, and Alice, with a little cry of welcome,
sprang to greet him. The Professor aroused
himself from his semi-trance, and Mrs. Clyne and
Lissa were extending their hands and expressing
surprise at his coming.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How did you chance to come home so much earlier
<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>than you expected?” Alice asked radiantly, when
the greetings were over and they were seated. “We
did not look for you for a fortnight.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We lost one of our men, Wish-has-ta, and as he
was to marry Enona, daughter of the chief, when he
returned, we thought it our first duty to look him
up, and so started back to see what had become of
him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And did you find him?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, yes, in town. He had become separated
from us by buffalo. The mad little mustang he
rode kept along with the herd, in spite of him, for
several miles, or until at last he came to a ravine and
managed to fall into it. He narrowly escaped being
trampled to death as the herd went over him, but
he got out with only a few injuries. He lost his
pony, however, and instead of following us, made
his way back to camp. He left word at C—— that
he was safe, as he knew we’d be looking for him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And did you see Nathan,” asked Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, he’ll be home to-night too. I came into
C—— early and called at his place of business.
That’s a fine place Nathan has, with the Major.
Good pay and light duties. Much better than his
position at the post.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, only it keeps him away from home more.
And so you will both be here to-night after all.
Professor Russell, you have in this case proven a true
prophet.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I trust I am in every case,” he replied, with an
expressive gesture of the hand. “I do not rely upon
lying spirits for my information.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>“Well,” said Lissa, not perceiving Mark’s frown
of disapproval, “if we have a seance here to-night
we must get word to our neighbors.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I will myself go and call Mrs. McCleary and
good Auntie Dearborn,” said Russell, “and will get
word to the Jenkinsons and Sol Garrett, if you
wish.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Be sure and have Esther McCleary present,” said
Mrs. Clyne. “I am greatly interested in that girl.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly; no meeting would be complete without
her,” responded Russell, bowing himself from
the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Esther will not come if she can avoid it,” said
Alice after the Professor had gone. “She feels deeply
mortified because of the exhibition she was forced
to make of herself at Mr. Jenkinson’s. She herself
has no faith in spiritism, even though her mother is
so absorbed in it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Poor girl, I pity her,” Lissa said. “It is a shame
the way her mother misuses her. Letting her have
all the care of that large family, while she sits in her
easy chair and holds communion with spirits, as she
claims.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Was she always like that,” asked Mrs. Clyne. “I
confess she impresses me as being just a little out,”
tapping her forehead significantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She was quite an invalid when she first came
here,” replied Lissa, “and of course the burden of
household care fell upon Esther, and since Mrs.
McCleary has been in better health she does not seem
inclined to shoulder responsibility of any kind, and
Esther is cook, housekeeper, and nurse to those children,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>as entirely as though she were the only
woman about the house. She is a delicate girl, too,
and must break down soon if she is not relieved of
some of her burdens, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mrs. McCleary was all right until she became a
convert to this accursed spiritism,” said Mark. “I
have known her for years. She used to live near
my old home in Iowa, and was a good, capable
woman; but she seems now to have no interest in
anything that does not come from the other world.
If Esther should die and become a spirit she might
become an object of her interest and solicitude. I
am utterly disgusted with Russell and all of his
nonsense about spirit manifestations, and revelations,
and the like. In my opinion, all the spirit he communes
with is the spirit of evil, his Satanic majesty.
I can’t have a bit of faith in the fellow, and I believe
Nathan feels as I do about it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, come now,” said Alice, “you are too bad,
Mark. Professor Russell certainly believes in his
creed himself, and is honest in his convictions,
whether they be right or wrong.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I even doubt that,” replied Mark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He foretold your coming here to-day. What
do you think of that?” asked Alice triumphantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think he probably saw Wish-has-ta, who told
him we would certainly come back for him, or possibly
he may have seen me in C—— after my arrival.
I stopped there several hours. Depend upon it, he
learned it from no disembodied spirit.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And more than that, Mark, he told us about our
<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>sister Elsie, and I am sure he could not have heard
about her,” Alice continued.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Unless he may have heard you talking about her,
with mother or Lissa, lately.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa flushed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How suspicious you are, Mark. I am sure he
might have learned these things through spirit
agency, as well as many others which can be explained
in no other way.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How do you know, Alice, that they can be explained
in no other way?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But have not all tribes and races believed in spiritualism
since the beginning of the world,” said Mrs.
Clyne.</p>
<p class='c005'>“In a kind of spiritualism, perhaps; so have they
believed in many other <em>isms</em>, but that does not prove
them true,” replied Mark. “The heathen searchers
after God have found Him in the water, in the fire,
in the sun, and in the creatures of His making, and
have worshiped the spirit of the universe as manifested
in material things; but these so-called spiritists
put aside the Creator and make a religion of a
belief in spirits of mortals, like themselves.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But do you not think this should strengthen one’s
faith in the soul’s immortality? Are we not spirits
living in material bodies? And when the material
body dies, if our spirits are immortal, why should
not they seek to manifest themselves to their friends
on earth? I am sure if you would read Davis’s
works you would have less scepticism,” said Alice
with some warmth.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, have you been reading them?” Mark spoke
<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>quickly and almost harshly. The color deepened in
Alice’s face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly I have, and many others. What harm
can come of learning all one can? I am sure we
should not condemn any creed until we investigate
it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark frowned. “Where did you get all these
books?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Professor Russell has brought them to us, and
mother, Lissa and I have read them at his request,
and I assure you we have been much interested in
them.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“All of them, as well as Swedenborg, teach sound
morality and oppose evil.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Your Bible teaches you that, Alice; and as I understand
it, it does <em>not</em> teach you that the spirit of
mortal man comes back on earth to perform the absurd
feats of overturning tables, rapping and tapping
upon furniture, making it dance around the
room, and like antics. It seems to me, if I were a
spirit, I would prefer to be engaged in some more
dignified occupation.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I hope, Mark,” said Mrs. Clyne, “you won’t let
prejudice make you unjust. There is certainly much
about this matter which we cannot understand, and
is it not our duty to learn all we can?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mother, there <em>is</em> much about this that I don’t understand,
neither do I understand how the juggler
or the East Indian magician performs his marvelous
feats, nor can I see that it is necessary for us to
know.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>“But if the knowing would be valuable to us? If
we should learn from it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have great faith in my mother’s Bible. I believe
that teaches all the religion it is wisdom for us
to understand. I prefer the teachings of Christ and
his disciples to any disembodied spirit, good or bad,—the
Professor admits that evil as well as good spirits
commune with mortals,—and I never have seen
any really good results from a belief in spiritism.
‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’ I find that in
many instances its believers become its victims, and
either end their days in a mad-house or permit themselves
to drift into free-love doctrines or some other
demoralizing fad, until they become unprincipled
and lose the respect of their fellow-men. This much
I have learned from observation, and I have yet to
see one person whom this belief has made better, nobler,
or more useful to society. Nor, in my opinion,
improved in what pertains to good morality and
good citizenship.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice looked abashed, but Lissa said:</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid you will not relish spending your
first evening here at a spirit-seance. I am sorry that
the Professor happened to come at this time.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I prefer to be here if Alice is to be present at such
a meeting; in fact, I strongly object to her attending
one in my absence,” Mark said. “I will say in
all sincerity, I wish she and you had never seen this
Russell or heard of his abominable <em>ism</em>. I am
sorry that you have been fed on such literature as he
has been sending you, and I regret more, that you
have given enough credence to it to tolerate his society
<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>or his absurd seances. He is, in my opinion,
a gross humbug.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But that is only your <em>opinion</em>, Mark,” suggested
Alice.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t believe there is any mystery about this
that cannot be explained by one of three hypotheses:
first, animal magnetism or hypnotism; second, jugglery
or sleight of hand in the medium; third,
thought transference, mind-reading and telepathy, or
perhaps I should say the force, not yet well understood,
that makes these things possible. These,
aided by the excited and overwrought imagination
of the witnesses, can produce any phenomena adduced.
There are men with strong wills, sufficient
to control entirely those with whom they come in
contact, and make them do, think, feel or believe
whatever they suggest. We have frequently seen
these exhibitions from traveling mesmerists, who
make no pretense to spiritism, nor attribute their
power to spirit agency. I believe the Davenport
brothers perform their feats in the same manner. It
seems to me that our mind, like our body, is dual,
and that one part of it can come entirely under the
control of another person if we are sufficiently interested
in anything to be off our guard. How differs
this spiritism from the Babylonian necromancy?
Undoubtedly there is a force which, if understood
by man, would enable him to put himself in a hypnotic
state at will, and when in that state to see
clairvoyantly, hear clair-audiently, and communicate
with other minds or intelligences in the same condition.
Hence the remarkable clairvoyant dreams, visions,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>etc., which come under peculiar stresses of excitement.
There is a queer thing about this force
which may manifest itself in another way. I remember
that when I was at college we boys used to
try this experiment. We would place one of our
number in a chair and two of us would lift him high
from the floor—while he held tightly to the chair—by
merely placing the little fingers of one hand under
the bend of his knees and the forefingers of the
other hand under his elbows. We would use no
force, seemingly, in lifting him, and he would appear
but a featherweight, but we would all hold
our breath at the same instant and <em>think</em> of lifting
him. We lifted men weighing two hundred pounds
in this way. Ordinarily the muscles of those fingers
would not sustain such a weight. What then was
the force which aided us? Mind-reading is a proven
fact, as is hypnotism. Subjects in the hands of a
hypnotist will imagine themselves Napoleon, Washington,
or any individual suggested, and assume the
character and carriage of such individuals, talking,
reasoning, and affirming in harmony with the character
assumed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why then should we attribute everything of this
kind seen at a spirit seance to spirits?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Professor Russell is clairvoyant,” said Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But clairvoyancy, or psychic force, is not spiritism,
and those mediums are either self-deceived or
deceive their audiences by their legerdemain. I can
understand that in some instances they might be self-deceived,
as a hypnotic subject, by suggestion. It
seems this second intelligence of ours will reason
<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>from a false starting point as well as from a correct
one, and, given a false suggestion—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Mark,” again interrupted Alice, “you are
only giving your opinion and we all have a right to
our own individual opinions, and we think and reason
for ourselves.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark sighed. “Yes, only do not let that Professor
think and reason for you. Read your Bible, and
pray God that you may not be deceived.” Then,
passing his hand caressingly over her fair hair he
continued lightly, “Don’t you think we have had
enough of this for the present?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; only—Mark, I want to say one thing. The
Bible contains many passages which confirm the
truth of spiritism. Don’t you remember the fingers
of a man’s hand that wrote upon the wall at Belshazzar’s
feast?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, some more of Russell’s thinking for you.
That is the worst of it. Almost anything may be
proven by the Bible in the hands of a skilful and unscrupulous
manipulator, who quotes solitary texts
without reference to the subject which precedes or
follows them. Professor Russell has doubtless
called your attention to many such ‘proofs.’ Beware
of the blind leaders of the blind, Alice. I do not
object to the spiritualism of the Bible, which comes
from God; but I do make a distinction between that
and the modern spiritism, which consists of buffoonery
and worse. This demon worship, or worship
of spirits who like to assume the form and speech
of an Indian child, or ignorant buffoon, is ridiculous.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>Let me see, what was it Mrs. Jenkins said her
mother appeared in?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“In the form of a morning-glory,” said Lissa,
laughing. “But I didn’t know before, Mark, that
you were such a theologian.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark smiled.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I went to Sunday-school when I was a boy, and
I had a praying mother and father. Besides, I used
to hear the Bible read each day when I was at home,
and one does not forget his early lessons.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, come to tea now. I think your ride and
talk must have given you an appetite.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It does not require a canter over the prairies nor
a dissertation on spiritism to give me that when you
are the cook,” he replied gallantly, and the party
gathered about the table.</p>
<p class='c005'>Later, when Lissa and her mother were busy in
the other room, Alice approached her husband.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did I understand you to say that you did not
wish me to see Professor Russell when you are
away?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I may not have said as much, but I should much
prefer you do not.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice’s cheeks reddened and she lifted her chin angrily.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” repeated Mark, noticing her rising color,
“I mean what I say. Russell must keep away from
my house in my absence.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And I say—” began Alice, but paused as the door
opened and Nathan entered, accompanied by the
light-hearted, fun-loving Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Don, we just needed you. Every one is so
<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>sepulchral here to-night,” cried Lissa. Then she continued
in a half-whisper to Mark: “Even Professor
Russell has no power over Donald. He did not foretell
<em>his</em> coming.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mne! I suspect he would have been willing to
have excused his absence,” remarked Mrs. Clyne.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You do look a little solemncholy, that’s a fact,”
Donald said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t we? And all because we are going to
have a spirit seance to-night.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan started.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How does this happen,” he asked. “I thought
that Russell had left the neighborhood.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He has returned. It’s the old story of the bad
penny,” replied Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Isn’t it the still older story of the serpent in the
garden?” suggested Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I think you’ve hit it, Don,” said Mark. “The
cloven hoof is in evidence and he leaves a trail of
brimstone behind him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That must have been what made this room look
so blue when we came in. His excellency must have
been here, I take it. Are there not yet blue flames
playing in the corners?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If not there will be, doubtless, before the evening
is over. But I must make haste or you two hungry
men will not get any supper. Come, sit down and
eat before it is cold.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I, for one, need no second bidding,” said Donald.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XVII<br> <span class='large'>AN OLD-TIME SEANCE AMIDST OLD-TIME SCENES AND OLD-TIME FOLKS</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>When the tea things had been carried away and
stowed with the washed and shining dishes in the
cupboard at one side of the room, the floor swept,
and the apartments made tidy, Lissa ushered into it,
as first to arrive, Mr. Jenkinson and Mrs. Jenkinson
and their mother, Mrs. Price.</p>
<p class='c005'>They were English people, and firm converts to
spiritism, Mrs. Price being so absorbed in it as to
appear of unbalanced mind. Mrs. Jenkinson had a
delicate constitution and a nervous temperament,
which made her easily excited and wrought upon.
Already she figured as a medium.</p>
<p class='c005'>They were soon joined by Solomon Garrett, a
stoutly built farmer of the neighborhood, who had,
several years before this, come from Scotland with
a party of Mormon emigrants. When met by the
plural-marriage doctrine he had renounced his faith
and refused to continue his journey to Salt Lake
City. Subsequently he had located on the Nebraska
plain. His conversion to this new creed of spiritism
had been recent and half-hearted.</p>
<p class='c005'>With him were the Pemberton twins, two pale,
fair-haired young ladies, who looked so exactly alike
as to appear one and the same person. No one except
their mother could identify them, and it was said
<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>that in their childhood she was liable to whip Clementina
for the sins of Seraphina.</p>
<p class='c005'>The young ladies themselves seemed to enjoy the
confusion they caused, and dressed always in twin
gowns, imitating closely each other’s speeches and
gestures. It has been asserted on the best of authority,
their own words and their mother’s, that if one
was ill the other one was likewise affected. And
since they had become spiritists they claimed to have
been visited by the same visions and communications.</p>
<p class='c005'>Following the Pemberton twins came the McCleary
family, whom I shall more fully describe.</p>
<p class='c005'>Those present were the father, mother, son,
George and daughter Esther.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. McCleary was a small, quiet, pale, sleek, red-eyed,
inoffensive little man, usually known as Mrs.
McCleary’s husband. He seemed to feel it his
bounden duty to affirm all his wife’s statements, and
when asked a question had a way of casting an imploring
glance at her,—as if begging her to answer
for him, which she usually did,—but who, so far as
known, was a kind, indulgent father to his children,
and an honest and industrious neighbor. When not
otherwise engaged, Mr. McCleary might be found
amusing himself with a planchette. With it he
talked, reasoned, and speculated upon the problem of
life. Sometimes he whispered to the partner of his
bosom certain wonderful secrets which he believed
the planchette had imparted to him. And—they
were secrets no longer.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. McCleary was a short, well-preserved
<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>woman of the “fat, fair and forty” type. She had
remarkable black eyes, blue-black, waving hair, and
very white, plump hands, with which she continually
gesticulated to accompany the unceasing flow of
words from her tongue. Her speech retained
enough of the Irish brogue to make it pleasant to
the ear.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. McCleary imagined herself an invalid,
though no one, not even herself, could determine the
nature of the malady with which she was afflicted.
It seemed to be rather a delicacy of constitution than
any pronounced illness. Some of her neighbors
were uncharitable enough to remark that if Mrs.
McCleary were to receive some shock that would
rouse her from the helpless state she fancied herself
to be in she would be as well and strong as any one.</p>
<p class='c005'>George McCleary, an undergraduate from an
Eastern college, was in no way remarkable, but
Esther was the hundredth woman, whose influence
was felt throughout the little community.</p>
<p class='c005'>She was but a slight, delicately built girl of eighteen
years, yet what a marvel of diligence and endurance.</p>
<p class='c005'>In the McCleary family there were six children
younger than herself, and upon Esther devolved almost
the entire care and responsibility of the household,
a responsibility which she accepted uncomplainingly
and discharged faithfully.</p>
<p class='c005'>Esther was pretty and more than pretty. She was
interesting. There was in her face a sweetness and
brightness of expression that charmed all who met
her, and won their affection. Then, too, she was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>one of those to whom all turn for instruction and
advice. She knew how to do things. From the
fashioning of a gown to the most intricate fancywork,
as well as the rarer concoctions in the culinary
department, Esther was the most competent authority
in the neighborhood.</p>
<p class='c005'>Nor did her usefulness end here. In the sick room
she was unequaled. “A most uncommon handy person
to have around,” one of the good fathers in the
community had said, and perhaps that best expressed
her qualifications. God bless the “handy” person.</p>
<p class='c005'>What if Esther’s features were slightly irregular
and her figure too slight for beauty. No one
thought of that after the first half hour of her acquaintance.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald felt his gaze returning repeatedly to that
pale, cream-tinted face, as seated that night near his
sister-in-law he listened to the chatter of the women.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. McCleary sank into an easy chair, panting
and short-breathed from the exertion of removing
her wraps, and turning to Lissa began to talk volubly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How very noice ye look, dear! Your hair curls
so beautifully. When Esther was a little girl Oi
used to do up her hair on curl-papers for her, but
now she must do it for herself. It is really too much
for me. Alice, Oi see yer not intoirely free from thet
cough yet. Ye should nivver let it run. It moight
run ye into consumption. Oi’ve known many a case
to turn out so, hev ye not Miss Lissa? Ye must attind
to it. Oi do wish ye’d thry some of moi Indian
cough surrup. Oi hev a commoonication from
<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>a great Indian docther, advoising it. Mrs. Cloyne,
did Oi tell ye how Georrge was cured of the faver?”</p>
<p class='c005'>All this she uttered without pausing for reply.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald glanced at Esther at the mention of curl-papers, but not a tinge of color dyed the paleness of
her cheeks. She was evidently accustomed to her
mother’s revelations. George, however, looked a
trifle annoyed at the mention of his name.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Clyne took advantage of the woman’s brief
halt for breath to say that she had never heard the
story.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, ye see, Georrge, was very ill, so ill we’d
given him oop ter die, an’ Oi was cryin’ an’ prayin’
the great docther ter do sumthing fer him, whin if
ye’ll belave me, the boy reached oop his hand, an’
in a moment we saw some leetle black specks lyin’
in it, lookin’ fer all the world like Ayer’s pills. He
held thim so we all saw thim an’ thin he put thim in
his mouth, an’ in the shortest toime he was aslape,
an’ frim that very hour he was better.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What do you think it was?” asked Mrs. Clyne.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, bless your sowl, what could it be but medicine
put in his hand by some watchful spirit? Ye
needn’t smoile, Mr. Mark Cramer, nor you, Mr.
Bartram; there were a plenty present who’ll swear
to what Oi tell ye. Ain’t it so, Mr. McCleary?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yis, yis,” the little man mumbled; “it is as she
says.”</p>
<p class='c005'>They were interrupted by the arrival of Professor
Russell, who came bustling in with Auntie Dearborn,
a sprightly, handsome old lady, who was carrying
<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>a huge basket upon her arm, which appeared filled
with manuscripts.</p>
<p class='c005'>She was most becomingly dressed in black silk,
with fine white lace at wrist and throat, and her pink-tinted
face, white hair, mild blue eye beaming with
kindliness, and lips wreathed in smiles, made a beautiful
picture. She had arrived at a sweet old age.
Every one liked her, despite her eccentricities, which
some pronounced a mild form of insanity. Alas,
the borderland between sanity and insanity is scarcely
defined, and if good Auntie Dearborn was insane
she has many companions who would scorn such accusations.
Who among us does not like to believe
we have an inspired pen?</p>
<p class='c005'>Auntie was thoroughly imbued with the idea that
the spirits of the departed poets used her hand as the
medium for presenting their verses to the public,
and she kept a constant and ever-accumulating supply
of her “poetry” on hand to read whenever she
could find audience.</p>
<p class='c005'>After shaking hands with Lissa and kissing her
most affectionately, the old lady said in a stage whisper:</p>
<p class='c005'>“You see, my dear, I have brought along some o’
my poetry, for I know’d you would want to hear it,
because I’ve really been inspired by the great Byron
himself this week. It is most remarkable.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa smiled kindly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Thank you, Auntie. I shall be glad to hear it, I
am sure, and so, perhaps, will others here. You will
stay with me to-night of course?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, now really, dearie—it would be very pleasant
<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>and you’re drefful kind to ask me, but you see
there’s Natty, poor dog, shut up in his kennel, who’ll
howl all night if I don’t come back, and the chickens
will have to be fed in the morning—”</p>
<p class='c005'>Here she was interrupted by the announcement of
the Professor that if they were ready the company
would form themselves into a circle about the room,
as he saw several spirit forms impatient to communicate
with their friends.</p>
<p class='c005'>In compliance with his request they were soon
seated, except Esther, who, unobserved by all except
Donald, slipped quietly out of the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>Joining hands, the members of the circle sat expectant,
their eyes closed.</p>
<p class='c005'>We are describing an old-time seance, reader, and
may be forgiven the minuteness of detail, for even
with later experiment with psychic forces it is found
there is magic in the mystic circle.</p>
<p class='c005'>The silence was broken by Russell, who declared
there was a disturbing element in the circle. Some
sceptical person repelled the gentle spirits who desired
to communicate.</p>
<p class='c005'>All eyes were turned upon Mark Cramer, who
smiled as he arose and left them. Then Esther McCleary
was missed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Where is Esther?” asked Mrs. McCleary plaintively.
“Oi declare that girrl has left the room ag’in.
Oi desire her to sit with us.”</p>
<p class='c005'>And Mark was sent after the run away.</p>
<p class='c005'>“They’re asking for you, Miss Esther,” he said as
he saw her shrink into a dark corner of the adjoining
room as he entered it.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“O dear! Can’t you hide me somewhere? I
don’t want to go. I shall have to dance again. It’s
all so terrible, and I don’t believe it’s right, do you,
Mr. Cramer?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, Esther; but then my opinion should have
little weight against so many. I sat down in the circle
thinking I might be able to help you. I am really
sorry for you, if you are unable to withstand the
mesmeric powers of that rascal—for I believe that is
all there is of it. Try, if you are obliged to sit with
them, to keep control of your own <em>will</em>. Put all your
soul in opposition to him and don’t forget yourself
for a moment. Can’t you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ll try; oh, I’ll try, but I’m afraid ’twill be no
use! Ah, they’re calling me again, and I must go.
Come into the room and help me if you can.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark reentered, seating himself in one corner of
the room outside the circle. The Professor made
room for Esther beside himself, but she declined his
civility, and passed around to the side of her mother,
not noticing, until too late to retreat, that she had
placed herself next to Donald Bartram. She flushed
slightly as she gave him her hand, humiliated that
she should be placed in such a position.</p>
<p class='c005'>Again silence prevailed for the space of several
minutes. Donald glanced through half-closed eyes
about the circle, noting the placid content of Auntie
Dearborn, the grim determination of Solomon Garrett,
the complacent expectancy of Mrs. McCleary,
the awed, half-frightened look of Lissa, the sly, furtive
glance which each Pemberton twin cast frequently
at her sister, and he felt a hysterical inclination
<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>to laugh. The thought must have been communicated
to his companion upon the right, for he
felt her fingers tremble in his. He rolled his eyes
up to hers with an affected air of terror. Then a
ripple of merriment burst from Esther’s lips, in
which he joined. The Pemberton twins giggled in
unison, while all started and opened their eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>Russell frowned and demanded quiet, fixing his
gray eyes upon Esther. Mrs. McCleary rebuked her
daughter, but explained that Esther was “hystericky,”
and biting her lips to subdue the nervous inclination
to laugh, Esther closed her eyes and quiet
was restored. Donald, thrilled by her trembling
fingers, dared not again look toward her, and presently
he saw Mrs. Jenkinson, his neighbor on the
left, begin to jerk spasmodically. Her eyelids quivered,
she sighed a few times, then drawing her hands
from those who clasped them she began rubbing
them briskly together, then slapped them energetically
for a moment, while every eye was fixed upon
her. She was under “control.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Suddenly she began to speak in a high, shrill
voice.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My friends, I have a message for you to-night,”
and continuing without hesitancy she delivered a
somewhat tedious harangue to the listening believers,
who sat awed and open-eyed, as if her words
were really from the world beyond. All present
knew Mrs. Jenkinson to be illiterate and only able
to use provincialism in conversation. They marvelled
at the correct English which fell from her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>lips, even though the thought expressed was of little
value.</p>
<p class='c005'>Her “inspired” speech ended, Mrs. Jenkinson sank
into a chair, dropped her face in her hands and remained
quiet.</p>
<p class='c005'>A few moments later Mrs. McCleary began to
manifest similar signs of influence, and sang in a
sweet, plaintive voice the old hymn, “Oh, sing to me
of heaven, when I am called to die! Sing songs of
holy ecstasy to waft me to the sky,” etc.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark remembered that Mrs. McCleary was not a
singer in her natural state, and again was forced to
marvel at this exhibition of power which he had no
faith to believe emanated from the source prescribed
by Russell.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald, too, was becoming interested, and forgot
the humorous side of the spectacle. When his eyes
again sought Esther’s, to his surprise he found them
fixed and vacant, her face unusually pale and rigid.
He noticed, too, that the small, brown hand he held
felt cold and unnatural. Glancing from her to Russell
he saw the man looking fixedly at her. Then the
Professor arose, and passing to Esther’s side moved
his hands several times before her face, though without
touching her. He then took a handkerchief from
one of the gentlemen and bound it tightly over her
eyes, closely shutting out every ray of light.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think, my friends,” he said, as he placed several
chairs in the unoccupied space of the room, “we
shall prove that, though Esther cannot see with mortal
vision, there are spirit forms about her who will
<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>direct her course and thus demonstrate their presence.”</p>
<p class='c005'>All sat in hushed expectancy until Esther, rising
from her chair, glided like a phantom to the middle
of the floor, and humming a soft, slow waltz, she
floated about the room, avoiding the chairs and other
articles in her way without losing step or breaking
time in the least.</p>
<p class='c005'>It was wonderful. Mark would have been staggered
in his scepticism had he not seen the same performance
once enacted by a subject in the hands of
a noted mesmerist.</p>
<p class='c005'>“This is only further proof of the scheming falseness
of that villain Russell,” he reflected. “It shall
not be my fault if he is not banished from my house
from this day forth. If he would only attribute his
power to the right source I could endure him, but
spirits—bah!”</p>
<p class='c005'>For ten minutes the girl waltzed without interruption,
then, as if led by unseen hands, she passed from
the room and threw herself, apparently exhausted,
upon a small lounge in the adjoining apartment.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She has been dancing with a stronger partner
than herself and got tired out,” said Russell coarsely.
“We’ll let her rest a while.”</p>
<p class='c005'>When the company was again seated in the circle
Mark slipped out and removed the handkerchief
from the eyes of the prostrate girl. Her face was
chalky in its pallor, and there was scarcely a perceptible
evidence of respiration.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My God! How like death this is,” muttered
Mark as he bent over her. “If she were my daughter
<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>she should never come into the presence of that
man again. Then he strove to waken her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Esther, Esther,” he said, shaking her gently by
the arm. “Awake!” But not a muscle of the rigid
face relaxed. He lifted her hands and slightly
punctured the smooth flesh with a pin. She did not
wince nor show that she felt it. Again and again
he sought to arouse her. Mark was beginning to
fear that the sleep was one which would find its
awakening in another world, when Russell entered
the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You can see the result of your spirit-waltz, Professor,”
he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>Russell placed his hand upon the girl’s brow.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, yes, she has been taking a fine nap after it.
But she is waking up now. Come, Esther, ain’t it
about time for you to come out to see us again? I’m
afraid you’re a sleepy-head. Come, you’re awake
now!” and laughing coarsely, Professor Russell returned
to the company.</p>
<p class='c005'>Esther, to Mark’s delight, arose to a sitting posture,
passed her hands several times over her eyes as
if striving to collect her thoughts, and seeing only
Mark present, asked plaintively:</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is it, Mr. Cramer? Where am I? What
has happened?” She looked about the room in a bewildered
way. Then, as the sound of voices from
the adjoining apartment fell upon her ear she turned,
and burying her face upon the lounge burst into hysterical
weeping.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark sprang to her side.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>“Don’t Esther, child! Don’t cry! What is the
matter?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Mr. Cramer, have I been dancing again?
Has that horrible, horrible man made me a waltzing
puppet for the people to laugh at? It is too dreadful!
What shall I do? What shall I do?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure there was nothing ridiculous or laughable
in your dancing, for it was really artistic; but
truly, Esther, are you entirely unconscious when you
perform that feat?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed I am. I could not believe them when they
told me about it the first time I danced that way.
This time it seemed when I awoke as if I had been
dreaming of dancing or of hearing dance-music.
<em>He</em> makes me do it, that horrible man! I am sure
the spirits have nothing to do with it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Your hands are placed some of the time as
though dancing with a partner.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are they? I can’t help it. I remember nothing
since Mr. Bartram made me laugh in the circle,—oh,
he was witness to my disgraceful exhibition!—until
I seemed to hear the Professor’s voice, and
looking up I saw you there.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You say you seem to have heard dance-music in
a dream?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I have a feeling as though I had been floating
up in the air and hearing music. A sort of dim
remembrance of a dream. Oh, if mamma would
never compel me to see him again! I shall leave
home and go where he shall never find me if that
man continues to come to our house. He is so detestable!
<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>I hate him!” And the girl shuddered and
again covered her face with her hands.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have told mamma so, but she will not listen to
me. She is wholly wrapped up in the belief of spirits,
and in Russell.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Your dislike is very strong to be based only upon
this power he has of making you dance hypnotically,”
Mark said. “Are you just to him?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have reasons enough for my dislike of him,”
Esther replied, compressing her lips. “And what
am I to do if my own mother will not listen to me?
Think of being subject to the power of such a man.
I believe him thoroughly unprincipled, and—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The villain! If he dares!” Mark ground his
teeth.</p>
<p class='c005'>Here Lissa put her head in at the door.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, Mark,” she whispered, “Professor Russell
is writing messages.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark stepped quietly into the sitting-room just
as the Professor, who sat at a small table scrawling
with a pencil a profusion of characters on a sheet
of writing-paper, finished it and paused, while the
paper was passed from hand to hand for examination.</p>
<p class='c005'>At first nothing could be made of it. Finally some
one discovered it was addressed to Lissa. Another
read it Alice, and still another Anna.</p>
<p class='c005'>By this time the Professor had aroused himself,
and read with little difficulty:</p>
<p class='c011'>“Lissa, my dear sister: How long I have desired
to speak with you and let you know I am near
<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>you. The only added happiness I could wish for in
this life is recognition of my friends on earth. If
you will let me converse with you, and Alice, and
mother, I will improve every opportunity. I can
see you, so cast away all doubt and fear, and help
me to communicate with you. Believe,</p>
<div class='lg-container-r'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='sc'>Elsie</span>.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Lissa found she could trace the words as read,
now that she knew what they were.</p>
<p class='c005'>The Professor produced two slates, between which
he placed a small pencil, and immediately all in the
room heard distinctively the sound of the scratching
of the pencil as it apparently wrote upon the slate.</p>
<p class='c005'>When the slates were brought forth from beneath
the table and opened there was a long communication
upon one of them for Mrs. McCleary, purporting
to have come from her mother, and Mrs. McCleary
declared it was in her own handwriting. She
could “recognize it anywhere,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>Whereupon Sol Garrett took part in the conversation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ve been a thinkin’ sence I sot here a good deal
about this here writin’ business. An’ it seems to me
mighty curis how my old mother came to write me a
message when she never in her hull life writ me a
word, nor never learnt how. Even her will was
signed with her cross-mark. I reckon she must ‘a
ben learnin’ pretty fast sence she died.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald’s eyes twinkled merrily as he glanced at
Russell’s face, which really showed embarrassment
for a moment.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>“We cannot tell, Mr. Garrett, what her opportunities
may have been in the other world. We may
know hereafter much that is hidden from us now,”
he said after a little preliminary cough to clear his
throat.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, how is it that Injun control o’ yourn hain’t
learned to read an’ write, if their chances are so good
over there? He allus complains ’cause he can’t
read.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Perhaps because he is of another language and
nation,” replied Russell, evidently annoyed at the
persistence of his interlocutor.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Wall, ye see my mother was a Scotch woman,
and didn’t talk as we do, an’ I can’t see how she
come to use such perty English in that letter.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Perhaps,” interposed Russell hastily, “there was
some mistake about it and the letter was intended
for some one else.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It was directed to me,” persisted the farmer, “an’
I don’t know another feller round these parts that
answers to the name of Solomon Garrett.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, we will not discuss this matter now,” said
Russell, anxious to turn the subject of conversation.
“Mother Dearborn is going to read us a poem, Mrs.
Bartram tells me. We will listen to that now, and
continue this subject at another time.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Auntie Dearborn, thus appealed to, fumbled in her
big basket, and after opening several papers selected
one, which she smilingly announced was “inspired
by Lord Byron himself.” Then in a musical voice
she read:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>“Friends of earth, to you I hasten</div>
<div class='line in2'>With a message from on high.</div>
<div class='line'>Sorrows seek you but to chasten;</div>
<div class='line in2'>Bear all bravely, I am nigh.</div>
<div class='line'>When the stars shine, I am by.</div>
<div class='line in2'>When you whisper, know I hear you.</div>
<div class='line'>When you call, to you I fly.</div>
<div class='line in2'>When the night falls, I am near you.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“In the night-winds, hear me calling,</div>
<div class='line in2'>When your eyelids close in sleep,</div>
<div class='line'>While the evening dew is falling,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Still my watchful care I keep.</div>
<div class='line'>For in life, dear one, I met you,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Met you but to see and love.</div>
<div class='line'>Now I never can forget you,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Though I roam in space above.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“O my darling, are you weary</div>
<div class='line in2'>Of the fruits the world can give?</div>
<div class='line'>Are your days and night-times dreary</div>
<div class='line in2'>In the lonely life you live?</div>
<div class='line'>Then, oh, think that you can fly, love,</div>
<div class='line in2'>To my waiting, loving arms,</div>
<div class='line'>For ’tis no hard thing to die, love,</div>
<div class='line in2'>When the world has lost its charms.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Still you will not know I’m speaking,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Though your blindness gives me pain;</div>
<div class='line'>Must I be forever seeking</div>
<div class='line in2'>For your notice, all in vain?</div>
<div class='line'>See, I softly press your pillow,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Softly touch your dewy lips,</div>
<div class='line'>Brush your bosom’s heaving billow,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Clasp your dainty finger tips.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Once when midnight shadows thickened,</div>
<div class='line in2'>In your dreams I saw <em>you</em> start,</div>
<div class='line'>While your breath came warm and quickened</div>
<div class='line in2'>By the fluttering of your heart.</div>
<div class='line'>Then no more I need to try you,</div>
<div class='line in2'>For you felt my heart was thine,</div>
<div class='line'>Felt my hovering presence nigh you—</div>
<div class='line in2'>Then it was your soul met mine.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>When Auntie had finished reading this production,
which all present declared truly Byronic, Professor
Russell bade them each write upon a piece
of paper the name of some departed friend and the
spirits would respond to their questions through
his “control.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The slips were written, folded as directed, and
thrown into a hat, while the Professor again went
into a trance state, and taking one of the slips in his
fingers—his eyes having been previously bandaged—he
awaited communication from the other world.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I can see a name, ‘Henry Arthur,’” he read
slowly. “He is present. I see him distinctly. He is
of medium height and wears a uniform.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is my brother,” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “He
was in Her Majesty’s service in England. Are ye
well, Henry, and happy?” she asked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am well, and much happier than I ever was
upon earth,” came from the Professor’s lips in a
thin, nasal tone. “You have the right principle,
Helen. No one can be sick. There is no sickness,
if we only deny the belief in such a thing. Stick to
your faith and you are all right.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The Professor selected a second paper.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I see the name Maria,” he said. “Maria, are you
there? Will you answer if a friend wishes to speak
with you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Has she—has she blonde hair?” asked Donald,
with some hesitation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and blue eyes,” answered Russell. “She is
very delicate and pale, and is holding out her hands
to you.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>“Ah, yes; she wants me to take her, probably.
Sorry I can’t. Ask her if she is all right and likes
the other world as well as this.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The answer came in a husky falsetto:</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, better.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you forgive me for all my ill conduct toward
you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I have nothing to regret. I remember only
the delight of our acquaintance and your many kindnesses.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are sure you forgive me for the last blow I
dealt you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I know it was not your heart that spoke, in
that, but the force of circumstances.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You forgive all my neglect and—cruelty?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O yes, if there was anything to forgive.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are you surrounded by friends?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, there are many we both have known.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, Tommy and Jack, and the rest, I suppose.
Are you where I may see you if at any time I should
pass in my checks?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O yes; certainly.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, good-by.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good-by.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I feel greatly relieved after this revelation,” Donald
said, “as it settles two doubts in my mind which
have always troubled me. First, as to whether it is
a crime to slay innocent creatures whose only fault,
perhaps, is a proclivity to take what is not theirs;
and second, as to whether there is more than one
heaven and whether we shall meet our victims in the
other world. I killed Maria because she would steal
<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>chickens, a natural propensity for which I should
not have blamed her, probably. She was my favorite
cat, and my conscience has never been quite easy
since, but now that I know that she is all right and
safe I feel relieved.”</p>
<p class='c005'>A peal of laughter from Mark was echoed by a
loud guffaw from Solomon Garrett and several
others in the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Bartram, I consider such levity out of place,”
said Russell angrily. “It seems that you are the
same incorrigible Don that you were when I knew
you in Iowa. Age doesn’t seem to have improved
you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But if Maria’s spirit was not there how could you
have seen her?” asked Donald innocently.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There are many spirits who bear the name of
Maria while upon earth,” Russell replied with dignity.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But the one whose name I wrote is the one who
should have appeared; and I repeat, I am glad to
know she is all right.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How you can jest on this subject is more than I
can understand,” replied the other, as he began to
make preparations for departure.</p>
<p class='c005'>The Pemberton twins giggled and said in unison,
“How funny.”</p>
<p class='c005'>At this juncture Auntie Dearborn began to
chuckle. She appeared to try to control her desire
to laugh, and put her handkerchief to her mouth,
while her face grew red. But the more she tried to
stifle the laughter, the more it overcame her. Finally
her merriment became almost convulsive, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>Auntie shrieked in a frenzy of mirth. And in the
midst of the laughter, for the effect was contagious,
Professor Russell took his leave.</p>
<p class='c005'>This hysteria of the old lady was not an uncommon
phenomenon, and excited little comment
among the guests, though most of them joined heartily
in the outburst, and departed to their homes freed
from the superstitious awe which had held them
earlier in the evening.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XVIII<br> <span class='large'>MAJOR WALDEN</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The fire was burning with active energy in the tall
stove, and the dish of water sitting upon it, “to keep
the room healthy,” was sending forth steam clouds,
as Nathan and Lissa, after closing the door behind
the last departing guest, returned to their family
room.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald had walked home with Esther McCleary,
and Mrs. Clyne had retired for the night, leaving
them alone.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is an ugly night,” Nathan said, shivering and
lifting his shoulders, as he stood with his hands held
behind him and his back to the stove.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and I’m afraid I’m going to have neuralgia
in my face again,” said Lissa, pressing her cheek
closer to the glowing heat of the fire.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That’s too bad. I should think that wisdom-tooth
would have done troubling you some time.
Ain’t it through yet?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No; I pity teething children, if they have the
pain I have.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Better get good and warm before you go to bed.
The house seems unusually cool to-night.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s having the doors open so much. But, Nathan,
what is the matter? You have been uncommonly
grave and silent all the evening. I hope you
have had no trouble at the office?”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>“<em>I</em> have had no trouble,—only,—well, something
happened which was quite unlooked for by me, anyway.
Major Walden is in trouble, I think, though
I do not understand the nature of it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa looked interested, and her eyes searched his
face questioningly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan drew up a chair and sat down.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We were both in the office looking over some
notes and papers in the desk this morning when the
mail was brought in. There were two or three letters
and some newspapers, which latter he tossed
over to me to examine. While thus engaged I was
startled by a strange sound from the Major, and
looking up I at first thought he was in a fit. His
face was pale and distorted, and he shook like a man
with the ague. He clenched an open letter in his
hand, which I thought must be answerable for his
condition. I sprang to him and unbuttoned his collar,
as he appeared to be choking, and he seemed to
be relieved, though it was some time before he could
control himself, or articulate. When he did, it was
to hiss the words ‘scoundrel, villain, devil!’ with insane
fury. I did not know how to act, or what to
say to him, and so after shutting and fastening the
door, that no one might intrude on us,—an act which
he seemed to approve,—I stepped into a little private
office opening from the room and busied myself
with the ledger accounts, while I waited for him to
grow calmer.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It was fully an hour, I think, before he called me,
and then I was surprised at the change in him. He
looked ten years older, and his face had the pinched
<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>look of one recovering from an illness. His hands
shook and he seemed entirely unnerved. ‘Nathan,’
he said, ‘I have received a severe shock, and it has
proven almost too much for me. But there are reasons
why I wouldn’t want my family to know anything
about it, and I shall have to ask you to say
nothing here of what you have heard or witnessed.
I will explain it all when I feel able to do so. At
present I think the best thing for me to do is to take
a little change of air, and I believe I’ll run down to
Omaha for a day or two. I reckon I’m really sick
enough to warrant a day off,’ he said, trying to
smile.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Just call at noon and say to Mrs. Walden that
I’ve gone to Omaha on business. Had to hurry off
to catch a train, or some such clap-trap, or say—I’ll
write a note to that effect. You see, I fancy she’d
better not see me now.’</p>
<p class='c005'>“I told him his countenance would betray him,
for he really looked ill, and he had much better not
go home if he wanted to conceal the fact, and so he
went off to the station and left me to fix up matters
as best I could. I am more puzzled about the matter,
as I am familiar with all his business affairs and
investments, and know everything is ship-shape and
flourishing. However, as he promised to explain
everything when he returns, I need not speculate
upon it now I suppose.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There is another matter I wanted to speak of,”
continued Nathan, “and that is in regard to this
man Russell. I don’t know what to think of him.
Mark is terribly opposed to him and his coming to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>their home, and if we encourage Alice’s meeting
him here—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think Mark has no right to let unreasoning
prejudice rule him the way he does,” interrupted
Lissa. “He knows nothing against him, and yet he
is ready to accuse him of all the crimes in the decalogue.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t like to think of his power over Esther
McCleary, Lissa.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, as for Esther, I don’t think she need yield to
his power if she prefers not to. She can avoid him.”
Lissa spoke sharply.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not when her mother compels her to see him.
My child, do you really believe in spiritism yourself?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, Nate, what a question for you to ask! I
am sure you are the one who gave the most credence
to it when I first knew you. I didn’t take any stock
in it then.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And now?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And now I think there’s something in it which
cannot be accounted for in any other way, and—I
think it is a blessed thought that our friends are near
us after death.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t know whether it is or not. It can’t be
pleasant for them to be witnessing all the pain and
suffering which we are perhaps bearing. If we are
promised happiness in the other world it would seem
a poor fulfilment of it to me. I could not be happy
if I could look back and see you suffering for food
and not be able to provide it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I was not thinking so much of their happiness,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>I confess, Nathan,” Lissa murmured. “But if I
should die, and be happy, wouldn’t you like to feel
that I was near you? Wouldn’t you like to hear
from me?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But how could I be sure of it? I think I should
prefer you did not have to worry over me any more.
I was really startled by a remark made by Major
Walden the other day. In the course of conversation
I chanced to allude to Professor Russell in some
way, and spoke of his being a spirit-medium. The
Major turned on me with more anger and vehemence
than I have ever before seen in him and said, ‘Bartram,
in God’s name have nothing to do with one of
those mediums! Shun him as you would a rattlesnake
that crawls in the grass at your feet, for I tell
you his bite is as deadly, and you never know when
he may strike. On no account give him access to
your home and family. As you value your present
peace of mind or your domestic happiness, never let
him cross your threshold!’ I was a trifle knocked
out, but I told him the medium had been and was a
friend of the family and frequent visitor at my
house, and that he appeared to be a respectable and
intelligent man. ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘the Devil may
wear the garb of a saint, but he’s not to be trusted
for all that. I pray you be warned, and shun the
fellow in time, as you would old Clovenhoof himself!
I know what I’m talking about.’ I suppose
Walden is prejudiced for some reason, but I can’t
help wishing Russell did not come here.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’m sure I can’t see what possible harm he can
do <em>here</em>,” Lissa replied.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>“But about Alice. She was not looking well to-night,
and I am sorry to have her oppose Mark.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, of course she feels bad, because Mark has
forbidden her to have Russell at the house when he
is not there, and Alice is very set in her way. It
may make trouble between them. I know Mark was
angry, for Alice told me so, and she said he should
find she had mind enough to attend to her own affairs.
I expect she’d let him come in spite of Mark.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We will hope not,” said Nathan gravely. “Mark
may have wisdom in his objection to Russell. I
wish he did not come <em>here</em>.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How absurd you are. <em>You</em> were the one who
introduced him to me, who believed in him and tried
to overcome the horror which in infancy I had imbibed
of spiritism. And now, because of Major
Walden’s prejudice, and Mark’s fanaticism, you are
ready to turn round and forbid a spiritist your hospitality.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, perhaps I am wrong. I confess I have an
unaccountable fear and distrust of him. I presume
Walden’s warning has had something to do with it.
I shouldn’t blame the man for his belief.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But if the belief takes away all fear of death,
why should we not embrace it? If I should die before
you, I want you to teach little Lucy that her
mamma is near and watching over her. Don’t you
think it might keep her from wrong-doing if she
knew it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If she knew it? Ah, there’s the thing! If we
really knew.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>“But, haven’t we proof? What human, unassisted,
could turn water into wine as Professor Russell
did a few weeks ago?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But haven’t you heard Mark’s exposé of that?
That is simple. Mark can do the same.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark Cramer?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; Mark’s university training has served him
a good turn in this as in everything else. You know
he is a good chemist, and he can prepare the glasses
so that when water is poured into them a pleasant
wine is produced. He claims the Professor does the
same. You will not deny that Mark speaks the
truth. We have known him much longer than Professor
Russell,—or at least much better,—and you
know he is the soul of honor.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, how awful it is for Mark to do such a
thing!” said Lissa severely. “I wonder he does not
receive some terrible punishment. I am sure he will
if he is not more believing. I pity Alice.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan felt like retorting that he pitied Mark, but
he forbore.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I confess,” he said, “I did feel as if Russell was
almost sacrilegious in assuming to duplicate one of
Christ’s miracles, but I can see no harm in Mark’s
exposing the means employed.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“One thing, Nathan, I want to speak of now,
while I think of it. If I should die first, I will, if
there is such a thing as the spirit returning to earth—come
back to you. Now let us determine upon a
test, and see how I shall come in such a way as to be
convincing to you if you are left behind. We will
tell no living soul what it is. Then if one of us goes
<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>and can fulfil the conditions, there can be no doubt
in the other’s mind of its genuineness. If I go first
and give you the test, you will have no doubt my
disembodied spirit is near you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan looked thoughtfully at his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Your idea is a good one, but God knows I don’t
like to think of a time when it could be tested. Still,
it might be a satisfaction to the one that is left.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Then they planned a test that should never again
be spoken aloud or imparted to another person.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There would be danger from the mind-reader,
even in this,” Nathan said to himself. “He might
surmise the secret and make use of it to deceive.
Ah, how can we know the truth?”</p>
<p class='c005'>The next morning the white snow had covered
and shut in all the outer world, and so filled the air
that they could only get to the stables by tying themselves
to ropes, and the cold was so intense that many
of the fowls froze upon their perches in the coops.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XIX<br> <span class='large'>LED INTO ERROR</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Some time after the occurrences of the last chapter,
Nathan received a note from Major Walden, requesting
him to call at his house.</p>
<p class='c005'>He went directly, and was ushered into the library,
where he found his friend looking worn and dejected,
as if from haunted days and sleepless nights.</p>
<p class='c005'>Major Walden motioned Nathan to a seat, and
then paced slowly up and down the room, as though
striving to compose himself before giving to his
friend the promised revelation.</p>
<p class='c005'>At length he paused, and seating himself a short
distance from his visitor said gravely:</p>
<p class='c005'>“Bartram, I am about to confide to you a chapter
from my private history which perhaps might better
never be disclosed, and in doing so I am subjecting
myself to a painful trial and tearing open a
wound not yet healed. And yet I cannot otherwise
explain to you the scene which you witnessed a few
days since. My story may serve to show you the
venom that may exist in a species of human reptile.
I need not say that I trust this to you alone. You
will understand how great the cause I have for secrecy
when you have heard what I am about to relate
to you.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Twelve years ago my business often took me up
and down the Hudson. Upon one of those trips I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>met one who seemed to me the perfection of female
loveliness. Her deep, dark eyes seemed wells of
crystal purity and innocence, and her sweet, fair face
haunted my vision for days.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I found myself comparing, mentally, every lovely
woman I met with the one face ever before me,
and finally began to consider myself a victim to a
case of love at first sight. It is needless to say my
trips upon the Hudson were frequently repeated after
this, and at length fate rewarded me by giving
me once more the same lovely fellow-passenger. I
managed to find a mutual acquaintance and so followed
up my advantage as to become, in a few
months, an accepted visitor at her father’s house.
She was an only child, the idol of an aged father
and mother, who at the end of the following year
made me the happiest of men by giving me their
daughter’s hand in marriage.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Everything prospered with me. My wife was all
that could be desired; three lovely children were
born to us; my business ventures were successful,
and until five years ago there seemed to be nothing
wanting to make the harmony of our united lives
complete.</p>
<p class='c005'>“About this time, at the house of a friend, we met
a spirit-medium, a Dr. Teasdale. How he ever obtained
admittance there I do not know, but there he
was, and there we were forced to make his acquaintance.
He held a seance, as he called it, and among
other things told what my wife had written and
sealed in our presence and which never left her
hand. I discovered afterwards a bit of impression
<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>paper concealed beneath the outer cover of the book
he handed her to write upon, which probably aided
the spirits in making their revelation. This so interested
my wife that she attended a number of seances,
and finally invited the Doctor to our house,
where he became a frequent visitor.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I never liked the fellow. There was a sort of
sneaking hypocrisy about him, it seemed to me, that
made me prefer his room to his company.</p>
<p class='c005'>“However, as I seldom interfered with my wife’s
actions, I said nothing, thinking she would soon
penetrate his shallow mask of deceit and become disgusted
with him, as I had.</p>
<p class='c005'>“In one of his trances he wrote and delivered to
me a sealed communication, purporting to be from
the spirit world, hinting,—barely hinting,—among
other things, infidelity on the part of my wife. I
waited until the other guests had gone, and then I
called the wretch to one side and told him what I
thought of him, and bade him never set foot, under
any pretense, within my doors again.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I told my wife I had forbidden the fellow the
house because he was disagreeable to me, and she
seemed more pleased than otherwise at what I had
done and said she, too, participated in my growing
dislike of him. I hoped then I had seen the last of
him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A short time after this my wife was summoned
by telegram to visit her mother, who was ill, and left
home, taking with her the children, my business being
such as to prevent my accompanying her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“While she was gone two letters came to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>house addressed to her and I noticed the superscription
resembled the chirography of the Doctor. I
wondered what he could have to say to her, but laid
the letters aside unopened, thinking it unnecessary to
forward them, and that I would deliver them to her
upon her return and satisfy myself as to their contents.
I own I had some curiosity, as I could not
imagine a reason for correspondence with the villain.
One evening, just before her return, as I was turning
over some papers in the writing-desk, a letter fell
out addressed in the same peculiar handwriting. It
had been opened, and this time my curiosity overcame
my scruples of honor, and I opened it and
read a most impassioned love-letter to my wife,
signed ‘Devotedly yours, Z. T.,’ which I could only
interpret Zenas Teasdale.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I hesitated no longer to open and devour the contents
of the two letters which had come to her later,
and before I had finished, the characters traced in
ink had burned into my very soul, and my tongue
was parched with a thirst that water could not
quench. The words stood before my gaze like demon
eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The first letter spoke of the pleasure the writer
had received in the perusal of my wife’s last ‘white-winged
message of love’ and quoted from her letter
sentences about the ‘bear that growled around her
hearthstone’ meaning me—and other like extravagant
expressions, and concluded by assuring her of
his never-dying affection, and hope of their ultimate
union in spiritland, where no disagreeable tyrant
<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>should ever presume to forbid them the pleasure of
each other’s company.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The second letter, written three days later, chided
her with her long delay in answering, and informed
her that the writer had received a communication
from the invisible world to the effect that the obstacle
in their way was about to be removed, and pictured
the delights in store for them.</p>
<p class='c005'>“All night I paced the room and swore and raved
alternately. But with the morning came calmer reflection.
Retribution would overtake them, I concluded,
if left to themselves; I would not put my
own neck in jeopardy for the sake of such despisable
wretches as they seemed to me. Besides, a
softer feeling, in spite of me, would creep into my
heart, when I thought of the happy past, and I felt
I could not take the life of one who had been dearer
than all else to me—who was now the mother of my
innocent children. They would be from this time
motherless. I would not make them also fatherless,
but would keep my life blameless and unblemished
for their sweet sakes. The stain of their mother’s
fall would be dark enough.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She returned home that day. I shall never forget
how sweet and fair she looked as she tripped
from her carriage up the steps and into the room
where I stood like an avenging Nemesis. Her bright
hair was blown into little rings about her forehead,
and a smile wreathed her sweet lips, which expected
the kiss of greeting.</p>
<p class='c005'>“See,” he said as he took from his desk a miniature
and handed it to Nathan, “was she not beautiful?
<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>And that picture was but a poor representation
of her, for art cannot produce on ivory the thousand
pretty changes of expression which constituted one
of the chief charms of her face.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan looked attentively at the fair, sweet face
of the picture, and agreed as to its beauty. The Major
continued:</p>
<p class='c005'>“I met her sternly, and she must have seen in my
face something of what I was about to utter, for the
smile left her cheeks and gave place to a look of
terror indescribable.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Agnes,’ I began, ‘do not dare to face with a
smile the husband you have betrayed, wronged, and
made a cuckold of in his own house; miserable
woman, that should ever have lived to become so low
and vile a creature, with so fair a face!’ She gazed
at me in fear and horror and I verily believe she for
the time thought me insane. She pressed both
hands to her heart as though to quiet its fluttering,—ah,
God! I can see her yet,—and then gasped, ‘Markham,
for Christ’s sake, what do you mean? What,
oh! what has happened?’</p>
<p class='c005'>“I cannot describe accurately the scene which followed.
I know I flaunted the letters in her face, I
accused her of her treachery, and called her to account
in the worst possible terms, such a maddened
brute was I, and refused to listen to anything she
tried to say in denial or palliation of her guilt.</p>
<p class='c005'>“She fell on her knees before me, and begged and
implored me to listen to her—to believe her. She
called on God to witness and attest her innocence.
But I mocked at her, and told her that after such
<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>conduct as hers had been, a falsehood was as nothing;
that I would not believe her if the angel Gabriel
came down from heaven to testify in her behalf. I
bade her begone from my sight, that I might not so
far forget myself as to punish her crime with violence.
Then she begged, if she must leave me, that
I would let her have the children. Finally, as I
remained obdurate, she prayed only for the one little
girl, the youngest, three years old—the baby,
and most helpless one. The boys might stay with
me, but this little one, her baby, she could not give
up. She should die without her baby, and she
pleaded as only a mother can plead for this one boon,
the privilege of caring for her own child, which she
had herself brought into this cruel world.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Here the Major’s voice faltered, and there was a
sympathizing moisture in Nathan’s eyes as he continued:</p>
<p class='c005'>“A shame upon such laws as give any one, even a
father, the right to deprive a mother of her God-given
privilege!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Amen!” said Nathan under his breath.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Finally I promised her that if at the end of six
months I heard no report of her holding any communication
with Teasdale I would let the little Eva
go to her mother; but if I learned of her seeing or
having anything to do with that creature I would
never allow the child to even see her. With that she
must be content. I had a sort of fiendish delight in
the thought that through the mother’s love for her
child I might keep her from the arms of her paramour.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>“Finally I left her, saying that I should expect
her to take the next boat back to her father’s and
that I would make suitable provision for her maintenance
so long as she remained away from Teasdale;
and that I desired that she should take with her
everything belonging to her or that might help to remind
me of her who was once my wife. That was
the last time I ever met her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“When I came back in the evening the nurse told
me the mistress had gone away, and the children
were in the nursery crying for mamma.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here was a feature of the case I had not, in my
anger, counted upon. What should I do to appease
the children? I concluded to transfer my business
to other hands for the time, shut up the house, and
take the children to my parents, thinking that perhaps
grandma might be the best substitute for
mother. This, as soon as I could make the necessary
arrangements, I did.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That night upon returning to my room I read,
written in trembling hand upon an open page of my
note-book, these words, which are burned into my
memory: ‘Markham, my husband,—for God knows
no act of mine has made me other than your wife,—I
feel that the time will come when my innocence will
in some way be vindicated. It may never be while
I live, but I cannot believe a just and over-ruling
Providence will allow such a foul wrong to be done
and the perpetrator to go unpunished. And some
day, in some way, justice will be done to me or my
memory. Then you may, perhaps, realize the tithe
of what I now suffer in the remorse which will follow
<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>you to the grave. Deal gently and tenderly with
my babies who are to be without a mother, and remember,
as you would have God deal justly with
you, to keep your promise and allow the little Eva to
cheer her mother’s desolate heart at the end of this
terribly long probation. May Heaven forgive you
and open your eyes to the fatal and terrible mistake
you have made, is the prayer of your injured and
heart-broken Agnes.’</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, we had not been long at their grandmother’s
before the children were taken sick with
that terrible ravaging disease, diphtheria, and in
three short days Arthur and Eva, the youngest boy
and the baby girl, were chill and cold in death. I
would have sent for their mother, I think, had more
time been given me; but they were taken down so
suddenly and the disease made such rapid progress
that ere I was aware of their danger death had already
set its seal upon them, and I could only telegraph
their mother the sad tidings that two of her
loved ones were no more.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It was some time before I heard from her, and
then came such a letter as I never read before, and
have never dared to read a second time, so full was
it of hopeless agony and pain. I could not sleep for
nights after. The words kept ringing in my ears,
together with the plaintive moans of my little ones,
who cried for mamma with their last conscious
moments. I would think, sometimes, that if I lived
until the morning I would take the first train to my
wife, and despite her treachery would forgive and
take her once more to my heart and trust; but the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>morning light would dissolve alike my visions and
my resolutions, and I had to read but one of Teasdale’s
letters to harden my heart to all such sentiments.
Do you wonder that I never doubted the
genuineness of those letters? How could I doubt
with the remembrance of their finding ever before
me?</p>
<p class='c005'>“After the death of my little ones I went to Chicago,
that metropolis of bustle and activity, hoping
a change of scene and business would lift the pall of
gloom that rested upon my spirits. There I became
acquainted with my present wife. At the hotel
where I boarded we were thrown into daily intercourse,
and as I became impressed with the strong,
quiet dignity and purity of her life, a warmer sentiment
seemed to gradually thaw my heart, the more
so as I perceived she manifested an evident partiality
for me.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I found it easy, with the aid of those letters, to
procure a divorce from Agnes, in Chicago, and last
fall I married my second wife and came here, bringing
with us the one child left me, whom you have
often seen. I have lived a peaceful and quiet life,
and striven so far as possible to banish from my
memory and thoughts the scenes of the past—that
beautiful and nearly tragical past, the happiest days
of my life and the most miserable, until—Well,
you were with me in my office when a certain letter
was delivered to me but a short time ago, and you
witnessed the effect upon me and wondered at my
agitation. I promised to explain its cause. You
will wonder no longer when I tell you that the letter
<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>was from Teasdale and contained a full confession
of his villainy. In it he avows the perfect innocence
of Agnes, and explains just how and why he secreted
the letter in my secretary and wrote the others
in her absence, thus wreaking a terrible vengeance
on us both.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Admiring my wife, he hoped if he could in some
way separate us he might get her into his power;
and when she, with scorn, repelled his slightest advances
toward her, and I with threats drove him
from the house, he became unscrupulous as to his
mode of revenge. He bribed one of the servants to
place the letter where I found it, as soon as he
learned of my wife’s absence from home, and then
sent the other two letters, conceived with diabolical
cunning that the result would be just what it has
been. And I, blind fool that I was, worked right
into his hands, and acted the damnable part of an
Othello, entailing a life of misery and lifelong regret
upon both myself and my innocent Agnes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“If I were free I would hasten to her, the bride of
my youth, and on bended knee implore her forgiveness
of the most grievous wrong ever committed by
man upon the gentle being who gave her life into
his hands, and whose only fault was having loved
and trusted so stupid a fool as I.</p>
<p class='c005'>“As it is I cannot right one wrong without committing
another. <em>There</em> lives the wife of my youth,
mother of my son and co-partner in the right to that
little grave upon the hillside where sleep the two innocents,
flesh of our flesh. <em>Here</em> is the wife who
married me in all trust, who will soon be mother,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>also, of my child. Was ever man so unfortunately
placed? Curses upon a system that makes it easy for
a man to get a divorce upon the most trivial pretext.
If I had only—but why speak of what cannot be
changed? I can see nothing but days and nights of
sleepless remorse in my pathway, whichever way I
turn, whatever happens. On my life, Bartram, the
future is too black a hell to enter into! Were it not
a cowardly act, I believe I would make an end of my
wretched existence.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have you told her, your present wife, of all
this?” Nathan asked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No; I could not tell her all. It seemed unnecessary.
She knew when she married me that I had divorced
my first wife for infidelity. Were I to tell her
now of this late discovery she would at once jump at
correct conclusions in the matter and be inconsolably
wretched, for I believe she loves me, unworthy as I
am; while I—I must strive against hating any object
that stands in the way of retracing my steps
back to those halcyon days of love and happiness. I
tell you, Bartram, the human heart is a wayward
animal and hard to be held in the leash. But forgive
me for giving utterance to thoughts that should
never be allowed lodgment in my brain.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have you written to your first wife, Agnes?”
Nathan inquired, as Major Walden began gloomily
to pace the floor of the library.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; I wrote telling her all,—all my misery,—and
inclosed the letter from Teasdale. She shall
have that to clear herself there, and she shall have
the satisfaction of knowing that remorse with guilt
<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>is harder to bear than injustice with innocence. I
think, after a time, I will tell Mrs. Walden as much
as is necessary, and let little Freddy go to his mother.
I have promised Agnes that, and I have made my
will providing liberally for her, for I feel as if this
strain cannot long be borne without the snapping of
some of those strings that are essential to the harmony
of this mysterious something we call life, and
the grave or mad-house will ere long claim a victim.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You have my profound sympathy, Major,” said
Nathan; “but you know it is said, ‘life has no
wounds time cannot heal.’”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I know, I know; but, alas, I am haunted by a
fear that Agnes may not be living; that she may
have been crushed by this terrible blow of my inflicting!
She was so sensitive, so gentle. Oh, I cannot
bear the thought! I want her to know the truth,
now.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you not think she might know that, even if in
the other world?” Nathan ventured.</p>
<p class='c005'>“For God’s sake, don’t say that! It savors too
much of that accursed creed that has been at the bottom
of all my trouble,” said Walden with savage
vehemence. “The nauseating flavor of the other
world which I have been obliged to taste from the
hands of these spiritists has given me no appetite for
any more of it, I assure you. I’ll think of Hades or
Nirvana, but not of that intermediate place where
spirits are supposed to roam. Ugh! I’ll have none
of it!”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XX<br> <span class='large'>SPIRITS OF THE AIR</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-b c013'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Are you visited by phantoms or by ghosts at midnight, walking?</div>
<div class='line'>See you grim and grisley spectres? Do you never hear them talking?</div>
<div class='line'>Talking low, in chilling whispers, of the worn heart’s secret sorrows,</div>
<div class='line'>Of the lone heart’s hidden treasures, and the hopes it vainly borrows?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“When alone, at evening sitting, in the shadows of the twilight,</div>
<div class='line'>See them softly by you flitting—or in dimness of the firelight—</div>
<div class='line'>Phantoms of your youthful pleasures, mocking at you now, and scoffing,</div>
<div class='line'>Whispering as they brush you, lightly, ‘past the hours of mirth and laughing.’</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Spectres of the dear departed, who once smiled upon you, brightly;</div>
<div class='line'>Of the fair and faithful hearted, whom you love to dream of, nightly.</div>
<div class='line'>Other forms from out the shadows walk and grin with horrid grimness,</div>
<div class='line'>Mock you with their ceaseless chatter, as the firelight fades in dimness.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Then, sometimes you feel the coolness of the west wind softly blowing,</div>
<div class='line'>Of the cool sweet wind of summer, fresh from where bright waves are flowing,</div>
<div class='line'>And it carries with it zephyrs, whispers of the happy childhood—</div>
<div class='line'>Of the joyous days of girlhood, and the fragrance of the wildwood.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“And you clutch with eager yearning, but to stay them in their fleeting,</div>
<div class='line'>Clutch at air and soulless nothing, vain is all your soul’s entreating;</div>
<div class='line'>Gone beyond is all the sweetness, carried by the zephyrs lightly,</div>
<div class='line'>Borne afar beyond your reaching, by the mocking phantoms, nightly.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“O the year so slowly drifting, with their freight of human sorrow,</div>
<div class='line'>Are they very near their ending? Will they end, too, on the morrow?</div>
<div class='line'>Ghosts of years and ghosts of pleasures, cease, oh cease, your midnight stalking,</div>
<div class='line'>Fill no more the heart with anguish, by your tireless, soundless walking.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Alice Cramer stood by the small window of her
home, her fingers unconsciously thrumming on the
pane, while she gazed out into the shadowing twilight
of early spring.</p>
<p class='c005'>The road was a dark line in the gray landscape
and she watched eagerly for a figure to arise from it
into vision. It was the evening that Mark should
<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>come, and she remembered that she had parted from
him almost in anger. She had expected then to see
him soon again, in a few weeks at the furthest, but
the weeks had grown into months. There had been
trouble with the Indians on the frontier and Mark
was ordered to report for active duty and sent away
a long distance from home. What a long, dreary
winter it had been, even though her mother had been
with her. Alice sighed as she thought of it. Even
the mother had gone back to her Eastern home now,
and she was alone.</p>
<p class='c005'>Ah, she was glad, very glad Mark was coming;
but there was a shadow of fear tinging the brightness
of her joy. She had disobeyed him. She compressed
her lips as she thought again of the command
he had laid upon her. Why had he been so
bitter and prejudiced in regard to Professor Russell?
Mark was usually so tolerant of others’ beliefs
and foibles. It could not be from the cause the
Professor had once insinuated. A hot flush of
shame swept over her as she thought of that dreadful
insinuation. Surely, the man had forgotten himself
when he hinted that. She should never dare repeat
his words to Mark. He would shoot him, she
feared. Perhaps Mark was right in his dislike for
the man, but she could not refuse to credit his doctrine.
Surely, surely she had proof of unseen visitants
surrounding her. She felt their presence.</p>
<p class='c005'>And even as she thus thought, a shiver of fear
came over her. The air about her grew chill. In
imagination she could see without, in the gathering
darkness, a host of shadowy forms flitting backward
<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>and forward before her, like swarms of tiny insects
in the atmosphere. How they swarmed about her
and over her as she grew colder and her breathing
more difficult. Involuntarily she turned her head
and glanced backward over her shoulder. The shadows
had deepened in the room. A frightful figure
began to take shape before her excited vision. Her
heart beat loudly and painfully. Her breath came in
gasps. A moment, and the shape began to approach
her. She gazed in fascinated terror into the darkness,
not daring to move. Nearer and nearer it
came,—ah, God! Alice felt her limbs sinking beneath
her, and dropping to the floor she cowered
and covered her face with her hands.</p>
<p class='c005'>Oh, the fright and awfulness of that moment!
She felt the forms all about her, shadowing and overpowering
her. She heard them in a swarming, buzzing
confusion of sound. Suddenly, out from it all
came another sound, louder and more distinct, but
she was too paralyzed to reason.</p>
<p class='c005'>She heard the sound of heavy footsteps outside.
Nearer and nearer they came. The door opened.
Some one approached in the half darkness. There
was a rushing and roaring as of many waters in
Alice’s brain, and she crouched lower and lower and
uttered a faint shriek of terror.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, Alice!” a voice called in her ear. “Alice,
where are you? All in the dark by yourself?”
Then, as the visitor nearly stumbled over the heap
upon the floor, he started back involuntarily. “Great
Heavens! What has happened? What is the matter?
Alice, can this be you upon the floor? Why,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>child, what has happened? Did I startle you by
coming sooner than you expected?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark Cramer, with anxious countenance, bent
over the cowering figure of his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>Her face was still buried in her hands, her frame
shaking, her whole attitude one of extreme fear.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark’s heart sank with a fear of unknown dangers.
This was a strange welcome after his long
absence.</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice’s letter had, it is true, prepared him to find
her ill, perhaps only depressed, for he had noted the
dejection of spirits in the written words, but he could
account for that; but could this shrinking, cowering
creature be his formerly light-hearted and happy
wife? Surely he had expected nothing like this.</p>
<p class='c005'>Nothing less than a serious nerve shock could
have caused this condition. From what source could
the shock have come? Could it be, Alice had
brooded in her cabin until she had become insane?
These and a hundred other thoughts rushed through
his brain in the space of a moment as he bent over
the abject form of his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, dear Alice, have you no welcome for me
after all these long months?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark tried to raise her, but she shrank back from
him, limp and helpless, yet trembling as with palsy.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, do you know me? Have you lost your
mind? My God, what a home-coming is this! You
surely are not afraid of <em>me</em>, Mark? Speak to me,
Alice.”</p>
<p class='c005'>She looked up at him with dazed eyes and tried to
speak, but her lips would not obey her will.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>“Alice, O Alice!” Mark lifted the trembling figure
in his arms and held her tightly. “Alice Cramer,
do you not know me? What has happened to put
you in this state?”</p>
<p class='c005'>She turned her white face against his shoulder,
hiding it.</p>
<p class='c005'>Darker thoughts took possession of the man.
Was there a reason why his wife should fear him,
her husband? His blood grew hot with anger.
Had that villain, Russell, so poisoned her mind that
she feared his return, or had some person, just previous
to his return, frightened and prostrated her?
He glanced into the adjoining room and listened for
any noise to denote an intruder. No, Alice was
alone.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, speak to me!” he commanded sternly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark, Mark,” she murmured. “Oh! has it
gone? Can you save me from it?” And again she
shrank fearingly against his arm.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There is nothing here, Alice; only I, Mark.
What has disturbed you so? Was any one here before
I came? Has any one been trying to frighten
you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice raised her head and looked shrinkingly behind
her, clinging closer to her husband as she
did so. Then she began to sob, and clutch his shoulders
tightly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes—oh—I do not know! I saw it behind me
here in the room. It was so hideous—so dreadful!
I saw it over my shoulder there!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think, my dear, it was only the shadow cast by
my horse as it came down the road.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>“Oh, no, no, it was there!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark looked distressed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, I shall not dare leave you alone again
while your nerves are in this state. Do you know
that there has been nothing here but spectres of your
excited imagination. Since when have you conjured
gruesome hobgoblins out of the darkness? You
never saw such things before, did you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice hid her face in his bosom.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Mark, many times. They are always about
me. When I walk they come up behind me and I
hear their padding footsteps following me. They
even pull my hair sometimes at night when I cannot
sleep. Oh, I cannot bear it!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark frowned, and chewed his mustache reflectively,
but he repressed the words that came to his
lips.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear child, I am home with you now.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Mark, and I am so—so—glad! But you
will go away and then they will come again.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wish you might go when I do. You are nearly
ill with nervous prostration. You should see a doctor
right away.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no, Mark! Not a doctor! I am not sick!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What has caused this trouble, Alice? I do not
know unless it is that miserable hound Russell. Can
you not believe me when I tell you this is all a mere
delusion of the senses? You have thought and
thought over, and allowed your mind to dwell upon
that wretched <em>ism</em> until it has nearly shipwrecked
you. It was an evil day when that villain darkened
our door.” And Mark ground his teeth in impotent
<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>wrath. “But come, let us have a light and drive
away the spirits of darkness.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Mark, dear,” said Alice, as she arose and
lighted a lamp, “can you not see that, to me, it is
truth? I really see and hear them, and if it were
not for these hideous ones—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They are <em>all</em> hideous—the whole doctrine is hideous,
my dear, and only such as an unbalanced mind
can conceive of,” he said hastily. “For my sake,—for
God’s sake,—try and use some reason and judgment
in the matter! You used to feel different from
this—you, the little fearless woman of five years
ago. I was so proud of you for your bravery, as became
a soldier’s wife. You were all right until that
man came here—until that serpent came into our
Eden. Now you are frightened, and faint at your
own shadow. But forgive me, dear, I didn’t come
home to scold you. I am sure it is because you are
not well and your nerves are to blame for it all.
Queer things, these nerves, to play us such pranks.
You are better, are you not?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice turned her face, still pale and wan, toward
him, and said in a voice yet unsteady: “We will not
talk of it any more. It is too dreadful.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, we will choose pleasanter themes. I have
some news for you. I have received a letter from
my sister Elinor, and she thinks of coming to make
us a visit. She will have a fine rest here after her
round of society life.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But I thought she was in California.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“So she is, but will stop and visit us on the way
<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>East. I know it will do you good to have her here.
She is always bright and happy.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice’s lip quivered at the implied reproach,
though Mark had no intention of meaning it as such.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But will she be happy here? I am afraid our
rude little cabin will scarcely make her comfortable.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t worry about that, child. Nellie is a good-hearted
little woman, in spite of her wealth and love
of society, and she will enjoy the change, I assure
you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I feel—afraid to see her,” said Alice, the tears
quivering in her lashes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, dear, can it be this lonely, isolated life that
is ruining your health and nerves? Shall I give up
my commission and go back East?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, no, Mark! It is pleasant here—only—”
And Alice again looked apprehensively behind her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My poor child, we will go East,—anywhere,—to
get you away from these scenes and influences,”
he murmured.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Mark, do you not think they are everywhere?
In the East and West and North and
South? The air is full of them, it seems to me.
What used to seem only thin, pure, fresh air,
sweet to breathe, and space vast and limitless, appears
now a thickly populated ether or chaos in
which are countless thousands of spirits floating or
coming and going in surging, whirling, maddening
confusion. Oh, you cannot see with my eyes! If
you could you would pity me!” Alice leaned against
her husband’s arm and her tears fell softly. “You
wouldn’t scold me if you knew.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>“Poor child, poor child! I will not scold you nor
laugh at you. I will cure you. I know disordered
nerves are as bad as other functional disorders, or
worse, and it is a physician you need, and a big dose
of rest, and you shall have them. You shall not be
left alone again, either. You are not afraid when I
am here?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, you seem to exercise control even over the
inhabitants of the air.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I thank God I am able to. Did you know, Alice,
Nathan’s little Lucy is ill?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Little Lucy? Ah, how sorry I am. How did
you learn it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I met Nathan down the road and came home
with him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark, dear, how I am neglecting you. I am sure
you are tired and hungry, and here I have been taking
your time with my woes, and forgetting your
needs. Supper is all ready, however, except making
the tea.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, that begins to sound like home again. Yes,
I am hungry. I am always hungry when I can come
home to my own table and have my good wife’s
cooking.”</p>
<p class='c005'>And Alice, intent upon the hospitable entertainment
of her husband, forgot, for the time, the spectres
that haunted her.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXI<br> <span class='large'>THE REAPER</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The spring brought trouble deep and lasting to the
home of Nathan. Their child, upon whom Lissa had
rested her heart and hopes after the manner of all
mothers since the dawn of creation, sickened and
died.</p>
<p class='c005'>One day its little, warm lips had been pressed to
hers, while its eyes looked inquiringly into her face
with the mysterious intensity of infancy. The next,
the waxen body lay cold and still before her unknowing
and unheeding, and the weighted agony of
her heart was beyond expression.</p>
<p class='c005'>Oh, mothers who have had this experience, how I
pity you! How my heart bleeds for you! It is to
tear out a vital part of your being, to rend the very
cords of life, to see that precious little casket of
clay, so pure, so fair, borne away. How can you
bear it?</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa did not bear her trial bravely, but sank beneath
it. For days she neither ate nor slept. She
would sit in the spot where her baby died, and beg
that it should return to her. She would pray that
it might become materialized and appear to her as
the children she had at one time seen come from a
cabinet at a seance. That seemed to be her one
thought, to see it, to feel its little warm hands once
more.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>Nathan watched her with increasing anxiety,
scarce naming, even to himself, what he feared. At
last one morning she startled him by declaring that
the child had come to her in the night. That she
had seen it and touched its hands.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It was but a dream, dearest. Little Lucy is safe
in Jesus’ arms. Think of that, Lissa, safe!”</p>
<p class='c005'>She turned from him impatiently.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t want to think of it. I want her myself.
I have the best right to her. It was cruel to take my
baby, my only one. He must let her come back to
me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, my dear, that is impossible. Our little one
is safe in a better world, where no harm nor evil can
approach her. She is waiting for us there. Some
day you can go to her, Lissa, but she may not come
to you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But I know she can and does. She is there in
that corner of the room. Sit very still, and she will
come to you. See her?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan, startled in spite of himself, would sit,
awed and expectant, looking in the direction indicated,
while his wife, wrapped in eager absorption,
would remain motionless, becoming angry if he disturbed
her.</p>
<p class='c005'>And thus the weeks passed, bringing no relief.
Lissa’s nature seemed completely changed. She no
longer took interest in her household affairs, but left
everything to her domestic, who at best was an indifferent
housekeeper. Nathan came home each week
to find neglect and chaos, where had once been care
and order.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>Lissa was petulant and easily irritated, and her
dark, sad eyes looked as if she never slept. She lost
in flesh and color and her constant and ever-recurring
theme of conversation was the child she had
lost.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, how far from comforting is this belief which
my poor wife has embraced! If Lissa would only
become reconciled to the fact that the child cannot
come to her again, she would soon recover from
her sorrow,” he said to Mark Cramer, as after an
unusually trying hour with her he walked slowly
with his brother-in-law toward the latter’s house.
“It is certainly wrong to try to recall the dead.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I agree with you. God pity those who have no
other belief than spiritism.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Amen!” replied Nathan. “It has been weighed
in the balance and found wanting. Poor Lissa keeps
herself and every one around her wretched by constantly
talking of her lost one. I feel at times she is
losing her mind. She seems to care for nothing but
what she calls ‘communing with her child.’ I can
see that she is failing in health as well as mind. I
hoped when the first outburst of grief was over she
would, like other mothers, become resigned, but if
anything she is becoming more absorbed in it. I
cannot blame her friends for staying away from
her. They do not want to hear the same story continually.
If I propose that we go away for a time she
looks alarmed and refuses to leave the house, because
of the nightly visits of her little one. Surely, surely,
Mark, it is a delusion. It cannot be that she <em>does</em>
see her?” he questioned.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>“I certainly believe, Nate, that she is self-deceived
and that unless her mind can in some way be diverted
and given other food she will die or become insane.
I was surprised to-day to see the change in her, even
in the short time I have been gone.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If she would only take some interest in her household
affairs, but she leaves everything to Neoka, who
is poorly fitted for such responsibility. I might send
for her mother—”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark shook his head. “I am afraid her mother
gives too much credence to this wretched fallacy that
is making all the trouble,” he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well,” groaned Nathan, “I’m to blame for all
this! If I had never brought that man Russell into
the neighborhood this need never have happened.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Possibly not, but you don’t know. The Devil
usually has some way of finding victims. He might
have sent along some other of his emissaries. I
suppose he has plenty, even of <em>this</em> kind. But I will
think about this and see if I cannot find some way of
deliverance.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Heaven grant you may, and soon!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ve often wondered,” said Mark, “why you ever
had anything to do with this belief. I always supposed
you too sound a man to be deceived easily, and
yet you have half seemed to accept the doctrine.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I never told you of an experience I had, a number
of years ago, while I was railroading, did I?
You know I ran on the road three or four years. At
the time the incident happened I was acting as conductor
on a freight train running between R——
and Council Bluffs. I had a friend, George Marvin,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>who was also a railroad man, and we were close
chums. He was a splendid fellow and supported a
widowed mother, who idolized him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“One day he came down to the station and told me
he had had a bad dream the night before, and felt
sure that if he went out upon his run he’d meet with
an accident. I pooh-poohed at him, but he was terribly
depressed and insisted that he’d had a warning
and must not go. So finally we hunted one of the
boys to go in his place, and he jumped on a passing
train to ride up to the street-crossing near his home,
standing on the step of the third car from the engine.
As the train moved out between the tracks upon
which other cars were standing, George leaned out
too far, was struck by some projection from a
freight car, knocked under the wheels, and killed instantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It was a terrible thing. I couldn’t sleep for
nights after it happened. And his poor mother—well,
she never got over it. It killed her inside of
six weeks.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Two or three weeks after George was killed I
took a freight train up to the junction, where I was
ordered to side-track and wait for the express to
pass me. I was some behind time, owing to an accident
up the road, when I pulled out onto the switch,
and I was slowing up to stop, when the rear door of
the caboose was thrown open with a bang, and if
you’ll believe me, there stood George Marvin, as natural
as life.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Nate,’ he said, ‘go back and close your switch.’
Then he jumped off, and the door closed. For a moment
<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>I forgot but that George was living. I rubbed
my eyes to see if I was awake. I went to the end
of the car, and looked out, but no one was in sight.
There were four drovers in the car playing cards
and laughing. While I was looking at them and
wondering what it all meant, the door flew open
again and George Marvin once more appeared.
‘Nate,’ he said, very slowly and expressively, ‘go
back and close your switch.’ I asked the drovers if
they saw any one. They said, ‘Yes, a fellow told
you to close your switch.’ ‘That man has been dead
two weeks,’ I said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“They urged me to go back and see what it meant,
and as the train had stopped, I ran back and found a
piece of coal had fallen between the rails and prevented
the switch—which worked automatically—from
closing. I got it out and closed the switch just
as the express came in sight. Otherwise it would
have run into us, and another railroad horror would
have been recorded. Now how do you account for
that?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Had it not been for the drovers seeing the vision
I should think you might have seen, standing in the
rear of the car, that the switch did not close; but as
you were carrying on another train of thought, perhaps
thinking of your friend, you were not conscious
of noticing it; and that the other part of your mind
warned you. Your imagination supplied the vision.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But the drovers?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, perhaps it was thought transference. You
received the impression passively, scarcely realizing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>it. The passive mind might have transferred it to
their minds. I must confess there is much we cannot
understand even in the laws that govern mental
telepathy.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXII<br> <span class='large'>NEW ARRIVALS</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The soft and balsam-scented air of summer fluttered
the white curtains of Alice Cramer’s house as
she sat before the open doorway awaiting, with no
little anxiety, the arrival of her fashionable sister-in-law
from San Francisco.</p>
<p class='c005'>And when her practised eye saw the carriage, a
mere speck against the sky, coming across the prairie,
her heart throbbed with the dread of meeting
and she looked about her mean little apartments with
a sense of embarrassment. What had come over
her, that she should have lost the self-possession and
ease of manner inherent in her, and become timid
and awkward as the most illiterate of her neighbors?</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have been so long out of the world I am no longer
myself,” she murmured, “and yet—and yet it is
not wholly that. I seem to be living in a state of
chronic fear. If only her coming will free me from
those other visitors.”</p>
<p class='c005'>With a choking sensation in her throat, and trembling
in her limbs, she arose as the carriage turned
from the highway toward the house. She took in
with a glance the blonde-haired, blue-eyed sister, the
curled, elaborately-dressed child, and then her eyes
rested upon the most beautiful face she had ever
seen, it seemed to her. A face so commanding and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>bright, so impellingly attractive, she gazed at it in
joyous wonder.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark lifted them down from the carriage, one by
one, and presented them to her, and the tears started
in her eyes as Elinor kissed her fondly, called her
sister Alice, and appeared to overlook the shabby
apartments which had so distressed the housewife a
few minutes before.</p>
<p class='c005'>The little boy bounded and capered in the joy of
freedom as he looked at the boundless prairie, and
Tibby Waring’s eyes glowed with tender moistness
as she feasted upon the beauty of the expanse before
her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, Mrs. Wylie, how lovely it is to breathe freely
again,” she murmured as, after removing her wraps
with the dust and stain of travel, she stood, later in
the day, outside the cabin door and watched the red
sun touch the prairie’s distant rim.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Tibby, you will be a child again with all
these country wilds about you. You will have chickens,
cows, and horses to your heart’s content.
Mark, do you remember how we youngsters used to
go out to grandpa’s?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed I do. I remember how you tried to walk
a log across Willow brook and fell in.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And I remember when grandpa whipped you for
taking eggs from under his sitting hen.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Because a little girl about your size—you haven’t
grown much—told me to do it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and I ran and hid in the dry-house and fell
asleep there. What a time they had finding me.”
And Elinor laughed at the recollection.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>“’Twas old Tige that found you. We never
could understand how he opened the dry-house
door,” responded Mark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, those happy, happy days,” sighed Elinor.
“Look yonder, Tibby, what a lovely group of
ponies.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They are coming this way. May I go to meet
them, Mr. Cramer?” And Tibby, with Robbie at
her heels, swiftly went across the crisp, dry turf toward
the approaching horses.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is it safe for her, Mark?” asked Elinor, looking
anxiously after her protege.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, come on, we will follow them.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How lovely they are, Mr. Cramer. Are they
all gentle? May I go near them?” asked Tibby as
the twain approached her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“If you are not afraid, select one for your own
use,” Mark replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby went nearer and surveyed them for a moment.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I like that roan the best, though he looks a trifle
wicked,” she said, pointing to one a little distance
from the herd.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, that is Tempest. He is a little wild. Better
choose again.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The horse lifted his ears and struck the ground
with his fore-foot challengingly, as Tibby slowly
went toward him. Mark expected to hear him
snort viciously and take to his heels as she neared
him, but to his surprise the horse kept his position.</p>
<p class='c005'>Then, as Tibby spoke to him, he backed a little,
and again struck the ground with his foot.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>“Soh! Good fellow, good fellow! Come here!”
Tibby paused, and holding out her hand beckoned
the animal toward her. Then they stood looking at
one another steadily. Finally the roan took a few
steps forward, striking the ground, and seeming to
question her right to command him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come here, I tell you!” said Tibby imperiously,
again, and to the surprise of all the horse once more
took a few steps nearer her. Haltingly it walked
toward her, nearer, its eyes fixed on the girl and her
outstretched hand. A few more steps and it was
within reach, and Tibby’s hand was upon its nose
and she had conquered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, I’m astonished at that!” exclaimed Mark.
“He’s the Devil’s own, usually. He must have an
eye for beauty, the rascal.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby stood and stroked the animal’s nose, whispering
to him as she did so, and feeding him grass
which she pulled from the ground.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are not afraid, Tempest. You must always
come when I call you. Soh! Good Tempest; come,
sir, come! I’ll show you to the mistress.” And
Tibby turned toward the house, the horse following
the hand touching his nose.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, if that girl ain’t leading Tempest!” Alice
exclaimed. “He’s the wildest colt of the lot. Even
Mark hasn’t been able to do much with him, he’s so
vixenish. And without a bridle! How did she
manage it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“She can manage almost anything,” laughed Mrs.
Wylie. “I sometimes think she manages all of us.
I don’t know how we should get along without her.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>“Where did you find her?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“In a country place not far from Forest City. I
took her for a nurse girl for Robbie, but as I wrote
you, I’ve made a companion and daughter of her.
She is invaluable in any capacity. The only trouble
I have is keeping the young men from running off
with her. She attracts a great deal of attention
wherever we are stopping, and woe be it to any
young woman who purposely ignores her. She
makes her a wall-flower from that time on, and
draws away every young man who would pay the
offending one any attention.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But how can she do it? Of course she is remarkably
handsome, but that does not always—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The goodness knows! It’s her own secret.
Sometimes I think it is her compelling eyes that
bring every one to her upon whom she casts them.
Haven’t you noticed that quality in them?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They are wonderfully bright, and—electrical,”
replied Alice.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Electrical? Yes, that is the word. Aren’t they?
I can sound Tibby’s praises by day and night. One
feels them ever when not looking at her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well,” said Mrs. Cramer, “we have very few
young men here. None of much account, except Donald
Bartram. He is nice, and entirely eligible, so
you need not fear him. The girl is remarkably attractive.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby Waring had indeed become an important
element in Mr. Wylie’s household. Every one liked
her, from Robbie, who was restless and uneasy in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>her absence, to Grandma Wylie, who, when she
made her annual visits, insisted that Tibby was better
than a doctor to relieve her aches and rheumatic
pains. And Mr. and Mrs. Wylie found need of her
on all occasions.</p>
<p class='c005'>From the position of servant she had become a
daughter of the house. Her ready wit and imperturbably
good humor made her a welcome adjunct
in the parlor, and if some of Mrs. Wylie’s society
friends sneered and complained of her when by
themselves for her presumption in forcing an unknown
girl upon them, they were careful not to
shadow forth any dislike in her presence. Latterly,
when traveling, Mrs. Wylie had introduced her as
a foster-daughter, and thus Tibby was saved any affronts.</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice Cramer was never weary of watching both
Tibby and her sister-in-law and feasting upon the
brightness and freshness of their apparel, with the
many little accessories of fashion which, of late,
were unknown to her. And Mrs. Wylie herself was
like a wild bird set at liberty. She sang and rode
with Tibby and Mark over the plains, her fluffy
blonde hair blowing in the wind, and her pink and
white complexion, which no wind could mar, only
took on a richer tinge, more healthful and attractive.
But she became alarmed at the peculiarities which
she observed in Alice.</p>
<p class='c005'>One day, while galloping over the soft turf, she
questioned her brother.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark, is Alice entirely sane?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Sane, Nellie! What do you mean?”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>“Why, she acts so strangely at times. She sits
and looks back over her shoulder in such a startled
way, and early this morning, after you had gone out,
I heard some one cry out in her room and I ran in
there to see what was the matter. She was sitting
up in bed and brushing the wall about her with a
broom. Her face was red, her eyes bright, and she
kept saying, ‘Get away with you, you little imps!’</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Why, Alice,’ I cried, ‘what ails you?’ She
dropped her broom and looked embarrassed when she
saw me, and said imploringly, ‘I can’t help it, Nellie!
Don’t blame me, I can see such horrible crawling
things on the walls. There are all manner of
creatures, some on two legs and some on four or
more, and they grin and chatter in such a fiendish
way I have to fight them.’ And she began to sob.
I told her it was only her imagination from disordered
nerves, and she ought to have a doctor. But
she assured me she was well, physically. One can
see, however, from her thinness and pallor that such
is not the case.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark’s face grew dark and he shut his teeth hard.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Nellie, it all comes from the evil machinations of
one man who has been coming here to the house; a
spirit-medium, he calls himself, but I imagine him an
agent for Satan. He holds seances, and has given
Alice books to read until she is filled with his theories.
She has been alone too much since mother
went home, and has become melancholy and nervous.
I am very glad you are with us. Try to keep her
cheerful and her mind off those things as much as
possible. I need help.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>Mrs. Wylie sighed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I know what it is, Mark. Horace has been
interested in this subject, and I have seen more of it
than I enjoy. Horace’s sister in Oakland is a believer
and gives up her house to seances and meetings
of that sort.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed, I am surprised that so solid a man as
Mr. Wylie should give ear to such nonsense.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Mark, you can’t say it is all nonsense.
There are very many bright people who believe in it,
though they are perhaps the exceptions; but there
is certainly something supernatural about it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, Nellie, I do not think it is supernatural. It
is only because we do not understand Nature’s laws
and forces that we thus designate the phenomena
produced. I really believe the time will come when
every phenomenon adduced will be explained from
natural hypothesis. Much of it can be now. I am
not sure but all of it can.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have a friend, Mark, a very sweet young
woman, who I am sure would not stoop to deceit,
who can do many wonderful things. She can write
messages from the spirit world, is clairvoyant, and
can, if an article is placed in her hand, describe the
owner, his surroundings, etc. I have recently heard
that she has developed as a materializing medium.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, my dear, she may be ever so honest and be
self-deceived. Those things do not prove the agency
of any disembodied spirit. We all have more or less
of the psychometric power, no doubt, which, although
we cannot account for it, is no more wonderful
than the electric current and many other forces
<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>of Nature. There certainly seems to be a force which
connects individuals and forms a medium for
thought transference. The Hindoos understand this
much better than we do, hence the mysteries of their
conjuring tricks. They must make use of this psychic
force of which we are but dimly conscious.
Possibly we may, in the future, learn to control it as
we do now the lightning. But there is no spirit
agency in it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The most mysterious to me is the slate-writing,”
said Mrs. Wylie. “My friend does that also. I have
seen instances where there seemed to be absolutely
no opportunities for fraud.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We may have belief in the power of mind over
matter. I have thought much over this and am willing
to admit that the spirit of man may even act
upon matter to produce this slate-writing, but I believe
it is the medium’s spirit rather than any other.
If the disembodied spirit is supposed to do this, why
not the spirit or intelligence of the medium also?
All things considered, I prefer to believe the medium
responsible. Of course, in many cases it is probably
only a trick or sleight of hand, in substituting one
slate for another; but I think I have seen cases myself
where such explanation could not be given.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But this hypnotic force which can make a subject
do, believe, assume personalities and see whatever is
suggested to him is a wonderful force and I know
not what its limits are. It may account for the supposed
slate-writing. The Oriental can produce phenomena
beyond anything known here, and yet, as I
understand, he does not pretend that his power
<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>comes from the spirits of departed friends. As for
mind over matter, the planchette is certainly governed
by the intelligence of the operator or manipulator.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If,” said Mrs. Wylie, “one mind may influence
another, now annihilating time and space, why may
not the mind or spirit of the dead so act after it is
separated from the body?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not deny that such a thing is possible. I am
not prepared to state absolutely that such things are
impossible, but I have never had any proof sufficient
to convince me that they were at all <em>probable</em>,
and I don’t believe that spirits have anything to do
with all this table rapping, etc., which really amounts
to nothing. You will find that all written answers to
questions, even in slate-writing, tell only that which
is known to some one in the room. If a question is
asked which demands an unknown answer the so-called
spirit either refuses to speak or the answer is
so ambiguous as to admit of several interpretations.
Really I have never seen one such communication
that even stated a fact clearly. They usually deal
in generalities.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is true. I’ve often told Horace that they
could get along all right until some question was
asked which the mind-reader could not find out
about, and then they fail. I have heard that only inferior
spirits are capable of producing psychical phenomena.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“So we have the Indian children and big medicine-men
to instruct us so much. Strange that people
should pin their faith to the utterances of spirits of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>those with whom they would not associate were they
living upon earth.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“After all, it’s the making a religion of it that I
object to,” said Mrs. Wylie, “and letting these communications,
wherever evolved, control one’s morals
and living.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did you ever know a person made better by giving
up his religion and substituting spiritism?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, that is it. I have often told Horace that the
doctrine tended to demoralization; but he will not
listen to me. Of course there is much that is wrong
in the followers of any religion, but this seems especially
lowering in its tendency, so far as I have
observed.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, you can see what it has done for my poor
Alice. And her sister Lissa is nearly insane from it.
It will unbalance the mind if not the moral nature.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suspect you will not be willing to go and hear
Mrs. Lucien when she comes to C—— upon her
Western tour. I care nothing for the exhibition in
itself, but am a little anxious to know how she has
developed. I have not seen her since she first began
to try her mystic powers, as we went to the Pacific
coast soon afterwards.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, yes, I am willing to see your friend. I am
not so intolerant as that. She may, as I said, be sincere
and self-deceived. Such a condition might be
possible. However, it is quite as likely you are deceived
in her. By the way, you have a remarkable
maid—this Tibby. She is extremely pretty and has
wonderful eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, you are stricken with a shaft from those
<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>eyes. I don’t wonder at it. Tibby has been with
me ever since she was fourteen, and I have heard
that remark over and over again from each one to
whom I have introduced her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I could believe she practises hypnotism, though
perhaps unconsciously.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I have frequently suggested as much to
Horace, but he says it is her beauty. She certainly
can do what she wishes with any one. The young
men at the summer hotels where we stop swarm
about her like bees about a honey jar, but she does
not seem to care for them. Sometimes she plays the
most absurd tricks upon them. One evening, when
we were at the Metropolitan, a young man called
whom I had especially recommended to Tibby. I
left them in the parlor and stepped out upon the veranda.
Shortly, Miss Tibby followed me, her eyes
dancing with mischief. ‘Where is Mr. Bevington,’ I
asked. ‘In the parlor, asleep,’ she said demurely. I
went in, and sure enough, there the fellow sat in an
easy chair, sound asleep, his jaw dropped, and looking
anything but picturesque and charming. Tibby
stood by me, looking wickedly at him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘There, you see how gentlemanly your fine
young man is,’ she said. ‘I must be interesting
company. Don’t you pity me? Shall I cover him
with a shawl and let him sleep?’ I shook my head
at her. ‘Better waken him.’</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Mr. Bevington, we’ll excuse you if you would
rather sleep at home,’ she said. I wish you could
have witnessed his confusion when he awoke, as he
did immediately upon Tibby’s addressing him. I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>really pitied the poor fellow. He muttered, of
course, something about late hours, etc., but I am
satisfied Tibby had something to do with his sleeping.
She has, when she chooses, a very soothing influence
over one.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“So I perceive. I saw an instance of her mesmeric
power yesterday. She wanted to go and ride upon
Tempest (by the way, there is a proof of her
strength. Tempest was the worst horse on the
ranch) and Robbie insisted upon her staying with
him. She sat down upon the horse-block and looked
at the child until he came to her as if she had been
leading him by a rope.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘I think you may as well sleep while I am gone,’
she said, ‘to keep you out of mischief.’ To my surprise
the little fellow dropped down by the side of
the block and appeared to be asleep in a minute.
He slept until she returned from her ride, when she
awakened him, and they both came in together.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You don’t think there is any harm in it? It will
not hurt Robbie?” asked Mrs. Wylie anxiously. “I
have learned to rely upon her so completely.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Perhaps not, though I have heard that it weakens
the will to be frequently mesmerized. But we’ll hope
she does not abuse her power.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Really, Mark, I believe I obey Tibby myself.
We have never disagreed upon anything yet, that I
did not yield, I am sure. And when I have a headache
she can sooth it away with her touch.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby has a very positive character. I fancy
Donald is interested in her already.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>“Donald! Why, I thought they told me he was
fond of Esther McCleary.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark smiled.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not know—possibly. Meanwhile, have I
your permission to talk with your protege on the
subject of mesmeric influences?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly, or upon any other subject. But
really, Mark, isn’t there something uncanny about
a person possessed of such power?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Again Mark smiled.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are possessed of the intolerance of our forefathers.
You would not suffer a witch to live.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, it does seem as if such a person had a familiar
spirit. We are commanded to abhor such,
and in olden time they were put to death, it is true.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do not class hypnotists with spirit-mediums,”
Mark replied. “And I have an idea with regard to
Tibby which may be useful. She should be able to
exorcise other evil influences, as did the priests of
old. I’d like to pit her against Russell.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Russell? O, yes, he’s the man to whom you
ascribe Alice’s perversion of mind. Well, I wish
she might be able to. I wish she might.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXIII<br> <span class='large'>THE COUNTERPLOT</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Mark sought a convenient opportunity to interview
Tibby. He found the girl one morning pacing
slowly up and down the pathway leading to the
horses’ corral, her riding-whip in her hand and riding-skirt
upon her arm. She was smiling softly to
herself and flipping the tops of the tall balsam weeds
with her whip as she passed them. She looked up,
a startled, challenging look in her large eyes as he
approached her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, Miss Tibby, what new mischief are you
hatching to-day?” Mark asked as he joined her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“None, I assure you. I was only thinking how
I would like to see a prairie on fire.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I trust the wish has not been father to the act.
You haven’t set a match to it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no! I haven’t yet looked up a convenient
hiding-place for myself. And then I don’t believe
I’m quite so bad as Nero. My desire to see a burning
Rome is not strong enough to make me set it on
fire.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed? You reassure me!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“As if that were necessary.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You haven’t told me what you really think of us
here, Miss Tibby.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think it is lovely here; you have so much
breathing space.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>“Is that all we are supposed to do—breathe?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“There doesn’t seem to be a chance for much else.
Now does that sound impolite? I don’t mean it so.”
Tibby flicked the toe of her boot with her whip, and
drew in one of the deep corners of her mouth as if
she had said something she ought not to.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not in the least impolite. It’s a fact. We may
exist here, not much else.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But I didn’t mean that. I like it here very much.
But one is so free from restraint, breathing seems the
easiest and about the only necessary thing to do.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You were country born?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and I remember it seemed there as if I was
repressed and confined and I looked yearningly out
into the greater liberty of the world. Think of it!
From the freedom of country I longed for liberty.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And now?” Mark questioned.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And now I am not tired of the other life. O,
no. I enjoy it truly, only I think part of the people
one meets in society life are often very silly and flat,
as—as—” she hesitated for a comparison, then gave
the familiar one of her childhood,—“as dishwater.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Isn’t that the trouble with a part of the people
everywhere? After all, it’s a great thing to be to
the manner born,” said Mark, setting his large hat
farther back upon his head, and looking the bright
sun in the face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ain’t it? There is an ease, a consciousness of
power, a—a something which the very rich have
which one may covet. Perhaps it is the consciousness
of always being well-dressed. I think that was
what I used to covet. As to birth, I had nothing to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>envy in any of them. My mother was a Devereaux,
my great uncle an earl.” Tibby lifted her chin with
conscious pride. Mark saw that the girl was still
smarting from affronts received when she was only
Mrs. Wylie’s servant.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Even in this democratic America we still are
proud of what we please to call blue blood, are we?
Well, it may be foolish, but I reckon it won’t hurt
us,” said Mark. “I hope many of us are better men
than our ancestors of feudal times, however. Our
women are certainly more intelligent, if we may believe
history.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes?” Tibby was looking out into the expanse
dreamily, her eyes narrowed and yellow in the sunlight.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What do you call the restraints of society life?”
questioned Mark suddenly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The necessity of putting on war paint and feathers.
The necessity of hiding behind a mask of conventionality
and pleasant phrases, of fine clothes and
fine speeches. I enjoy it immensely—immensely.”
Tibby shut her lips tightly to emphasize her words.
“But after all, it is artificial, and the only fun is seeing
through it all. It’s really more fun to be a spectator
than an actor in a comedy. The actors see all
the tinsel and making up.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But you have been an actor?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, in the minor roles.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby, Mrs. Wylie tells me you sometimes see
people you do not like and have a way of punishing
them.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>“Yes,” said Tibby meekly; “sometimes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Miss Tibby, haven’t we walked about enough?
Let us sit down upon this roller. I want to talk to
you. You conquered Tempest very easily. I believe
you have uncommon power,” he continued, as Tibby
sat down and began to fan her face with her riding-hat.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you think so?” Tibby’s voice was mockingly
suggestive.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I am convinced of it. And I have been waiting
for an opportunity to ask how long you have
known and used this power.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby looked keenly at Mark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am not sure I understand you. To what power
do you refer?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The power to make every person or beast yield to
your will. You are a hypnotist, Miss Waring, and
an uncommonly powerful one.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The girl looked up eagerly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you really think so, Mr. Cramer? I have
wondered myself if that might not be the case. I
know—have known for a long time—that if I really
willed any one to do a thing, he was quite apt to do
it. When I was a little girl I used to sit in church
and make people turn and look at me—it was the
only way I could amuse myself through those long
sermons which my stepmother made me listen to
every Sunday; and sometimes I have made people
stumble, or even fall, just for fun or to punish
them. I know it wasn’t a praiseworthy amusement,
but—” Tibby hesitated.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You can put Robbie to sleep.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>She nodded. “How did you know?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have been watching you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You don’t think there is any harm in it?” she
questioned in a troubled voice.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Perhaps not, yet I do not think I would exercise
my power in that way. It might weaken the lad’s
will. I am sure you would not willingly do him
harm.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, no, indeed! I never mean to do any one any
harm. I have sometimes played jokes on the dudes
at the hotels, or occasionally punished some one, as
Mrs. Wylie told you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“There is a person whom I wish you would punish,
if it be in your power.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And that is—?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Professor Russell. You know who he is, and
what he has done. If he comes here again, use all
the power you possess to get control of that man.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What shall do with him if I can hypnotize him?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Anything. Show him up for what he is. And
above everything, break his power or influence over
others.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You may be sure I will. Mrs. Wylie has been
telling me of him, and that he is responsible for Mrs.
Cramer’s nervous condition.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and for a hundred other offenses, large and
small. Lissa Bartram is nearly insane over his accursed
delusions. By the way, can you not suggest
a different train of thought for her? She sits brooding
over her sorrow, and trying to recall the spirit
of her child. You know the hypnotist can get control
<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>of the mind and govern the current of thought
by suggestion. Can you not turn her morbid fancies
into dreams of hope and brightness? Ah, Miss
Tibby, if you can bring relief to that darkened spirit
you will be an angel of light!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Cramer, I will try. I wish I understood better
just how to use the power I have. I know I have
it—but sometimes I forget and fail to make people
do as I wish. But I am interested in Mrs. Bartram,
and will do what I can.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, let us walk over there now,” said Mark.
“The others are occupied with themselves.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“All right. I’ll leave my riding accoutrements
here, and we will go. I wonder, Mr. Cramer, if this
power comes from a strong will.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are you strong-willed?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, you answer my question in the Yankee fashion.
I suppose I am. My stepmother used to call
me ‘that self-willed, headstrong girl,’ because I could
coax papa to let me have my own way sometimes.
And when I was right, why should I not have it?”
The uptilted chin rose higher.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is usually woman’s way,” Mark replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The right way is. I agree with you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby walked forward with the free, upspringing
step of perfect health and high spirits.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Cramer, you have not answered my question.
What is this power of hypnotic control?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You should know better than I, Miss Waring.
So far as I understand it, it is the controlling of one
person’s will and senses by another, the subject passively
submitting to it. I cannot imagine your hypnotizing
<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>me, for I am naturally very positive myself.
You might do so if I were off my guard. Neither
have I your power over others. Why, is not clear
to me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I made you ask a question for me a couple of
days ago,” Tibby confessed, laughing.</p>
<p class='c005'>“When?” Mark looked surprised.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It was when you and Mrs. McCleary were talking
together, and I wanted to hear her tell about the
planchette. So I told you to ask her—that is, <em>willed</em>
you to. And immediately you turned around and
said, ‘Well, how does Mr. McCleary get on with his
planchette?’”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark laughed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I remember I was sorry for starting her off upon
her hobby, and was provoked at myself for asking
afterwards,” he said. “But here we are at Nathan’s.
I’ll take you in and then I’ll leave you to entertain
Lissa in your own way.”</p>
<p class='c005'>They found her sitting listlessly by her low window,
her hands folded in her lap, her sad, dark-rimmed
eyes full of unshed tears.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have brought Miss Waring over to keep you
company for a while,” Mark said brightly. “I think
you’ll get along well together without me, so I’ll run
back to Alice. How are you feeling? Better?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa arose and came forward to meet them with
extended hands, then her eyes followed Tibby’s
about the disordered room. A flush of color came
faintly into her cheeks.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I—am about as usual, thank you,” she said to
Mark, then apologetically to Tibby: “Neoka has
<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>neglected the work to-day. She wanted a holiday
and I let her off, and have not attended to it myself.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are you not well, Mrs. Bartram?” asked Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No—that is, I am better than I was,” she stammered,
looking at Tibby in an embarrassed way.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You ought to be out in this lovely sunshine.
Don’t you think so, Mr. Cramer?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, indeed. There’s life and health in every
gleam, thanksgiving to the sun,” misquoted Mark,
and he touched his hat and turned away.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have a headache,” began Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Which I can rid you of in short order,” cried
Tibby. “Did Mrs. Wylie never tell you what a good
doctor I am? I can always cure her headaches in
a moment. May I try upon you?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Bartram signified her assent, and Tibby
stepped to her side and began to rub her head, talking
the while in her low, rich tones.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are to stop thinking about anything and let
your head rest easily against the back of the chair.
I will take the pain here and carry it away on the
ends of my fingers—so. Ah, you are beginning to
feel better already. The pain is going, now almost
gone—now it is gone. Isn’t it? I do not think it
will trouble you any more.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa smiled. “It has gone,” she murmured.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, that is lovely. Now we will go and walk.
It will complete my cure. Shall we go down by the
river and gather plums?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa assented, and Tibby noticed the brighter
look that already animated her face.</p>
<p class='c005'>When, three hours later, the twain came back to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>the house, their arms filled with wild flowers and
plants, Lissa’s dark eyes were shining with a new
interest, and the dawn of a brighter life had shone
upon the darkened, despairing soul of Nathan’s wife.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXIV<br> <span class='large'>THE TRAIL OE THE SERPENT</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“Alice, have you seen Esther McCleary lately?”
Mark asked abruptly as he entered the house.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I have not. She seems to avoid us since Elinor
and Tibby came. I wonder if it is on account
of Donald? Why does she act so?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid, Alice, there has been, or will be, a
tragedy in Esther’s life, which will wreck it,” Mark
answered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, what do you mean? What can have happened?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have you heard nothing about her mysterious
wanderings away from home lately?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, it seems she has been given to somnambulancy.
She has gotten up in the middle of the night
and left the house upon more than one occasion.
Last night, when I was coming home from the fort,
I came upon her walking alone upon the prairie,
wringing her hands and sobbing bitterly. I called
to her, and she at first tried to run from me, but at
last she allowed me to put her upon my horse and
bring her home. I questioned her, and finally the
poor child told me the cause of her wanderings. It
seems Russell’s power did not end with his presence,
but after hypnotizing her a number of times he could
control her, even though absent. He never tried to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>use this baneful power until recently, or since he was
here the last time before now.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But when did he come back? I didn’t know he
had returned,” said Alice, a troubled look upon her
face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The Lord only knows!” replied Mark, with a
scowl. “I hoped we’d seen the last of him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I did too, Mark. I really did. I have been so
much happier since Elinor and Tibby came, and
now, when it is most time for them to go, to think
he’s come again.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He must not come here—after they have gone
away, at any rate. I don’t mind it much if they are
here, for Tibby, I think, will be a match for him.
But afterwards, if I catch him here I’ll shoot him
like the vermin he is!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Mark, they’d hang you for it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“’Twould be in a good cause. But really I don’t
think he’ll come again after I have interviewed him
once. This affair of Esther’s is going to make the
place too hot for him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, yes, you were telling me. Go on. What
about Esther?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, it appears he willed her to meet him in the
cotton-wood grove that borders the canon. The
poor child swears that she knew nothing and was
conscious of nothing until she found herself face to
face with this arch-fiend, alone and beyond the call
of friends. She tried to flee from him, but could
not. He seemed to hold her, powerless to help herself.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You horrify me, Mark!”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>“I am myself so enraged I can hardly exercise
self-control. Think of having a man in the community
with the power to call his victims to him at
will.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Does Donald know of this?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I think not yet. I am afraid that when he
does it will end everything between him and Esther,
if there has been anything, which I doubt. I believe
Don has a friendly interest in Esther, but I suspect
he is growing fond of Tibby.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed! Well, I don’t see how he could help it.
But Esther is such a good girl.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, before she became the nervous wreck she is,
because of that—Russell.” Mark ground his teeth.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Mark, this is dreadful, dreadful! What can
be done?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The hound must be driven from this community,
now and forever. This poor girl’s obsession is sufficient
excuse for a mob with tar and feathers. Were
it not for the publicity of the thing, and the pain
Esther would experience should these night wanderings
be made public, I would organize a posse myself,
to-night, and ride the fellow out of the territory
on a rail.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, Mark, you must not go against the laws of
the land. Mob violence can never be right.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t know, Alice—when one has a case like
this which the law would not touch.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Will not the law touch it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t know. I am going to town to-morrow to
find out if there is not some way in which he may be
held under the law. As for Esther, I wish she might
<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>be sent away from this place—away from his hateful
influence and pestiferous power.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, could she get away from it? Is there any
place where it might not follow her? Mark,
wouldn’t it be well for you to see Mrs. McCleary?
Surely she could not sanction such possession of her
daughter.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is a good idea, Alice. I will go to see her
to-day—now. If there’s a heart in that woman I’ll
try to find it. This is a mission for which you are
better suited, but in your nervous state it may be
more than you could do.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I would rather trust you,” Alice replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark rapped at Mrs. McCleary’s door a half hour
later, and asked the child who admitted him if he
might see her mother.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, well! Oi declare, Mr. Mark, Oi’m delighted
if you’ve found toime an’ inclination to give
us a little of yer society,” cried Mrs. McCleary, coming
forward. “Oi told Esther Oi didn’t see why
some of the neighbors didn’t call oftener. We’re always
glad to see ’em. And how is Alice, and that
noice sister, and the perty girl with her? Oi am
shure Alice must enjoy their company so much.”
As she paused to take breath, Mark interposed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We do both enjoy them very much. But where
is Esther, Mrs. McCleary?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Esther? O, she is giving the children their
baths. Oi have to leave all such work to her now.
But she’ll be through varry soon, Oi’m shure. Just
help yourself to some of them plums on the table,
Misther Mark.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>“Thank you. They are very nice, and I always
enjoy eating them. This fruit makes up to us for
the lack of apples and other fruits of the East, which
we have not started here yet. Nature is compensative.
But I want to talk to you, Mrs. McCleary,
rather than Esther, and upon a somewhat delicate
subject.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes?” Mrs. McCleary’s voice slid upward interrogatively.
“Oi waant ter know.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you know the extent of Professor Russell’s
power over your daughter?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, to be shure, Mr. Cramer. Who should
know, if not her mother?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And do you approve of his compelling her to
walk in the fields at night? Believe me, Mrs. McCleary,
I ask this from no idle motive. I am interested
in your daughter’s welfare and good name.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He compel her? Professor Russell compel her?
Why, ye’re crazy, Mark Cramer!” The woman’s
Irish temper was rising.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But it is true she has gotten up in the night and
wandered away, alone, is it not?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is thrue Esther has walked in her shlape once
or twice.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But is he not the cause, when she goes to meet
him?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Cramer, what d’ye mean, insinuating such
things of my Esther?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mrs. McCleary, this is a painful revelation I
must make you. But I know that this has occurred,
at least once, and I know that Esther was constrained
<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>to go to this meeting by other power than
her volition.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oi don’t belave ye, Mark Cramer,” said the now
thoroughly angry woman. “Oi don’t know what
yer object is in coming here and defaming moy poor
girrl. Oi don’t belave Professor Russell would use
any power he has to hurt moy child’s good name.
It’s all along of yer prejudice of the maan, that yer
thryin’ to make trouble.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Mrs. McCleary, listen to me, I beg of you,
for Esther’s sake. You don’t want me to believe
that Esther would go of her own free will to such
an appointment?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If she has gone, it’s the sperits as has led her.
And Oi can’t belave they would harm a hair of her
head, aither. When the sperits used to come here
first, McCleary used to say, ‘Ye’ll lose all yer friends,
Miranda, av ye toike ony sthock in these sperits,’ and
Oi sez, sez Oi, ‘If moy friends can’t sthand the sperits,
they’re not moy friends at all, an’ I can get along
without thim.’”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. McCleary was thoroughly aroused, and her
hands trembled as she clasped the arms of her rocking-chair.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are willing, are you, that the spirits should
compromise your daughter? Mrs. McCleary, there
is not a man, woman, or child in this community
that would not grieve to hear this thing of Esther,
and would gladly shield and protect her from such
influences; but her own mother will not listen nor
try to save her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ye don’t know what ye’re talking about, Mark
<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>Cramer. If the sperits—but I don’t belave it at all,
at all.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mother!” It was Esther herself who interrupted
them, Esther standing in the doorway, her face
white to chalkiness, her dark-lined eyelids heavy
with their burden of tears, her voice thrilling with
its passionate intensity. “Mother, Mr. Cramer
speaks the truth. It is no spirit that controls me,
but the wicked, black one—oh, blacker than hell itself!—which
lodges in the breast of that dreadful
man, Russell. I have prayed to you, O my mother,
to save me from him. I have prayed to Heaven as
well, upon my bended knees, but Heaven and my own
mother have been deaf to my prayers. You would
not hear me, you would not believe me. Yes, you,
you, mother, have made me see him, forced me
against my own will to see him, until he now controls
me, body and soul. If he bade me, I should
walk into the bottomless pit. And I hate him, hate
him, hate him! O mother, mother, mother!”
Esther’s voice ended in a shriek and her slender body
swayed as she staggered forward toward the woman
whose breast should have been her safe and sure
refuge.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark caught the half-fainting girl and supported
her to a chair.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Try to calm yourself, Esther,” said Mark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Esther, do be calm! Ye’ve upset moy
nerves complately. What does make ye take on so?
Oi nivver saw ye in sich a state, nivver.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mrs. McCleary, in view of all this, will you not
<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>promise me that Russell shall never again enter this
house?” Mark asked with resolution.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oi—oh—what can Oi promise? Where is Mr.
McCleary. It seems to me ye’re all afther drivin’
me crazy!” And putting her handkerchief to her
face she sobbed and waved one hand despairingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Fortunately the hesitating, shuffling, uncertain
step of Mr. McCleary was heard coming up the path,
and in a few moments he entered the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>He looked from one to the other in a helpless, bewildered
manner, then turned to his wife.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. McCleary, will you try to keep Professor
Russell from your house? This is all trouble of his
making. He has gained possession of your daughter’s
will until she is obliged to wander out upon the
prairie at night if he bids her to do so. She is completely
in his power, poor girl. Only careful watchfulness
upon your part and the expulsion of the villain
from the community can avail. Look at your
child, Mr. McCleary, and see if you will permit him
to destroy her!” said Mark, with feeling.</p>
<p class='c005'>He pointed to the sobbing face of Esther, now
pressed against the back of the chair, and ghastly in
its grief.</p>
<p class='c005'>The little man looked helplessly at his wife, then
at his stricken child, and his head shook with agitation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I’ll try—I’ll try. We will, won’t we, Miranda?
We’ll try to keep him away from Esther. I
say, Esther, do you want him kept away?” he continued,
going to her side and lifting her poor head in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>his arms. “My little girlie, do ye want him kept
away?” he quavered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, yes! O papa, if he had never come here!”
she moaned, pressing her forehead against his breast.
“Papa—papa!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mr. McCleary blew his nose and coughed uneasily.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ll promise yer, Mr. Cramer. I’ll promise he
sha’n’t. He sha’n’t come if I can prevent it. Poor
Esther—there, little girl! He sha’n’t come here
again if I can help it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>For a wonder, Mrs. McCleary said nothing, but
with her face concealed in her handkerchief, rocked
back and forth in her chair to the accompaniment of
her sobbing; and feeling that Esther was finding
comfort in the paternal arms, with the old man’s
promise, Mark took his leave.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Nor if I can prevent it, shall he come here
again!” he muttered as he walked away. “And I
think I can—I think I can.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXV<br> <span class='large'>TIBBY CONQUERS</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Upon the second afternoon of Mark’s absence
from home Alice was surprised by the dreaded appearance
of Professor Russell. The man had
changed his outward guise considerably. His auburn
whiskers had given place to a smooth-shaven
chin. A red mustache, grizzled with white, decked
his upper lip, and his hair was closely cut. Even
his eyebrows seemed to have shared in the general
cut, and the man looked sleeker and, if possible, more
like Uriah Heep than before. Alice did not at first
recognize him as he came toward the house, but a
glance from those gray-green eyes identified him.</p>
<p class='c005'>She shrank back with a perceptible shudder of
abhorrence.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You here, Professor? I supposed you had departed
to lands afar!” she exclaimed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You did not then receive notice of my coming?”
he asked, with a meaning look.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Notice? No—why—how could I?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have numerous unseen messengers.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Again Alice shivered, and turning toward her sister-in-law,
beckoned her approach. Mrs. Wylie left
the bunch of prairie flowers she was plucking, and
came forward, while at the same time Tibby came
around the corner of the house, leading Robert.</p>
<p class='c005'>As Alice presented the Professor to each in her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>turn, she observed the keen look he cast upon them,
and noted later the return of his gaze to Tibby. Her
beauty was evidently not lost upon him.</p>
<p class='c005'>As for Tibby, she regarded him steadily, as again
and again his eyes sought hers. They appeared like
two children trying to look one another out of countenance.
Then Russell’s eyes fell and he turned to
enter the house, while Tibby, her eyes dancing in triumph,
followed him in and sat down opposite him,
watching him much as a cat watches the crevice in a
wall through which a mouse has disappeared. Evidently
Tibby was very ill-bred. There was a peculiar
electrical charging of the air. Mrs. Wylie noticed
it, and looked apprehensively out of doors to
see if a storm was approaching, then at Alice. Alice
felt its influence and trembled. Tibby alone seemed
unmoved and entirely serene. A wicked, yellow
gleam shone in her expressive eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is your husband at home, Mrs. Cramer?” Russell
asked at length, after taking a chair a short distance
from the door, and tilting it slightly backward
against the wall.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I am sorry to say he is not. But why do you
ask, Professor? I supposed you always knew.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have neglected to make inquiry this time, Mrs.
Cramer. Undoubtedly I might have learned had
done so.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby rolled up her eyes with an expression of
youthful innocence.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What a lovely idea that would be for making
calls, Mrs. Wylie! One could always go and leave
cards when people were away from home.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>Mrs. Wylie shook her head at the girl reprovingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ahem! I have taken the liberty to invite over
some of our friends for a meeting to-night,” said the
Professor.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Cramer could hardly repress signs of her annoyance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am very sorry—” she began. “It is unfortunate
Mark is not here or that you did not take the
trouble to inquire beforehand. For he decidedly objects
to anything of the kind here in his absence.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Truly, Alice was becoming brave.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sorry for Mark’s blindness,” the Professor
said, with priestly assumption.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark blind? How very strange. I should never
have suspected it,” said Tibby with childish naivete.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He is blind to the truth, Miss Waring. A sort
of moral blindness, which is the worst form of ophthalmia.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh!” Tibby opened her eyes to their widest extent
and met his look squarely. Then her eyes narrowed
until only a rim of blue was visible, and she
did not take them off the visitor. It soon became
evident that the Professor was annoyed by this childish
scrutiny. He changed his position several times
and finally turned upon the girl abruptly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have we ever met before, Miss Waring?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think not,” Tibby said, with an emphasis that
sounded much like “I hope not,” but she did not relax
her persistent watchfulness. Surely the girl,
though handsome, was very ill-mannered. She
acted like a child who had met an interesting specimen.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>“Have you had any new experiences, Mrs. Cramer?”
the man asked, again changing his position
nervously. He was evidently upon the defensive so
far as Tibby was concerned, and did not care to longer
challenge her attention.</p>
<p class='c005'>“N—no,” said Alice. “I think I have been less
annoyed by unpleasant influences, lately,”—then,
catching Tibby’s eye,—“since you went away,” she
added.</p>
<p class='c005'>Professor Russell gave Alice a sharp glance, as if
to determine whether any disrespect was intended by
her remark, while Tibby’s eyes danced mirthfully.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We trust,” said Mrs. Wylie, with a dignified
raising of her chin, “that as Mrs. Cramer is getting
her nerves under better control, she will not be
haunted any more by imaginary spectres.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You think them, then, a mere delusion of the
senses?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But if I should tell you that I, who am not in
the least nervous, can see forms about Mrs. Cramer,
why should she not see them?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Because they are not there. Because you make
her see them. Mr. Russell, we feel, my brother and
I, that you have done a serious wrong to Alice, and
I know if Mark were here he would not permit you
to see her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Eh? What? Not to see her? Mark must be
beside himself. Why, I am sorry. I regret very
much that—that—that—Why, bless you! how
sleepy this warm weather makes me. I have really
allowed myself to become wearied. Perhaps I ate
<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>too hearty a dinner. Mrs. Cramer, may I trouble
you for a glass of water?” And Russell started up
and passed his hands before his eyes as if to brush
cobwebs from them. “I have been walking about in
the heat all day and it’s almost overcome me, I
reckon.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice rose to go to the well at the back of the
house, and it was several moments before she returned.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here is the water, Professor,” she said, coming
forward with a pitcher and glass upon a small tray.
“I have drawn some fresh for you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>But her words seemed wasted upon the man before
her, who was apparently deaf and blind to all
external influences. “Why, can it be he’s asleep?”
she continued, under her breath.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I hardly think—he’d be so severe as that. I
am—much—interested—much in—the dark,” muttered
Russell. “I’m—m—m—” His chin dropped,
his eyes closed, and he sank back heavily in his
chair. Tibby arose and approached him with cat-like
tread, looking at him eagerly. She waved her
hand before his face. “Yes, you’re asleep fast
enough!” she said exultantly. The man began to
breathe with the measured rhythm of deep sleep.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mrs. Cramer, you are free from that man’s influence,”
Tibby continued, with a long sigh of conscious
relief. “I was so afraid I could not get him
under control, as he might be on his guard. But
you distracted his attention, Mrs. Wylie, and then I
got him. He was warm and tired from walking,
and a heavy dinner too, probably. Did I do the baby
<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>act well? He probably thought I was the personification
of rustic innocence and did not fear me. Ah,
you’re asleep now, old fellow, and cannot awaken until
I give you permission. I can see Donald Bartram
coming,” she continued, looking out of the door.
She waited for him to come up, standing upon the
step of the cabin, a picture of animated life.</p>
<p class='c005'>“For once, Mr. Bartram, you are on hand when
you are wanted.” And she courtesied to him mockingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“For once? Rather say, always,” he replied with
assurance. “But what is it now? Whew!” as he
caught sight of the slumbering man.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Can you ask? Don’t you see it is a sleeping
beauty; and as he’s liable to wait until the Millenium
for the princess to come to awaken him, or a thousand
years, more or less, suppose we bury him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald looked from the face of the laughing girl
to the sleeping man, in amazement.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I put him to sleep,” she vouchsafed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“By all that’s good, if old Russell hasn’t met his
match!” he whispered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, you needn’t whisper, he won’t waken; and it
isn’t a lucifer-match, so don’t look surprised, but
please suggest to me what to do with him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s Tibby that has put him there,” said Mrs.
Wylie. “She has mesmerized the creature. Ugh!
I hope there is no danger of his wakening.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not until I waken him,” said Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Then suppose you wait until Gabriel sounds his
trumpet,” Donald suggested.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Bartram, I am bad enough, but you are positively
<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>wicked! To think of punishing poor Mrs.
Cramer by having such a clod as this left around to
look at.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Miss Waring, if the man is in a hypnotic sleep,
any suggestion you may make to him, he will act
upon. Why not use him as he has Esther McCleary?
Make an exhibition of him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What, make him dance? I might try. Wouldn’t
it be fun? We should have a larger audience,
though. I wonder if I can. Oh, what a joke it will
be!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly you can. He can be made to dance,
talk, make a speech—even tell the truth, perhaps.
Try it!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He said when he came in he had invited some
people here to a seance to-night,” said Mrs. Wylie.
“It is nearly time to expect them, is it not?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That’s so. Jump on your pony and go after Esther,
Mr. Bartram. How I wish Mr. Cramer were
here. It will be a joke for them to find him asleep.”
And Tibby’s eyes glowed wickedly, with yellow fire
in them.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald, nothing loth, started upon his errand.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Be sure he does not waken,” he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Never fear! I’ll see to that,” she called after
him.</p>
<p class='c005'>Poor Alice Cramer had not spoken since the
drama began. She was frightened, yet glad in her
secret heart. She feared this man so much, it was
a satisfaction to see him harmless and sleeping, and
Mark would be home before the night was over.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, Mrs. Cramer,” cried Tibby, “just pay no attention
<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>to him. I’ll make him go and lay in the corner,
if he is in your way.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, no!” cried Alice, frightened at her daring.
“Let him remain where he is. You’re sure you can
bring him out when you please?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, indeed!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice stepped about softly, as if in fear she would
wake him, while she arranged the furniture in the
room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sorry he arranged for a seance here to-night,”
she whispered. “Mark will be angry.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But <em>he</em> isn’t to have one. Don’t you see. It’s <em>I</em>
that will have the seance, and he is to dance at it.
Oh, you wicked man, I have heard enough about
you! Are you not wicked? Answer me!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I am wicked,” came from the lips of the
slumberer.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby clapped her hands with delight.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I can see Sol Garrett coming now,” Alice said,
going to the door.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Dear me! What will they say?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“They’ll say Satan is outwitted,” said Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, I am sure I hope it is all right,” Alice replied,
with a sigh.</p>
<p class='c005'>Before Mr. Garrett reached the house, Donald
galloped up from the opposite direction and threw
himself from the horse.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How is it, have you got him fast?” he asked,
hurrying in.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, but where is Esther?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald frowned.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>“She is either not at home or would not see me,”
he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And her mother?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Was nursing a headache and would not see me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, then they will not be here. I am so sorry,”
murmured Tibby. “Esther ought to see him act the
clown’s part.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Jenkinson soon arrived, with Auntie Dearborn
and the Pemberton twins. Sol Garrett waited
to come in with Lissa Bartram, and three or four
others soon followed them. They all started back
at the sight of the sleeping Professor, and looked at
one another inquiringly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Too much spirits,” said Tibby audaciously.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, you don’t say? Has he been drinking?”
queried Auntie Dearborn in a loud whisper.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, he’s overcome by spirits, but not of that
kind,” Donald said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A stronger spirit than his own controls him,”
added Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Strong spirits are always dangerous,” giggled
Tibby in an aside to Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Weak ones are more so,” he replied in the same
tone.</p>
<p class='c005'>The company were soon seated about the room,
looking curiously at the slumbering medium.</p>
<p class='c005'>Then Donald explained to them that his sleep was
an unnatural one, induced by Miss Waring, who had,
like the Professor, hypnotic powers.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We propose to prove to you that much that this
man has taught is fallacy,” he said. “That which
he has claimed to be spirit manifestation is much of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>it only hypnotic suggestion.” Then at a signal from
him Tibby came forward.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, Professor!” she said with authority.
“You are asleep, very sound asleep, are you not?
You cannot open your eyes if you try to, can you?”
The man made an evident vain effort to do so.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Now, put out your arm.” The subject obeyed.
“Put it down.” Again he obeyed her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He is all right,” said Donald, biting his mustache
nervously. “He will dance if you tell him to.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, these people have come here to see you
dance, Professor. You know you are a dancing
master and can perform in a wonderful manner.
Mr. Bartram will whistle a jig for you. Now begin!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald gave Tibby a humorous grimace, but he
struck up a lively tune, and the Professor, springing
to his feet with the agility of a youth, kept time with
him in a most ludicrous manner. He flourished,
kicked, double-shuffled and pirouetted in the manner
of a professional stage minstrel.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That will do now! You are tired,” said Tibby,
after the man had continued his exhibition until his
audience was convulsed with laughter.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You see,” said Donald, “it was not spirits, but
hypnotism, that made Miss McCleary entertain us
by waltzing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is true, is it not, Professor?” Tibby asked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” he nodded, “it is true.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, I swan!” said Solomon Garrett. “If this
don’t beat all creation! Has that man been foolin’ us
all this time, or is he dancin’ with spirits himself.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>“He is controlled by this lady here. There is
nothing supernatural about it,” replied Donald. “She
controls him, as he has us, many times, making us
see and believe what had no existence. Miss Waring
will make him see things not here.” He looked
at Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Professor, Mark Cramer is standing over you
with a horse-whip. Look out, he is going to strike
you!” The man showed signs of terror, and shrank
away from the supposed antagonist. “You had better
strike back.” He doubled up his fist and struck
back with energy. “There, you have hit him, he is
down.” The Professor glared at the floor, smiling
with the air of a conquering pugilist.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here is a piece of candy for him,” said Donald,
handing Tibby a piece of balsam-weed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, here, Professor, you are fond of sweets.
Eat this.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The Professor took the stick and bit it, smacking
his lips, and chewing it with apparent relish.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is it?” asked Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Candy,” he responded.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, it’s poison,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>Immediately his face was distorted and he strove
to eject it from his mouth.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There, it is all right. You know you have been
deceiving these people and now you are going to
make a speech and tell them the truth. Tell them
how you tricked them,” continued Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My friends,” said Russell, “I will now undertake
to explain to you all that has seemed to you mysterious
and supernatural. I am a mind-reader and a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>hypnotist. I sometimes figure as a spirit-medium. I
have the power of going into a trance, when my
senses no longer control my mind, and then I can see
through time and space; and what has seemed to
you unaccountable except by spirit agency is simply
the result of natural forces not yet well understood.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is true,” said a voice at the door, and the
spectators turned to see Mark Cramer entering the
room. Tibby gave him a meaning look and put her
fingers to her lips.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have deceived you and worked harm among
you,” the Professor went on; “and not only here,
but in many other parts of the country. I am planning
more mischief still. Esther McCleary is in my
power—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Stop! You have said enough!” cried Tibby,
alarmed at his words.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I’ve said enough,” he repeated.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Shall I awaken him?” Tibby asked, turning to
Mark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“So you’ve really hypnotized the villain. Good
girl!” cried Mark, and his hand was extended to her
in friendly appreciation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, he’s been dancing, and giving himself away
badly,” said Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are you all satisfied that he is a fraud and a villain?”
asked Mark, looking about him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We have his own word that he is,” replied Sol
Garrett.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, his dancing was too funny,” giggled the
Pemberton twins.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t know what to think of it, but I believe
<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>the Professor will explain it when he comes out of
his trance,” said Mrs. Jenkinson. “I am sure he
has been under control.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Under Miss Waring’s control,” said Mark, with
a frown. “Can it be that you will yet ascribe this
to spirit agency?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He was controlled by a dancing master,” said
the twins.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark, I wish you would send him away,” whispered
Alice; “I am so tired.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You may as well awaken him,” Mark said.
“These people are bound to be deceived.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Awake!” cried Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>For a moment the Professor’s face became convulsed,
he struggled desperately, then fell prone
upon the floor. Donald and Solomon Garrett assisted
him to his feet, and for a few moments he
stood staring and glaring about him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What are you doing here, sir, when I forbade
you the house?” cried Mark. “Get out of here at
once, and never let me see your face in this part of
the country again, if you value your miserable life!”</p>
<p class='c005'>The man glared at Mark in impotent rage.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Come, go! I know all your iniquity and I swear
I’ll have a mob after you before another night if
you’re in this vicinity!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark spoke with angry vehemence.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I go, but your wife will follow me,” Russell said,
turning and fixing his eyes upon Alice Cramer.
Mark saw her totter forward, and catching her in
one arm he drew a revolver from his belt and levelled
it at the Professor’s head.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>“Will you go?” he hissed.</p>
<p class='c005'>Professor Russell did not stop long to question
the muzzle of a revolver, and sprang out into the
night. The neighbors, too, frightened by Mark’s
savagery, made short adieux and went home.</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice was nearly unconscious from her fright, and
Mark bore her to a couch.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should like to have kicked that hound into the
middle of next week!” he muttered. “Heaven
knows what he has done to my poor Alice.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I hope it’s not I who have harmed Mrs. Cramer,”
faltered Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, no, child! Not you! You have done good
work. I wish I had been here earlier.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby lifted Mrs. Cramer’s white face in her arms
and whispered softly to her. “He has gone, and
will never harm nor frighten you again.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark did not kill him?” she questioned.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, only frightened him away. Mark is here.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You will not let him come again,” she said, looking
with appealing eyes into Tibby’s face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Never!” said Tibby with finality.</p>
<p class='c005'>With a sigh of relief she sank back upon her pillow,
and after a time, Tibby, believing her asleep,
stole softly away.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ve been a brute to frighten Alice so,” Mark
said as Tibby came out.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, it was Russell that frightened her. I wish
before I wakened him I had driven him out and told
him not to stop going,” Tibby replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We would have a second edition of the Wandering
Jew,” Mark responded.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXVI<br> <span class='large'>ESTHER’S DISAPPEARANCE</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The shock of Professor Russell’s last visit and
forced departure prostrated Alice Cramer, and in the
days that followed, a little life that should have
brightened Mark’s home opened its eyes to shut them
too quickly, and went away into the unknown from
whence it came, leaving desolation and sorrow behind
it. But this bereavement was swallowed up in
the anxiety for the mother, who for many days
seemed about to follow her child.</p>
<p class='c005'>At the same time another calamity befell the community,
a tragedy that touched all hearts. This was
nothing less than the sudden and unaccountable disappearance
of Esther McCleary upon the night Russell
had been driven from Mark’s house.</p>
<p class='c005'>Where she went or how, no one could determine.
She had gone to her room at the usual hour of retiring.
In the morning she was gone, leaving no
word or trace of her going. Her mother refused to
believe that any harm could have befallen her, and
would have kept the matter secret; but the poor
father at last dared to think for himself, and notified
the neighbors.</p>
<p class='c005'>With their help he searched the canon and the
weed-covered tracts of the prairies to find, perchance,
her body, while Donald went to the nearest railway
<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>stations to learn if she had been seen to depart by
any of them, but to no avail.</p>
<p class='c005'>Whether she had, in the depth of her despair,
taken her own life; whether, to free herself from the
noxious presence of Russell, she had disguised herself
and fled to parts unknown; whether she had
been spirited away by some of his familiar spectres,
or whether, in his complete obsession of her, the unprincipled
scoundrel had abducted her, could not be
learned. She was gone, and the unfortunate mother
had leisure to inquire of her own conscience, how far
she had been to blame for this tragedy in her home.</p>
<p class='c005'>Professor Russell had not been seen in the neighborhood
again, and during Alice’s convalescence the
unfortunate events occurring during her illness, as
well as those preceding it, were rarely alluded to, and
her friends were delighted to find her apparently happier
and brighter than formerly. Lissa, too, had
largely recovered her normal condition, owing chiefly
to Tibby’s influence, and the world looked brighter
to some of the actors in this part of it.</p>
<p class='c005'>The exposure of the deception practised upon
them, added to the mysterious disappearance of
Esther upon the same night of Russell’s departure,
staggered the belief of many of his converts, and no
seances were held in the neighborhood.</p>
<p class='c005'>The weeks wore away, and yet Mrs. Wylie remained
at her brother’s home. She felt as if Alice
really needed the companionship of Tibby and herself.
In the early autumn Mr. Wylie was going to
New York on business and would call for her, and
together they would go East. The sojourn had been
<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>a pleasant one for Mrs. Wylie, despite the tragedies
enacted, the excitement, and the absence of the fashionable
circle of her friends. Her little boy had
grown brown and stout-limbed in his liberty, and
she herself was rested and happy. The long letters
from her husband, which came with unfailing regularity,
filled with news and anecdotes of the life in
which he lived, helped to break the monotony of
rural life, and as September approached and she began
to look forward to his coming, the little estrangements
were forgotten and Nellie Wylie dwelt
fondly upon her husband’s perfections as she talked
of him to her sister-in-law.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You cannot think, Alice, what a wonderful business
man Horace is,” she said as they sat in the little
doorway of the house one beautiful September evening
watching the sun sink behind the fringe of cotton-wood
trees in the distant west. “If he were to
fail in business to-day he would be on sound footing
to-morrow. He seems to know instinctively what to
do. I need never have any fear for the future, having
him to rely on.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He has been very kind to allow you to stay with
us so long. He must be very lonely without his family,”
Alice replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, though he is with his sister a great deal, and
she is—Forgive me, dear, I was about to say she
was one of those dreadful spiritists. But really she
is fanatical in her beliefs and goes to such lengths
in it. That is the one regret I have for being away.
I don’t like her influence over Horace. But forgive
me, Alice, I beg of you. Though I hope now you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>feel the same as I do about it, I know I should not
have introduced the subject.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“On the contrary, I am very glad you have done
so. I want to tell you that since Professor Russell
went away I have seen fewer visions and thought
less upon the subject. I am really much less nervous
than when you came, and yet I cannot entirely rid
myself of those—spirit presences. If the evil ones
have been driven away, there are kind ones who
come to me in my dreams. I believe Tibby exorcised
the evil ones who made life such a torture to me,
and I cannot tell you how thankful I am that you
came here this summer and brought me deliverance.
But for this I should have been lying there with my
baby, or been in the mad-house. I am sure of it.
But I see Mark coming. I must run and see if tea is
made for him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, sister mine,” Mark said, springing from
his horse and throwing the reins over its neck.
“When do you expect to hear from Horace?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“To-day, now! Give me the letter quick!” she
cried, holding out her hands to him. “Ah, a telegram.
He must have started, then.” And she hastily
tore open the envelope. “Yes, it is from Johnson,
his partner, and says, ‘Wylie started on No. 5, to-night,
for the East.’ Oh, isn’t that grand! He will
be here in a few days.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You have been somewhat lonely here in the
wilds, I suspect, little sister; but we shall regret
your going.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And I shall miss you all very much, wherever I
am; but I suppose Horace will be willing to stop
<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>only a very short time, so we can be here but a few
days longer. Let me see, this is the eighth. He
should be here by the twelfth, should he not? Robbie,
come here, dear. Papa is coming. Do you
hear?” And Nellie Wylie caught up the little fellow
and kissed him in the exuberance of her delight.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am glad you will leave Alice in so much better
health, mentally and physically, than she was when
you came,” Mark said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and better than all, with that man banished
from this place.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXVII<br> <span class='large'>A LEGAL DOCUMENT IS RECEIVED</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“He will be here to-day! Surely, Horace will be
here to-day,” Nellie Wylie repeated to herself as the
hours crept slowly on and the time arrived when, by
her reckoning, her husband should have reached
C——.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark had driven out to meet him, and the little
woman scanned again and again the broad bosom
of the plain for a sight of the returning carriage.
The grass was dry and golden in the sunlight and
her eyes ached from the reflected brightness as,
shading them with her hand, she stood for the fiftieth
time before the cabin door and sought to trace
the slender thread of roadway.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Alice, I am sure there is some one coming,” she
cried at last, as a brown speck became visible against
the horizon. Alice came and looked over her shoulder.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is only Jackson, the mail-carrier, I am afraid,”
Alice replied. “You know, dearie, Mark would be
detained for a little time, while Jackson has hastened
directly here. You must not look too much upon
Horace’s coming to-night, for the train may have
been delayed or many things may have happened to
detain him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The letter-box was fastened at the roadside nearly
opposite Mark’s house, but seeing Alice in the doorway,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>Jackson threw his package of mail to her and
galloped on to the next post.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here is a letter for you, dear,” said Alice as she
sorted out the mail and came slowly up to the waiting
sister.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A letter? And from Horace, too! He must
have written before he started.” And her bright
eyes glanced eagerly over the sheet she had hurriedly
opened. “Oh, merciful Heaven!”</p>
<p class='c005'>The cry startled Alice, and she turned to see Elinor
stagger as if stricken by a blow and then sink in
a limp and helpless heap upon the ground.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, Elinor! Nellie! What is it?” cried Alice,
running to her and lifting the poor fallen head in
her arms. “My poor Nellie! Is it bad news? Tell
me!” she implored, while she rubbed the pulseless
wrists and tried to arouse her to consciousness.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mamma, mamma!” cried little Robbie, frantic
with alarm, trying to open her eyes with his little
brown fingers. “Mamma! Is she dead?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, Robbie, not dead. Oh, my child!” cried
Alice; “if Mark would only come!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Uncle Mark is coming,” cried Robbie, and Alice
lifted her head with a silent prayer of thanksgiving
as she heard the sound of horses’ footsteps over the
soft earth.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How glad I am you’ve come!” she sobbed, as a
few moments later he reached her side. “What can
have happened to poor Nellie? Some dreadful news,
I’m afraid.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark lifted the letter, which still remained in her
nerveless fingers. An enclosure fell from it to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>ground. He picked it up and hastily looked it over.
It was evidently a legal document, and as he read the
first line his face grew pale with surprise and anger.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Great Scott! What is this! Oh, my poor little
girl!” And the great-hearted Mark Cramer turned
away his head and groaned aloud. He turned to see
Elinor staring at him with rigid eyes, full of wonder.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What has happened, Mark—Alice? Oh, I know,
I know!” and again the blue eyes were covered with
the heavy eyelids. Then Mark lifted her in his
arms, and bearing her as lightly as though she were
a child, he carried her into the cabin and laid her
upon a couch.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Poor child, poor child!” he muttered. “It is her
only chance of forgetfulness. It would be better
almost if she never wakened.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mark Cramer, will you tell me what has happened?”
cried Alice, who had followed him in and
now stood holding Robbie’s hand, her eyes dilated
and expectant. Mark hesitated, but finally said
through closed teeth:</p>
<p class='c005'>“That paper is a copy of a bill of divorcement
from Nellie.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“A divorce? I don’t understand!” Alice caught
her breath.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, that knave of a Wylie has divorced this
poor girl! God only knows for what or why he has
done so. But, by the eternal powers, I’ll know why!
That man shall answer to me for this!” Mark’s eyes
blazed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hush, Mark! You are excited and know not
what you are saying. There must be some mistake.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>It is probably only a joke. He has written Elinor
every day, kind, affectionate letters, and I think he
was to have come to-day, may be here in a few
hours. He is only playing a practical joke upon
her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If so, he shall pay dearly for his joke!” Mark
exclaimed. “Ah, my poor little sister! My poor
Elinor!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t, Mark! Think of Robbie hearing you!
There is surely some mistake.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s a mistake he shall rue,” he groaned.</p>
<p class='c005'>But Mark’s anger gave way to fear as hour after
hour went by and Elinor only awoke from one
swoon to go into another. Mark paced the floor, distracted
with anxiety.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Poor Nellie, I dread the hour when she shall
finally awaken. Heaven is merciful to her in thus
keeping her unconscious,” he repeated again and
again. “What can have made the change in Horace
Wylie? I should have supposed him too proud a
man to have entered a divorce court, even if their
life had been unpleasant. And I have always believed
them to be congenial and happy. Surely my
poor little sister loved him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid, Mark, there is another woman in
the case,” Alice said with conviction. “Depend upon
it, no man could do such a cold-blooded, cruel act
as this unless his affections were enchained by some
other charmer who has usurped his wife’s place in
his heart.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hush! she hears you,” Mark whispered, as a
faint moan came from the couch and he saw the blue
<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>eyes slowly unclosed to be fixed with painful directness
upon him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is it, dear; can I do anything for you?” he
asked, going to her and stroking her curl-fringed
forehead with his hand.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Where is Tibby,” she murmured.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Sure enough, where is Tibby? Alice, is it not
time for Tibby to be home? Where did she go?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“She went over to Nathan’s this morning, and has
not yet returned. Shall I go after her?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Elinor shook her head and looked with stony, unseeing,
fixed eyes at the farthest corner of the ceiling.
How pinched and drawn the white face looked, that
had bloomed so rosily a few hours before.</p>
<p class='c005'>A moan again escaped her white lips. Alice
sighed in sympathy.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t, Nellie! Think of Robbie. Poor Robbie,
he wants to speak to you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mamma, I love you,” Robbie said, softly patting
her cheek with his little brown palm. “What makes
you sick, mamma?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Robbie, Robbie, dear, dear Robbie! O God!
O God! It cannot be!”</p>
<p class='c005'>And again her eyes closed and she was still.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is better, anything is better than that awful
stare,” Mark said, bowing his head. At last, as
evening approached, Tibby was seen coming slowly
along over the gray plain, swinging her hat in her
hand and laughing with Donald, who accompanied
her. Alice looked at the flushed face of the happy
girl, so radiant, so hopeful, so roseate, and her heart
sank at the thought of her meeting with the crushed,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>broken lily who lay upon the couch behind her. And
she slipped quietly out of the door to meet Tibby and
prepare her.</p>
<p class='c005'>She put up her hand, enjoining quiet, as Tibby
swung her hat in salutation.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby, dear,” Alice said as the twain came to her
side, “Mrs. Wylie has received bad news, and is
quite overcome by it. She asked for you and I
think you may be able to comfort her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby’s face blanched a little, and the laughing
lips were sobered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I will go in at once. Good-by, Mr. Bartram.
I’ll leave you to Mrs. Cramer’s care.” And she flitted
away.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We’re in great trouble, Donald. Mark will explain
to you at another time,” Alice said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You have my sympathy, whatever it may be,”
the young man replied gravely. “If I can be a help
in any way, command me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Thank you, Donald, we are always sure of that.”</p>
<p class='c005'>He lifted his hat.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You may bring Lissa over to-morrow. Perhaps
the skein of mystery may be untangled by that time
and more explainable,” she said as he turned away.</p>
<p class='c005'>With the coming of Tibby the stony stare of Elinor’s
eyes was washed away by blessed tears, and
with her head upon Tibby’s breast she wept long
and silently, while Tibby soothed her with whispered
words. Then after a time the sobs became less frequent,
and to the relief of all, Elinor slept.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Thank God for this! and thank you, Tibby,
also!” Mark ejaculated. “I feared her mind would
<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>give away to the shock. But this sleep will restore
her. What a blessing is sleep. This world would be
a mad-house of maniacs without it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Mr. Cramer; but may I not now know
what this all means?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark handed Tibby the document which had
wrought the ruin. She read it through with corrugated
brow, and then sat thoughtfully with it in her
hand.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Can you understand the cause for this, Tibby?”</p>
<p class='c005'>She shook her head.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, unless—I do not know, but there was a
woman on the boat with us when we went to Santa
Barbara, whom Mr. Wylie seemed to admire and
who appeared completely infatuated with him. So
much so as to cause remark. I did not tell Mrs.
Wylie, but I overheard people talking of her. She
was in some way one of his kind, that is, she believed
in spiritism and he seemed to enjoy her society.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mrs. Wylie did not like her because she had been
at the hotel in the mountains when we were there,
and the ladies had been somewhat scandalized by her
behavior. But of course it seems incredible that she
should have been able to cause trouble. I should not
think of her, only at the time I felt such an instinctive
dislike for her, and fear, as if she was dangerous.”
Tibby spoke with evident reluctance. “I am
afraid I tried to punish her sometimes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Punish her? How?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, I made her upset her coffee, spill her soup,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>and do other awkward things. I am glad now that
I did them; that is, if she is to blame—for this.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I see you feel convinced that she is,” Mark said.
“And I am inclined to trust your intuition.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby’s care of Mrs. Wylie was untiring, and
when another day had come and the grief-tortured
woman could control herself sufficiently to talk of
her trouble, Mark sought from her to learn something
more of the cause of it; but any suggestion of
the idea that Horace had been beguiled by another
woman met with indignant protest from Elinor.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, no, no; there is nothing of the kind! Horace
has always been devoted to me. I think he must
be insane. I can account for this in no other way.
I am sure his belief in spiritism has in some way
been the primary cause of the trouble. It does unbalance
the mind, we know,” she faltered. “We
never had any disagreement except over that.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” Mark said, “I am willing to believe that
anything may come from embracing that creed.
But what does he write you, Elinor?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here is the letter. Read it and interpret it if
you can. I have read it several times with no further
enlightenment,” she replied sadly.</p>
<div class='lg-container-l c003'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“‘My dear Elinor:</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c005'>“‘I fear this letter may prove a surprise to you,
and a shock. I hardly know how to make you understand
the reason why I have taken this step. It
seems to be a necessary one. But I have not taken
it without due reflection. I am convinced our marriage
has not been the soul-marriage, which is the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>only true one, and that our tastes and requirements
are so dissimilar, it is better that we should go separate
ways. I am willing to provide abundantly for
all your needs and for Robbie. You will, of course,
desire to keep him with you at least until he is old
enough to be sent away to school. I have placed
with my attorney a sum of money which shall be
paid to you regularly each month, sufficient, I am
sure, for all your requirements, and I shall be glad
to supplement it if at any time you desire more.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Is there anything here at home which you
would especially desire me to send you? I imagine
you will prefer to make Forest City your permanent
home, and I would suggest that you keep Tibby with
you as long as possible. Your harp and piano I have
already had boxed awaiting your order. And now,
dear Nellie, I hope you will accept this trial in the
right spirit, believing it for the best, as I do. It has
been a trial, also, to me, I assure you, but it has
seemed a duty, if not an actual necessity.</p>
<div class='lg-container-r'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“‘Very affectionately yours,</div>
<div class='line in16'>“‘<span class='sc'>Horace Wylie</span>.’</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c011'>“The man is certainly insane, or—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Infatuated with some other woman,” interrupted
Alice as Mark hesitated.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I will never believe that,” said Elinor pathetically.
“I shall write to him. Yes, I must write to
him. This seems so unreal, I am constantly feeling
as though I should awaken and find it but a painful
dream.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>“Yes, write to him by all means, and learn, if possible,
the cause of this change of heart.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ve been wondering where I should address him.
You know his partner wired me that he had started
for New York. You don’t think he could have gone
through east, already?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I will go to town to-day and telegraph Johnson,”
Mark responded.</p>
<p class='c005'>He did so, and received this reply:</p>
<p class='c011'>“Wylie left San Francisco for New York, the
eighth instant, in company with his wife.”</p>
<p class='c011'>“‘Oh, my prophetic soul!’” quoted Alice, when
she heard it, and Tibby nodded assent.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I know it is that woman of the boat. My instincts
did not deceive me,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>How Elinor lived through the next fortnight she
could never have told. She remained as one stunned,
and unable to talk to any one. She would lie on the
couch for hours and not move, or sit under the canopy
of the doorway, her hands lying listlessly in her
lap, her sad eyes staring pathetically into space.
When spoken to she would arouse herself with a
start, and look at her friends with so pitiful an expression
in her blue eyes that they would turn away
to hide their tears of sympathy. She ate only when
urged to do so, and slept only when forced to do so
by Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“If we could only interest her in something,”
Alice said over and over, for she scarcely even noticed
little Robbie.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>At last Lissa came in one day, bringing her herbarium
of Nebraska flowers.</p>
<p class='c005'>“This was a God-send to me,” she said, “when I
was brooding over my sorrow. Perhaps I can interest
Mrs. Wylie in it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, how much you have done with it,” cried
Tibby, “since the time when you and I made our
first botanical excursion together.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You drew my attention from the dead to the living,
growing things about me, Tibby, dear, and I
can never thank you enough,” Lissa replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>Wonderful as it may seem, Mrs. Wylie did allow
herself to become interested in the bright descriptions
which Lissa gave her of the native wild flowers
of the State, and promised to go with her in the
afternoon to gather autumn specimens, and thus the
first step was taken in distracting her mind from her
grief.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXVIII<br> <span class='large'>HORACE WYLIE’S PHILOSOPHY</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Let us now make a flying trip to the Pacific slope
and go back to that hour of parting at San Francisco
to learn more of the motives that prompted the tragedy
in Elinor Wylie’s life.</p>
<p class='c005'>Passenger train No. 9, eastward bound, pulled
slowly out of the great depot building of the Oakland
Mole, and the hurrying and excited throng of
people pressed forward, jostling elbows and crowding
one another after the manner of travelers, who
sometimes leave their politeness and good breeding
behind them when they take up their valises.</p>
<p class='c005'>The coaches were fast becoming filled, when a
gentleman entered one of them, accompanied by a
child and two ladies, one a pretty blonde, whom he
helped to a seat and bent over in tender leave-taking.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good-by, Nellie! Write me when you get
through, or better, wire me from Denver, so I may
know all is well. Tibby is with you, so I need not
worry if the trains run right.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The little lady smiled through tear-moistened eyelids
as she replied, and kissing her again, and the
child, and shaking hands with her companion, he
sprang from the train as it began to move.</p>
<p class='c005'>Horace Wylie stood watching the long line of
coaches as they moved away from him, biting the
ends of his mustache in an absent, absorbed inattention,
then turned slowly back within the gates, a
strange mixture of emotions controlling him.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>The inward monitor, conscience, was not yet
stifled, and it was holding a mental mirror before his
vision. He caught a flitting glimpse of his real self,
stripped of all the sophistries and delusions under
which he loved to hide. Was he not a traitor, double-dyed?
For a moment he felt an impulse to rush
after the departing train and seek to stop it in its
flight. A vision of his wife, looking trim and attractive
in her fashionable costume, remained and
upbraided him with her trusting blue eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>It was but a moment, however. Another face superseded
it—a dark, brilliant face, with passionate
southern eyes, and red, full lips; a face more sensuous,
more bewilderingly intoxicating to him in its
voluptuous beauty and piquancy.</p>
<p class='c005'>Horace Wylie shrugged his shoulders and shook
himself as if to shake off the oppression of self-reproach.
He had made his decision and would
abide by it. After all, what mattered it? He had
but one life to live. It was right to get all the enjoyment
out of it within his reach.</p>
<p class='c005'>He had not confessed to himself before why he
had been so willing, and more than willing, that his
wife should make a visit of three months at her old
home. It had been her wish to go, and he had magnanimously
granted her permission. Thus he told
himself. But he knew he concealed, under a pretense
of self-denial, the secret joy he felt that her
own voluntary act should lend aid to the furtherance
of his half-formed designs. He had not told the
better part of himself what these designs were. It
is doubtful whether at this time he had faced the fact
<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>that they were designs at all. They were mere desires.
At least they were vague, shadowy, evanescent
creations, taking form from his desires, and developing
slowly in the secret, dark chambers of his
bosom.</p>
<p class='c005'>He felt now, rather than thought consciously, that
the barrier which had restrained the current of his
impulses was washed away and he might sink in the
lethal waters or be drifted away from prudence and
engulfed in the maelstrom of pleasure. He could
not say <em>vice</em>, but a guilty consciousness oppressed
him now as he stood upon the platform watching the
last curling waves of smoke float backward.</p>
<p class='c005'>Wylie boasted of being a man of progressive
ideas, a modern philosopher, who had outgrown the
old-fogyism of the past generation and arisen to a
plane where he could sit and lay down laws unto
himself—mark out a plan of life for this world and
the hereafter. He was well-read in modern sciences
and a student of mental philosophy. He confessed
himself infidel in that he denied the Divine origin of
the Scriptures, laughed at what he called the pretty
fables that bound the conscience of the orthodox
Christian, and felt himself superior in his latter-day
wisdom. He claimed to be a free-thinker and a liberalist,
who read Huxley and venerated Ingersoll,
but had adopted a modern creed more in accordance
with modern requirements. He confessed to a decided
leaning toward spiritism. In fact, if his ideas
were really expressed, he believed a man had a right
to do about as he pleased in this world, despite moral
and civil law. Not that he would have confessed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>as much to himself. That was another of his self-delusions.
But he had outgrown in theory, with the
fables taught him in his youth, his boyish code of
morality. He had also outgrown, so he believed,
his love for his wife, whom he had married many
years ago, when he was but twenty-one, a mere boy,
incapable of judging or choosing wisely. So he argued
with the better self. Not that he found serious
fault with her. He secretly wished he might do so,
but she had been faithful to him, he believed, and upheld
the family honor; was pretty, stylish, domestic,
social, and a kind mother to his son. All this he was
forced to acknowledge. But she was one ideaed,
commonplace, he told himself, and she was not his
<em>spiritual affinity</em>. Ah, there was a reason furnished
by his lately adopted creed. She was not his affinity.</p>
<p class='c005'>He could remember a time when she was all in all
to him. But he had outgrown that time too. Of
course he loved his boy, and if,—if certain imaginings
and fancies should materialize,—well, he
needn’t consult his better self about that yet.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hello, have you fallen asleep, watching that train
off?” A friendly hand slapped him upon the shoulder.</p>
<p class='c005'>Wylie started as though his thoughts were patent
to all observers.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I—I have just sent off Elinor and the boy,” he
said with confusion.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, that is—shall I say fortunate or unfortunate?
Fortunate for them perhaps—bad for you.
And you were following them with your mind. Are
they to remain away long?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Three months. They will go to the Atlantic
<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>coast before they return.” Wylie spoke with an effort.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And what will you do while they are gone?
Board at the club, I suppose.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, at the Bohemian. I am at the office all day,
and most of the nights, so shall have little time to
miss my family.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I see. Well, come to the club oftener, when
you can get away. By the way, have you attended
any of Mrs. Mount’s receptions lately?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I go often. They are enjoyable, which is
saying much.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Wylie spoke with enthusiasm. His companion
shrugged his shoulders suggestively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose that depends whether you are in sympathy
or not with the very liberal ideas discussed
there.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are you not in sympathy?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t like some of the people who go there.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did you ever find a society every individual of
which you deemed companionable?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Possibly not, but I have reference to two or
three conspicuous persons who are notorious for
their immorality.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“To whom do you refer? Not Mr. Falkner?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Mr. Falkner for one. He is much married
and divorced.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure all was legal, so far as I know. He
separated from number one, and was again married.
When number two ran away and left him, he obtained
a second divorce, and—married again.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Wylie’s companion looked at him with curious
eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>“I am surprised that you approve of him. From
his conduct last evening I should judge there will be
a chance for a third divorce. I cannot like the man.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“His conduct? How?” Wylie inquired, shifting
his weight from one foot to the other, nervously.
His companion gave him a scrutinizing look.</p>
<p class='c005'>“With Mrs. Hartner,” he replied in a dry tone.</p>
<p class='c005'>Horace Wylie winced, but he said in a tone of affected
indifference, “I consider Mrs. Hartner a
lady.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes? Do you know where her husband is?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is rumored that he has been hired to leave the
country.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“For what reason?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“To enable her to get a divorce.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“So? Well, it’s none of my affairs,” and Wylie
laughed a mirthless laugh.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Nor mine, but if I were interested in the lady I
should keep her away from Mrs. Mount’s. Ta, ta,
Wylie. This is my corner.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Young Holden sauntered around it slowly, out of
sight.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Confound the fellow! Why did he say that to
me? It can’t be that he suspects—but no, that is impossible.
There is something confoundedly disreputable
about a divorce, that’s a fact. But this double
life is risky, especially with such a keen-witted wife
as Elinor, and Berenice is so determined, and insists—well,
time enough to think of this later. It’s a
relief to know that Elinor is where she need not hear
all the gossip of the clubs.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXIX<br> <span class='large'>DRIFTING</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-b c013'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Now Autumn’s fire burns slowly along the woods,</div>
<div class='line'>And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt,</div>
<div class='line'>And night by night the monitor blast</div>
<div class='line'>Wails in the keyhole, telling how it passed</div>
<div class='line'>O’er empty fields, or upland solitudes,</div>
<div class='line'>Or grim wide nave; and now the power is felt</div>
<div class='line'>Of melancholy, tenderer in its moods</div>
<div class='line'>Than any joy indulgent Summer dealt.”</div>
<div class='line in46'>—Allingham.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c011'>The autumnal days were nearly gone, and occasionally
was felt the sharp tooth of the biting wind
as it swept over the open prairie and drove the Westerner
into his cabin, with a tingling warning in his
ears that winter was soon to come. Then again the
sun would shine brightly and the soft graces and
tints of Indian summer would brighten the landscape.</p>
<p class='c005'>The weeks had brought a degree of calmness and
resignation to Elinor Wylie, and to Tibby varied experiences.
For some reason, though Donald Bartram
spent most of his spare time with her, she preferred
not to be recognized as the object of his affections.
Poor Esther McCleary’s disappearance
was too recent, and although nothing definite had
been known as to Donald’s interest in her, the gossips
of the neighborhood had been pleased to couple
their names together.</p>
<p class='c005'>It was not certain that Esther was dead. She
might purposely have hidden herself from Professor
<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>Russell, and if so might return at any time, now that
the man came no more to the community.</p>
<p class='c005'>It ill became Donald to give so much time to this
fair enchantress who deserved so little consideration
from him. Of all the provoking, undisciplined
minxes, Tibby appeared the worst. Alice and Nellie
wondered daily at his forbearance, and commented
on Tibby’s behavior.</p>
<p class='c005'>As for Donald himself, he was drifting with the
tide of events, and the pastime pleased him too well
to care to interrupt it by very serious thoughts or
determinations. Tibby was interesting. He enjoyed
her society. That was sufficient.</p>
<p class='c005'>To-day he had claimed Tibby for a ride to the
post, and as they came cantering slowly along the
soft gray turf, Tibby with her riding-hat tipped back
from her wide, smooth forehead, her feline eyes half
closed from the sun’s bright rays, her dark hair partly
escaped from comb and pin, and fluttering in
curled rings about her face, her red lips half parted
above the white teeth, she looked to the man a disheveled
Hebe, too adorable, too incomprehensible to
withstand.</p>
<p class='c005'>His eyes flashed with a new resolution as he rode
up close by her side.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Miss Tibby, were you never serious in your life,”
he asked, bending toward her.</p>
<p class='c005'>The girl slackened her horse’s pace and looked
over and past him reflectively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, once,” she said at last, as if she had taken
time to review her life from the beginning.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should like to know when it was.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>“Well, I will tell you, though it is a very impertinent
question for you to ask, and I feel under no
obligation to answer it. It was when I lived in the
country and had an attack of quinsy. I couldn’t
speak for three whole days, and the village doctor
diagnosed my case as diphtheria. I expected to die,
of course, and I really felt quite serious and anxious,
I must confess.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You had reason to, if you could not talk,” Donald
replied in a dry tone.</p>
<p class='c005'>“So I thought. When one can neither talk nor
breathe, one has time for serious reflection. Now,
please, Mr. Bartram, don’t say anything about
the delight of my friends under the circumstances,
for I think I have heard something of the kind before.
I wrote notes to them.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That must have been delightful.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“For them or me?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Both. Miss Waring, why are you so unlike
other girls?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby opened her eyes to their widest extent.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You alarm me, Mr. Bartram,” she said. “How
am I different? I’ll wager two bits that I know.
It’s these freckles on the side of my nose.” She
turned her head toward him with a bewitching air of
candor. “I don’t mind them, indeed I don’t. Besides,
they are not there all the time, only since I
came here and rode about in the sun and wind so
much.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid you are incorrigible. You know very
well that’s not what I mean.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, isn’t it?” ruefully. “Perhaps you wouldn’t
<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>mind telling me how I am at fault. I don’t want to
be told. I—am very sensitive, as sensitive as a—a
nettle, so please do let me down easy, that’s a good
fellow,” she said in a wheedling tone.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are not sensitive. You don’t care what any
one says or thinks of you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t I? Then I must be desperately wicked.
My mother used to say that Don’t Care represented
total depravity.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is evident you do not care what I think of
you,” Donald said, looking straight before him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Bartram, your discernment is wonderful;
or is it intuition? Whichever it is, you arrive at
correct conclusions. What did you kill when you
went hunting last week? Lovely little birds, whose
song has been wantonly stilled forever?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed, no. I am not so wicked as to kill song
birds, not even though heartless women delight to
decorate their hats with their dead bodies.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ugh, I do not,” said Tibby, with a shudder. “I
don’t even like women who are thoughtless enough
to wear them. They are as bad as the Indians who
love to dangle scalp-locks from their belts.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Granted it is thoughtlessness rather than carelessness,
why do you not make it your business to do
missionary work among your fashionable sisters and
help save the birds.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The girl shook her head slowly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I haven’t enough influence. I do use what I
have. But it does no good. Woman’s vanity is
such that she will sacrifice even the lives of innocent
little birds for the sake of adding to her finery. O,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>I am really disgusted with my sex when I think of
it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why not use the other power you have and make
women see this as you do?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby looked at Donald thoughtfully.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’ll do it. When I get back to—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Civilization, you mean. Why not say it? I shall
not be offended.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The first service I attend in church I’ll make
every woman feel the weight of the poor bird upon
her hat, if possible. It shall be the heaviest sin upon
her conscience. She shall feel the ‘Thou shalt not
kill.’ But you have not told me what you did kill.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Nothing except prairie chickens and a gray
wolf.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Are there wolves here?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not right here, perhaps, but not many miles
away. You may see them in the gray of the morning
standing on the top of the sandhills, apparently taking
a survey of the country.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘The gray wolf like a sentinel stands,’” quoted
Tibby. “Do you know I don’t like to think of hunting
or killing anything and I think the reason so
many accidents happen to hunters is because the spirits
of the victims come back to play mischief with
the guns.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If you really believe that, you are a spiritist, are
you not?” Donald asked absently as he looked at
the glowing face before him. “It is a fact there are
a great many accidents among hunters.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, guns are discharged unaccountably. If we
may believe the Eastern religions that our souls are
<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>reclothed in the form of animals, why may not one
of these freed spirits avenge itself; that is, if it be
permitted to drift about in ether and overlook us?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Or if there is an animal’s heaven. You know
Professor Russell saw the spirit of my cat.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“So I heard. It must have been a spirituelle cat.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You look very pretty with your hat tilted in that
way,” Donald said irrelevantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Thank you, but such a remark is entirely foreign
to the subject under discussion and in very bad
taste,” replied Tibby, with a pout of her red lips.
“To punish you, I shall not speak to you for a long
time.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Won’t you,” he answered dreamily, his eyes
partly closed against the half-veiled sun.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly not,” she answered with a finality
that should have been convincing. Then as she
did not speak they rode on for some time, silently
gazing, as their horses walked slowly, at the beauty
of the wonderful farm-lit expanse before them, the
gray fields, the dotted river wold, the sand hills in
the distance, the adobe dwellings and the adjacent
stacks, all silently touched by the golden glory of
the setting sun.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I like this gray landscape,” Tibby said, breaking
the harmony of silence. “Its very monotony is
restful. A symphony in gray and gold. A light
gray sky, a darker ground, and a girdle of gray hills
against the horizon. The whole sun-tipped. Even
the river is hidden to-day, usually shining in evidence.</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c012'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>“‘The day was dying and with feeble hands</div>
<div class='line in2'>Caressed the mountain tops. The vales between</div>
<div class='line'>Darkened. The river in the meadow lands</div>
<div class='line in2'>Sheathed itself as a sword and was not seen,’”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c014'>quoted Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Say rather, ‘Twilight gray had in her sober livery
all things clad,’” responded Tibby. “See, the
sun has disappeared.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I have an idea,” began Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“All your own,” asked Tibby gravely, while she
whipped the tall weeds by the roadside with her
riding-whip.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No,” Donald replied pleasantly; “it is borrowed.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You don’t care then to pass it on.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Again they rode for several rods in silence, while
Tibby, with wicked insistence, punished the balsam-weeds
and kept her face turned from her companion.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Miss Tibby.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tabitha, if you please.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Miss Waring.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, you are improving.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is this our last ride?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I hope not,” she replied, looking about her in
feigned alarm. “You are not expecting the day of
judgment?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why not? We know not the day nor the
hour—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O dear! What have I done now, that you
should talk like judge, jury, and executioner all in
one?”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>“I am a pretty good judge.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Of what? Live-stock?” Tibby replied pertly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should not presume to judge the dead.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Have you enjoyed your wild sojourn here, Miss
Waring?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Extravagantly! There are some marplots, of
course,” she added, looking at Donald and smiling
wickedly. “But I really have enjoyed the summer.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s a pity this fine weather cannot always last.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I never did enjoy a croaker!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am a weather prophet. This fine day is the
herald of a storm. We shall have few such before
the winter will be upon us.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sorry. Tempest and I have been such good
comrades, have we not, old boy?” Tibby patted the
horse’s neck with her gauntleted hand.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You have kind words for everything except me,”
Donald said accusingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby laughed a ringing, merry laugh, and turned
toward Donald with shining, challenging eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The poor little man, was I unkind to him? I
really didn’t know it. What shall I say that is
kind?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“That you love me and will become my wife.” It
was an unsuitable time and place for such a demand,
and Donald realized it when the words had escaped
his tongue. He had not intended to say as much at
this time, and he execrated himself for his folly.</p>
<p class='c005'>Again Tibby’s large eyes opened to their widest
extent, rebellion and reproach in their depths.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, you foolish, wicked man! How you have
<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>disappointed me! Where is Esther McCleary? O,
you shifting weather-vane!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t, Miss Tibby. Why should you ask me of
Esther? You surely do not think me responsible for
her abduction. Esther was to me as to you, a friend.
I never professed to love her, or any other woman
save you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are mad! You don’t know your own
mind!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’m afraid you do not, Tibby. Listen to me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hush! I command you!” Then, with a laugh,
she touched her horse with her riding-whip. “Race
for me then!” And she was off like a rocket.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald accepted the challenge. Madly they flew
along over the gray sward, Tibby several yards in
advance, her mellow laugh ringing back to him as
the two mustangs, evidently enjoying the fun, settled
down to their fastest paces, needing no urging.
But urge as he might, Donald could not gain the
advantage Tibby had taken at the outset, and for
four miles they rode thus, until flushed, panting and
defiant, Tibby drew rein at Mark’s doorway, and
reached her hands to Mark himself to take her down
from the horse.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, what foolishness now? I’m afraid you’ve
been racing,” he said, noticing the heaving flanks of
the horses.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” Tibby explained, with a note of contempt
in her voice, “that presumptuous young man thought
he could catch me. I hope he realizes his folly.”
And she shot a triumphant glance at Donald, who
<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>had dismounted and stood by his horse’s head. He
smiled serenely.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, when you are carried on the back of a Tempest,”
he replied. “Besides, we didn’t start fair.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, the beaten ones always complain of a poor
start, don’t they, Mr. Cramer? I shall always ride
Tempest. I can never give him up, never!—for anything
but a cyclone,” she added, with another swift
glance at Donald. Mark laughed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You’ll have to take him with you when you go,
I reckon,” he said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You dear man! And you dear horse, not to
stumble and betray me! What more can I ask for
in this life?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald stood looking thoughtfully at Tibby for
a moment while she stroked and patted her pony,
then, reaching out his hand for the bridle, he led the
horses to the stable, while Tibby, provoked at Donald’s
calm acceptance of defeat, went slowly into the
house.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I do wish I could make him angry just once,” she
said to herself. “He is so exasperatingly cool and
self-controlled, I can do nothing with him. He
must think me the most undisciplined girl extant.
But I beat him in the race. What should I have done
if I had not?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Meanwhile, Donald called himself unflattering
names for so far forgetting time and place in his
wooing, but smiled as he thought, “She has challenged
me to race for her, and I shall win at last.
The race is to the one with the best staying qualities,
and I shall not know when I am beaten. She is
worth racing for.”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXX<br> <span class='large'>THE COMING OF THE STORM</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Winter was slow in claiming sovereignty over Nebraska
in the year of which we write, and coquetted
with summer through all the weeks of November
and December. Such snows as had come were light
and short-lived, and the winds had been less furious
and threatening than usual at this season of the year.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald and Tibby had enjoyed many rides over
the gray plains and river wold, and were apparently
the best of friends, notwithstanding Donald’s premature
declaration. But their camaraderie was far
from sweethearting. It looked as if Tibby had decided
to put their acquaintance on the I’ll-be-a-sister-to-you
footing.</p>
<p class='c005'>To a less determined man than Donald this might
have been disheartening, but he had firm faith in the
efficacy of persistence, and though he never annoyed
Tibby with declarations of love, he made her ever
conscious of him as the considerate, attentive lover.</p>
<p class='c005'>As for Tibby, she badgered, cajoled, teased, and
tried his temper and patience in the manner for
which girls have been noted since the world began.
Why it is that the average girl delights in such actions
has never been satisfactorily explained, the parallel
of such conduct being found only in the cat
playing with the live mouse.</p>
<p class='c005'>With Tibby the feline nature seemed fully developed,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>and she toyed with the victim in her claws
most exasperatingly. Never consciously had she
given Donald reason to think, or flatter himself, that
she cared for him except as a good comrade with
whom to pass the winter and summer of her sojourn
in this western land.</p>
<p class='c005'>But when Tibby behaved worst there lurked a
smile of conscious power in the unrevealed depths of
Donald’s gray eyes, much to the girl’s vexation and
discomfiture, while he remained outwardly unruffled.
He had entered the race to win, and his nature was
buoyant and strong. Why need he be discouraged?
Physically strong, handsome, and athletic, he was
possessed of average ability, enjoyed a good income,
and his future looked promising. Why should he
fail? Thus he reasoned.</p>
<p class='c005'>A fortuitous chain of events had thrown Donald
into Tibby’s society and kept him in close communication
with her until he felt that he knew her better,
appreciated more her real worth, of nature and character,
than any one else about her. She had challenged
him to win her. He would make it the business
of his life to do so.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie’s change of plans had aided him in
keeping Tibby in the community, though had she
gone away he doubtless would have followed her.
The bereaved woman shrank from meeting her society
friends in Forest City, and to go to the Pacific
Slope was to put her in proximity to her recreant
husband, and—sadder to contemplate—his newly
wedded wife. And Elinor had listened to her
brother’s persuasions to spend the winter in their
<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>home. Thus, much to Donald’s satisfaction, Tibby
had remained to be his daily companion in this isolated
region. The world, with its modern pleasures,
seemed far away from them. He need fear
no competitor while she remained here. For this
reason Donald could bide his time, free from anxious
disquietude.</p>
<p class='c005'>“How lovely the air is this morning,” cried Tibby
one day in early January as she stepped from the
door of Mark’s home and looked across the farm-lit
plains to the brightening glory of the winter sun in
a sky of cloud-fleeced blue. The low-lying ridge of
hills skirting the eastern horizon gave the effect of
a mural and fortress-crowned landscape, and Tibby’s
eyes glowed with pleasure as she gazed about her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You should not brave, bare-headed, even the winter’s
mildness,” said Donald, who had come over
early to bring a message from Lissa.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Since when were you called Dr. Bartram?” asked
Tibby mockingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I was only prescribing the ounce of prevention,”
returned Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, the cure comes later, I suspect.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid it will have to, for one so careless as
you are inclined to be.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“This is a lovely day for a ride. I am going to
ride Tempest over to Anna Falkner’s,” Tibby continued,
ignoring his remark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Better not go so far. This bright morning is a
weather breeder. I can feel snow in the air.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Bartram, the role of mentor does not become
you.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>“Think not? How am I as a weather prophet?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Worse and worse! One could have no faith in
your predictions.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not until they have been proven correct, perhaps.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby,” said Elinor Wylie, interrupting them,
“hadn’t you better come in and make an angel-food
cake this morning? Alice is busy and the girl
doesn’t know how.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly, there’s nothing I like to do so well,”
responded Tibby cheerfully, springing up the steps
and starting toward the kitchen.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Sha’n’t I come too?” asked Donald. “I want to
learn to cook; besides, you don’t know how useful
I can make myself.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Do you hear that, Mrs. Wylie? The audacity of
the man! As chief cook I am queen of the kitchen
and no intruder dare enter its precincts.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Without invitation, of course. But I expect to
be invited.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, you do? The conceit of some people is unbearable.
Well, if you will be upon your good behavior
I’ll not be inhospitable. But see that you
don’t talk too much and make me spoil the cake.
What do you expect to do to help me?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, stone raisins, and build fires, and—and—look
at you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Stone raisins? We don’t use them in this kind of
cake, you ignorant fellow.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Donald sat down by the stove and watched the
girl as she broke the eggs and separated the yolks
<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>from the white, and dexterously whipped the latter
to a snowy froth; then sifted the flour.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Whew! What a lot of eggs you use!” he exclaimed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“The whites of eleven only, and I’ll make a gold
cake of the yolks. That’s economy.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I understand.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“As you do the magic of Hermann. You
wouldn’t know how to make this if you watched me
make a dozen, I am sure.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The whites of eleven eggs,” began Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, and one glass of flour sifted five times, with
a teaspoonful of cream of tartar.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But cream of tartar is sour, and cakes should be
sweet, shouldn’t they?” questioned Donald.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby looked at him with an expression of pitying
contempt.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I told you, you couldn’t understand it. It’s beyond
your comprehension.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Try me and see! What else do you put in this
wonderful compound? Sugar, of course?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, one and one-half cups of sugar and a teaspoonful
of flavoring. That’s all.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, that’s easy to remember,” said Donald, repeating
it glibly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good boy! You’ll do with good tuition. Then
you must <em>beat</em>, not <em>stir</em>, the sugar and flour and
beaten eggs together in this way. See?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” answered Donald, noting with admiring
eyes the movements of the rounded wrists as she
exemplified her instructions.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And now you must put the batter into a bright
<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>cake pan, perfectly dry, and bake fifty minutes in a
slow oven.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But how can I tell whether the oven is slow or
quick?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is something beyond your comprehension.
One of the things out of your reach, you know.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, I see! I confess I have my limitations. But
what is the name of this snowy creation? Didn’t I
hear Mrs. Wylie speak of angels?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly! This is angel’s food.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah! Food for angels, or made by them?
Which?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Neither. It is of the earth, earthy. Even you
can safely eat it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>But Donald was watching the graceful contour of
the dimpled elbow beneath the uprolled sleeve, and
did not for a moment respond to her retort.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes—ah—what is it?” he asked, recalling himself.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby’s pink chin was elevated. “Shakespeare
never repeats,” she said sententiously.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But you are not Shakespeare.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, I’m nearly the same thing. I’m bakin’,”
she said with a giggle.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, you’re too bad! Such a pun as that is atrocious!
Bacon? Oh!” And Donald sank back in
his chair and made a feint of fanning himself. “I’m
struck all in a heap.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, when young men are so impolite one feels
like throwing puns, or any handy weapon, at their
heads. I may take the rolling pin next,” said Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Really, Miss Tibby, I beg your pardon for my
<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>inattention, but the fact is, I was following a train
of thought which was—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Composed of empty cars,” put in Tibby.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I assure you, heavily freighted.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed!” with an exasperating lifting of the
brows. “No doubt you were reflecting upon your
past misdeeds.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I was thinking of you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Then your thoughts were not worth questioning.
Your train was surely overloaded. To punish you, I
shall bid you adieu, and go to get ready for my ride,”
replied Tibby, with a severe tightening of her pretty
lips, as she went over to the sink and began to wash
the dusting of flour from her arms and hands.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose you do not intend to invite me to ride
with you,” Donald remarked tentatively.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, indeed. You might take cold. And besides
you prophesied a storm.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“If you should be caught out in a blizzard I might
be of some help to you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby turned and faced him, her mischievous,
glowing eyes holding his.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You?” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, even I.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But if I don’t want you along?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I shall meekly stay at home, of course. But it
strikes me you are extremely unkind.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not to myself. Besides, I do not want you to
run into danger. See?” She gave him a sidelong
glance from the corner of her eyes. “Mr. Bartram,
I am going to ride and meditate all by myself to-day.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>“If I withdrew to a safe distance couldn’t you
meditate at home?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald looked through half-closed lids at the
mocking eyes and pouting lips before him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“There is nothing like a canter over the prairies to
aid one’s meditation.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wish I could persuade you to stay at home to-day.
You are certainly taking a great risk in going,
at least in going so far.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is my risk. No one else need worry about it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You are of too much value to your friends to expect
their unconcern in what affects you so seriously.
Even I am anxious, you see,” continued Donald,
speaking quietly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Even you? Of all persons in the world least interested,
or ought to be. Since when have you become
responsible for my actions?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Since I learned to care for you more than all
others.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Mr. Bartram, you are melodramatic. I shall not
listen to you any longer,” said Tibby, a flush dyeing
her cheeks as she gathered up the discarded apron
and hung it up.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Will you not shorten your ride and come home
before the storm?” Donald asked persistently.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I shall not measure the length of my rides by
your tape measure,” retorted Tibby, tossing her head,
while the crimson spot on her cheek deepened;
“neither shall I let you accompany me, even if you
rode behind me. Your presence would mar all my
pleasure.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby felt the tactless impertinence of her words,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>and her eyes fell beneath the gray ones fixed questioningly
upon her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That’s pretty severe, if you mean it,” Donald replied,
speaking with great deliberation. “Thank you
for your frank manner of telling truths, however. It
is good of you. One would rather be hit straight in
the forehead than in the back. Is it George Eliot
that says, ‘Truth has rough flavors if we bite it
through’?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why don’t you get angry with me?” Tibby tapped
the floor impatiently with the toe of her boot.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Because you are trying to make me so, and besides,
it isn’t my year to be angry,” he said with a
drawl, his gray eyes still upon her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, you insufferable prig!” exclaimed the girl
desperately. “As if the man ever lived who didn’t
get angry. Tell me, were you never angry?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I think so—once,” he drawled. “Yes, now
I reflect upon the matter, I remember I was once,
but it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I’d rather not
repeat it, even to please you, Miss Tibby.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The girl turned from him petulantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I think it would please me very much,” she said.
“Such even tempers are abominable. Good-by!”
And Tibby backed out of the room, waving her hand
dramatically toward him. “Dryden tells us to ‘Beware
the fury of a patient man,’ and I will run before
your wrath breaks forth.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is Tibby more perverse than usual this morning?”
Alice asked as Donald buttoned up his coat
preparatory to departure.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, in tempting Providence by riding to the fort
<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>this morning. If I am not very much mistaken, we
are to have a small blizzard before night.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O! I hope not,” sighed Mrs. Wylie. “I have
never experienced one, but Alice has been telling me
of blizzards, and of people perishing in them not far
from their own doors. I cannot realize such a thing
possible.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Wait until you’ve seen one,” said Donald soberly.
He shook his head as he stepped out of doors. “Tell
that wilful girl to take no chances,” he said, turning
back. “There’s surely a storm coming. She will not
listen to me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t forget, Mrs. Cramer, to take my cake from
the oven in fifteen minutes,” Tibby said a little later,
entering the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why do you go when there is a storm coming?”
inquired Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Who says there is a storm coming? No one but
Donald, and he is a croaker. I’m not afraid. Tempest
will be a match for any storm that ever blew.”
And a few moments afterwards Tibby tripped gaily
down the path to the horse’s stable, her riding-skirt
thrown over her arm, and her whole figure alert with
joyous anticipation. As she emerged upon the back
of her favorite horse and swept past the pedestrian,
Donald, she called out saucily:</p>
<p class='c005'>“Isn’t a Tempest more in evidence to-day than a
blizzard, Mr. Bartram?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald waved his hand at her, and she was gone,
her low, rich laugh coming back to him in the moist
air.</p>
<p class='c005'>Before Donald reached Nathan’s the sky had begun
<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>to be flecked with clouds, light and fleecy, that
seemed to speed swiftly high in the air. Then he felt
drops of rain that seemed to come out of the somewhere.
At intervals the sun would shine brightly
and warm. As the hours wore away Donald’s anxiety
increased.</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa looked out at three o’clock, to see the sky
overcast with clouds, and large scattering flakes of
snow floating about in the chill air. At the same
moment Donald rode up from the stables on the
back of his favorite horse, Duke, a large, powerful
animal, of great intelligence and endurance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am going over to Mark’s, Lissa,” he cried, “to
see if Tibby has returned. Within a half hour it
will be impossible to see a rod ahead of one. If that
wilful girl should attempt to start back in the face of
the storm, as she is almost sure to do, she can never
get home alone. Don’t go out of doors yourself.
I’ve made all secure at the stables. If Tibby has returned
I shall be back in a few moments. If not,
I shall go to meet her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Lissa’s face paled.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I know the danger, Donald. I hope, oh, I hope
you’ll find her all right at Mark’s!”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald was already far down the road, when the
wind, suddenly veering, swept the house with such
a shock Lissa was glad to close the door and draw
up to the great stove for warmth.</p>
<p class='c005'>A few moments later Donald was at Mark’s door,
and the swift-falling snowflakes were already obscuring
the landscape when he rapped with his riding-whip
and met the startled face of Mrs. Cramer.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>“Has Miss Waring returned?” he asked anxiously,
searching Alice’s countenance.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, and I am becoming worried about her.
She would be sure to start home when she saw the
storm coming up.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, I am going to try to find her. The wind
is rising fast. Can you lend me a couple of
blankets?”</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice flew to an adjoining room, and quickly returned
with a bright woolen parcel, which Donald
strapped to his saddle securely, while a wild gust of
wind swept past him and struggled and tugged with
him for their possession.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why are you carrying your rifle?” Alice asked,
noting his strange accoutrement.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I will tell you,” said Donald, again seating himself
firmly in the saddle. “Have you a gun here?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, certainly.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And you know how to use it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Then you must help me to find my way. I want
you to fire it every time you hear the report of my
rifle. Do you understand?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Don. Do you think the danger is so great?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, we are in for a furious storm. Now remember,
answer all my signals, and—if you should
not hear from me for a time, keep firing every few
moments anyway.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Don. Heaven help you to find Tibby and
bring her home safely to us!”</p>
<p class='c005'>A moment later Donald was lost to view in the
whirling, swirling masses of snow that filled the air,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>and Alice, taking down the heaviest gun from the
wall, examined it carefully, and loaded it with a
charge of powder.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What are you doing with that gun, Alice?” asked
Mrs. Wylie, who, hearing the sound of voices, had
risen from her couch and now came into the room.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am going to answer Donald’s signals to guide
him through the storm.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie’s eyes opened wide with alarm.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But why has Donald gone out in it?” she questioned,
looking from the window into the impenetrable,
snow-filled air.</p>
<p class='c005'>“To find Tibby, Elinor.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie sank down in a chair and pressed her
hands to her side, while her lips grew white.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why—Alice, do you suppose Tibby can be out in
this terrible storm? I have been sleeping and did
not realize it was upon us until the gusts struck the
house and I heard you talking with some one—Donald,
was it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I hope, Elinor, that Tibby has not started out in
this, but if she has she may lose her way and freeze
if some one does not find her. I have been very uneasy
about her for some time.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, how dreadful, dreadful!” And as Mrs. Wylie
continued to gaze out into the opaque snow-world
about her she began to realize for the first time what
a western blizzard might mean. “Why did I not
have sense enough to keep that child at home?” she
moaned. “I shall never forgive myself if she is lost.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We should both of us have seconded Donald’s
caution, I’m afraid,” replied Alice. “I am not so
<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>weather-wise as he, yet I should have known what
such a morning in midwinter portended here. Tibby
delights in teasing Donald, and of course would not
heed his warning; but she would have listened to
us had we been persistent.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I don’t know. I’m afraid I am the one who always
listens to her. I don’t see why she treats Don
so,” Mrs. Wylie said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t you? I think I do. It is because she cares
for him, and will not acknowledge it, even to herself.
But do look at the storm, Elinor. Is it not terrifying?
Where does all this snow come from? The
ground is already heavily sheeted with it. And listen
to the wind. How it wails and shrieks, buffets
and pounds. We are fortunate in being safely
housed, Elinor.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But if Tibby is out in it! Oh, I cannot bear the
thought!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hark! there is the report of Donald’s rifle. I
must answer it.” And Alice sprang to the window,
and raising it a little way, put forth the heavy gun
and discharged it, its detonation bringing an answering
shriek from Mrs. Wylie.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXI<br> <span class='large'>CAUGHT IN A BLIZZARD</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>Tibby had foolishly dallied in her home-coming.
Even after mounting her horse she sat in the saddle
and indulged in the prolonged exchanges of good-bys
so common to young girls, until the blackening
sky and threatening flakes of snow admonished her,
forcibly, to return in haste.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tempest, glad to have permission to go at last,
sped over the ground with wonderful strides, covering
the first half of the journey in a short space of
time; but as the wind arose and the soft flakes gave
way to hard, rice-like, cutting kernels of snow that
beat in his face, he became staggered in his pace, and
finally, as the storm in all its fury bore down upon
them, both horse and rider lost all knowledge of distance
and location, their only effort being to keep
the road. Tibby, blinded by the storm, and forced
to ride with her head bent forward and down, felt
her faithful beast stop and whirl half around as a
furious blast, chill as the arctic snows, struck them.
The icy flakes cut into her flesh like splinters of steel
as she lifted her face to look about her. She could
see nothing except the whirling deluge of white enveloping
her. She was lost, lost.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O Tempest, good Tempest!” she wailed, “can
you see the path no longer? Will not your instincts
guide you home? Try again, Tempest! Alas, I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>know not which way to turn you! But go, Tempest,
go! We shall freeze if we stay here. Go!”</p>
<p class='c005'>But the horse, buffeted by the driving storm in his
face, would move forward only a few paces, then
turn his head and stop, bewildered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“O my God, what shall I do?” she moaned.</p>
<p class='c005'>The cold was creeping up her limbs and benumbing
her. She felt that she must die there, and so
near home. She thought she must have traversed
nearly the distance, if they had kept the road. Ah,
if they had kept the road. She was in doubt as to
that. The horse, cowering and baffled, had turned
around. She turned him back, facing the storm, and
with hand and voice she urged him forward. For
several moments he plunged into the opaque snow-world
before them, then again blinded, baffled, and
storm-beaten, the faithful animal stopped, and bowed
his head to the fury of the elements.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby lost courage, and laying her face on the
poor beast’s neck, sobbed in despair. Oh! why had
she been so wilful and neglectful of Donald’s warning?
He had been anxious about her, and tried to
save her, but she had in her silly pride and egotism
ignored him and his counsel, and now she must die.
How cold she was. Her breath came in short, hard
pants. The wind seemed to take it from her and
carry it away. It seemed to her that the elements
sported with life, and the wind, with demoniac
shrieks of frenzy and laughter, pounded and pommeled
and bruised her as she lay upon the neck of
the trembling, cowering beast which had borne her
so gallantly that morning.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>“O Tempest, Tempest, we are surely lost, lost!”
she wailed. “God has let loose all his furies upon
us; no where on the bleak, cold, storm-driven and
storm-beaten prairie is there shelter for us. If a
stable were but a rod away we could not find it. We
must die, must die, good horse! Die—i—i—i—ie!”
Her chattering teeth would scarcely permit the words
to pass.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby tried to pray, but the words would not form
themselves. She could only think of her child’s
prayer of “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and she
remembered reading once of a man who, upon the
neck of a maddened bull, thus prayed, and in a hysterical
revulsion of emotion she laughed,—laughed
and shrieked with the shrieking wind, in hysterical
gasps,—laughed even in the face of death. Then,
chill and trembling, she felt as if the hand of the
grim reaper was upon her, and she lay motionless
upon the neck of the horse, half unconscious.</p>
<p class='c005'>Suddenly she was startled by a sound—the crack
of a rifle not far distant. The horse started and
lifted its head, then whirled around again in the direction
of the sound. She felt the quiver of the animal
beneath her, and with an effort roused herself.
There was hope in that sound. Some one was near.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Go, Tempest, go!” she cried. “There is some
one near! Some one is looking for us!”</p>
<p class='c005'>The horse, as if understanding the meaning of the
rifle-shot, was already plunging forward, and Tibby
clung sobbing, in convulsive reaction, to his neck.</p>
<p class='c005'>She tried to shout, but the howling wind drowned
even her powerful and far-reaching voice. It was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>blowing fearfully now. Each gust nearly tore her
from the saddle by its violence, benumbed as she was
by the cold. Again the friendly rifle-crack sounded
its peal of deliverance in her ears. And farther
away she heard, more faintly, a second sound, like
an echo, respond.</p>
<p class='c005'>“They are searching for us, and it must be—Donald!”
she thought. Good Donald, whom she had
treated so illy! If she ever lived through this terrible
time—but how cold it was. She must not die
now, so near, almost within sound of his voice. The
horse, animated by the nearness of the deliverer, was
struggling ahead, not swiftly, but desperately, in the
persistent, whirling phalanx of snow. Again, a third
time, the friendly rifle spoke, and its tone rang sweetest
music to the nearly paralyzed and helpless girl.
She felt her faithful horse turn, guided by the sound;
she felt his heaving flank, against which her feet
were placed for warmth, sway, as he pressed onward,
and then she heard him neigh, loud and
strong. Good creature! She tried to pat his neck
with her numb fingers. His voice was stronger than
hers. Hark! Is that an answering neigh borne
to her? She cannot shout, for her voice is spent;
but Tempest, good Tempest, is calling for her. She
clings with desperate grip to his mane. Is that a
voice coming out of the darkness of the snow-world?
A roar, deeper than the roar of the storm, sounds in
her ears, and she feels herself sinking, sinking, down,
down.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby, Tibby!”</p>
<p class='c005'>She hears a voice at her side and Donald is clasping
<span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>her and enveloping her in something woolen and
warm. She tries to reach to him her poor frozen
hands as she sobs “Don, Don!” and then in a thankfulness
too deep for words she snuggles down in the
warm folds of the blanket and again drops her head
upon the neck of her noble horse.</p>
<p class='c005'>“That is right, keep your head down! I will lead
Tempest,” she hears Donald say, shouting in his
strong voice to her, and again Tibby realizes they
are yet in the clutches of the merciless blizzard; but
her fear is gone, for Donald is with her and will save
her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Now don’t be frightened. I must discharge the
gun to get my direction,” he shouts again when he
has tucked her comfortably in the blankets. Tibby
hears the detonation answered by a fainter sound at
their left.</p>
<p class='c005'>“We are all right, child. Alice is signaling us.
Try and hold out a little longer.” And Tibby feels
the motion of the horse as it sways beneath her, and
is dimly conscious of a sense of warmth and relief
unutterable. And she forgets the storm, the danger,
the oppression of death which was upon her, and
sinks away into a half-sleeping state, from which she
is aroused only when, at the door of Mark’s home,
Donald lifts her from the saddle and carries her into
shelter somewhere. She hears, as though far away,
the repeated echoes of the rifle; she hears murmured
words of encouragement from her rescuer, and then
she opens her eyes in bewildered uncertainty as to
her surroundings and feels that she has awakened
from a harassing dream to find herself safely at
<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>home, and with a sigh of relief she lays her head
more heavily upon Donald’s shoulder and sinks away
to sleep again.</p>
<p class='c005'>Not until afterwards did she realize the struggle
Donald had undergone while bringing her home.
Not until the neighbors had gathered about her, days
later, and commented on the terrible severity and destruction
of the storm, which had lasted three days
and brought death and sorrow to many homes.
Then Tibby heard of those who but a stone’s-throw
from their own doors had perished; of others who,
like herself, had been lost and wandered about to finally
lie down and die; of horses and cattle, in large
numbers, frozen to death; of a whole school of children
who, headed by the teacher, had tried to make
their way through the impenetrable snow and fallen
to be gathered in the icy embrace of the blizzard, and
delivered into the arms of Death.</p>
<p class='c005'>And as Tibby reflected upon her narrow escape
from the grim harvester, she turned in horror from
her wilful self, as she stood with the light of recent
experiences upon her. How nearly fatal had been
that foolish ride across the prairie which she had
wilfully persisted in taking in the face of better counsel.
But for Donald, whom she had snubbed and
abominably ill-treated, she would have perished.
Ah, she was punished, and yet she would not be willing
to owe so much to any other man. Donald had
been forced to remain at Mark’s until the storm lessened
in its severity, but he had gone away before
Tibby had fully recovered from her lethargy. He
had aided in caring for her frost-bitten ears and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>hands, but he had not returned to make inquiry concerning
her since then. Tibby was becoming restless
at his continued absence. Was he thoroughly disgusted
with her behavior that day of the storm? she
questioned.</p>
<p class='c005'>Could any one have been more exasperating and
unladylike? Yes, she merited his contempt—and he
had saved her life, saved her from such a terrible
death. Ah, if she could blot out the memory of that
morning. How she despised herself, her foolish,
egotistical self. He would be divine if he ever forgave
her. She had tried to make him angry, and
how she had been punished. She had even mocked at
him when he paid her the highest compliment a man
can pay a woman. Why had she acted thus? Why
must a woman always be false to herself?</p>
<p class='c005'>Thus, bitterly, Tibby cogitated, and scourged herself,
and shed tears of contrition. But the second
week went by and still Donald came not to see her.
Tibby became hysterical. She was wildly mirthful
and hilarious at times, and again her eyes showed
signs of weeping.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Wylie became anxious concerning her protege,
fearing she was ill. Tibby ate little, and was in
every way capricious, and unlike her strong, forceful
self. “The shock of her dangerous ride has unnerved
her,” Mrs. Wylie reiterated. She believed
she ought to consult a physician, but as the nearest
one was twenty-five miles away she put off doing so,
hoping for an improvement in her child.</p>
<p class='c005'>At last Tibby could stand the uncertainty no longer.
She must know if she was forgiven and reestablish
<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>the friendship between them, and thank
Donald for preserving her life.</p>
<p class='c005'>She resolved to interrogate Mrs. Cramer, and act
upon her advice.</p>
<p class='c005'>For some reason she felt less reluctant to advise
with her than with Mrs. Wylie. She found her hostess
putting on her wraps preparatory to going out.</p>
<p class='c005'>“My dear Mrs. Cramer,” she said coaxingly, “I
want to see Donald Bartram, and thank him for rescuing
me. I was too ill to do so when he was here,
and besides I did not know the magnitude of the risk
he ran. Do you think it would be proper for me to
send him a note, asking him to call?” There was a
touch of anxiety in Tibby’s tone.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, certainly,” replied Alice. “We are not at
all conventional here. Besides, the straightforward
way is always the best, I think.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I hope so,” responded Tibby soberly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, you write your note, and I will take it over
to him now. Mrs. Wylie and I are going over to
Lissa’s.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here it is, I have written it beforehand,” Tibby
returned, a flush of carmine vividly emphasizing her
embarrassment. “I would rather you did not—that
is—Mrs. Wylie need not know of it—at least not
now,” she stammered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Certainly not. I’ll give it to Donald myself.”
And Alice took the gingerly proffered note and slipped
it into her pocket.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is all right, dear,” she smiled cheerily, in answer
to the pathetic questioning of Tibby’s eyes, and
she tripped away blithely, happy at the thought that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>she had made a discovery which would aid in adjusting
matters to her liking.</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice awaited her opportunity to place the missive
in Donald’s hand, unobserved by any one else, and
was pleased to see the start he gave as he looked at it.</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice Cramer, like every other womanly woman,
was a born matchmaker, and this evidence of contrition
on the part of Tibby filled her benevolent
heart with delight. This submissive, questioning air
of the girl was so unlike her usual imperious manner
that Alice augured much from it.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You will go, Don?” she whispered when he again
approached her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, if you think best.” He met her eyes with
an inquiring look.</p>
<p class='c005'>Alice nodded.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Now?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald set out across the fields toward Mark’s
home with some reluctance. He knew he had, by
rescuing Tibby, put her, in a sense, under obligation
to him, and he dreaded to meet her upon such a footing.
He had remained away from her, resolved that
until the remembrance of that struggle in the storm
had become less vivid, he would never force his attentions
upon her; would never annoy her with
words of love.</p>
<p class='c005'>“If she really cares for me she will be conscious
of it in time, and I shall know it,” he reflected. “I
will not trade upon the service I have done her. I
want her <em>love</em>, not her <em>gratitude</em>.” And he set his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>lips firmly in the resolution not to be betrayed into
a renewal of his suit until a more fitting season.</p>
<p class='c005'>Donald found Tibby sitting dejectedly by the
stove, her feet upon the fender and her dimpled chin
resting upon her pink, upturned palm, while her
eyes studied intently the red coals before her. This
was the picture of which he caught a glimpse through
the low window as he approached the door. At the
sound of his footsteps she sprang up and came forward
to meet him, the scarlet flame of the fire blazing
in cheek and lip.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is so nice of you to come,” she said, giving him
her hand in welcome. “You have been so shy of receiving
thanks that you have remained away an age.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am glad if it has seemed an age to you,” he answered,
smiling. “One likes to have his absence noticed.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I didn’t realize how much—how very much I am
indebted to you,” she began shyly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t, please, Miss Tibby. You know there is no
question of debts or credits between friends. I am
thankful God gave me strength and direction to find
you. It is a serious thing to battle with the elements
in the West, Miss Waring.” Donald spoke gently
and soberly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I realize it now. Can you ever forgive me for
my dreadful talk that morning?” Tibby’s lip quivered
slightly and she dropped her eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, was it dreadful? I don’t remember it to
have been so.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And my wilfulness in going against your—advice?”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>she continued, resolved to finish her confession.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, that was nothing strange. One could not expect
an Eastern born-and-bred maiden to be weather-wise
on the prairies or realize the kind of storms we
have here until she had some experience with them.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But she might have sense enough to take some
one else’s word for it,” Tibby replied, tapping the
floor with her foot.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, Miss Tibby, I’m afraid we all like to experience
for ourselves. We don’t relish excitements
second-hand, nor always have faith in the words of
others.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well,—I—hope I’m forgiven,” Tibby faltered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Indeed, yes, if there was anything to forgive. I
didn’t think there was. In fact, I am sure there was
nothing of the kind. However, it must be pleasant
to exercise the divine function and have no room in
one’s heart to remember a wrong. How pleasant
this fire is. Nature makes recompense for all the
cold and storm outside by giving us the blessing of
fire.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes,” absently replied Tibby, twirling her handkerchief
about her finger, and gazing before her in
abstraction.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am afraid you are thinking, Miss Tibby,” Donald
said, after an interval of silence, in which both
had studied the fire.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby turned and looked at him with challenging
eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Would you know of what I am thinking?” she
asked.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>“If I might dare ask so much, yes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I was wondering what one should do who has
done what she regrets.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Undo it, if she can,” Donald replied, speaking
lightly. “What is it you do when you are sewing?
Pull out the wrong stitches and do it all over again,
do you not?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I wonder if you could or would help me in the
undoing.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Most assuredly, if I can.” Donald saw a roseate
flame, deeper than that in the stove, blaze in her
cheeks.</p>
<p class='c005'>Tibby put her two hands to her forehead and
shaded her eyes.</p>
<p class='c005'>“But you don’t,” she said.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Don’t what? I do not understand you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You don’t help me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But you must first tell me how.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“O, you are bound to make me go down in the
dust before you,” she said. “You will not—help
me. Suppose you unravel the work, back to—to—that
time—when you—asked me to be your wife,”
she whispered.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby, Tibby, darling, do not jest with me!”
Donald took the pink fingers in his, and the downcast
eyes were uncovered save by the dark lashes.
“Look at me, Tibby, and tell me—if I ask you the
same question again, what will you say?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Donald, if you can bear to take such a wilful,
good-for-nothing girl as I have been.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Tibby, dear, it is love I want, not gratitude. If
it is because I saved your life—”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>“Indeed, indeed, Donald, it is because—I—I love
you, have always loved you,—ever since—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Since when, sweetheart?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Since I found you were the one man I could not
control,” she whispered.</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXII<br> <span class='large'>A SURPRISE</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>At Boxwell Hall a large audience sat expectantly
waiting the appearance of Mrs. Lucien.</p>
<p class='c005'>Among the members present there were five with
whom our readers are familiar. The lights were yet
turned low, and there was the usual buzz and hum
of low-voiced conversation which even those afflicted
with superstitious awe could not repress.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I had some trouble to persuade Major Walden
to come,” said Nathan in an aside to his wife. “He
has such a horror of this sort of thing, he flatly refused
at first; but when I asked him as a personal
favor to meet you, he consented.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure he can’t denounce Mrs. Lucien, if she
is as Elinor describes her,” said Lissa. “I have
really begun to like her, just from the description.
Ah, I wonder if she is coming now. What a perfectly
seraphic face.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien was clothed in a soft, clinging gown
of white wool, from which her pure, oval face arose
in statuesque grace and beauty.</p>
<p class='c005'>The dark waves of her hair were brushed back
from the rounded forehead and gleamed in shining
ripples to her neck as the glare of the foot-lights fell
upon her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What a striking face! A painter might have
made a model of her for a Madonna. She is grace
<span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>personified,” whispered Alice. “I can think of nothing
but a statue of one of the graces.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Doesn’t she look more like a painting of St. Cecilia?”
Mark replied.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, she does look like her. She is about to
speak.”</p>
<p class='c005'>The chairman of the psychical club led her forward
and briefly introduced her as Madame Lucien,
who would give exhibitions of psychometric reading
and slate-writing. Mrs. Lucien bowed slightly for
a moment to the vociferous clapping of hands which
greeted her, and then spoke in a low, sympathetic
voice, which thrilled her hearers.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Dear Friends: I do not come to you to-night
with any gift or knowledge of my own winning.
For some inscrutable reason it has been given me to
read that which my physical eyes cannot discern. By
some psychic telepathy, or telegraphy, which is as
mysterious to me as to any one here, I am made the
bearer of messages and permitted to see and describe
to you that which is not visible to our mortal eyes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>She turned toward the gentleman by whom she
had been presented, who now bound a handkerchief
tightly over her eyes, and addressing the audience,
requested that while Madame Lucien was passing
under control an usher would gather up from the
audience such articles as they would like to submit to
the medium for psychic reading and identification.</p>
<p class='c005'>Handkerchiefs, gloves, pocket knives, etcetera,
were being collected, and Nathan was about to detach
a charm from his watchguard with which to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>test her powers, when he chanced to glance up at
Major Walden.</p>
<p class='c005'>He was startled. The scene at the office seemed
about to be reenacted. The Major’s face was livid
and distorted.</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is the matter?” Nathan asked with alarm.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You—you—knew of this!” Walden hissed, with
a desperate effort at self-control.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Knew of what? Great Heavens, Major, what do
you mean?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I can’t stay here. I will not!” He arose to his
feet, and Nathan, taking his arm, led him to the open
air.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You’re a villain, sir! I wouldn’t have treated an
enemy as you have me. And I thought you my
friend and trusted you. O Nathan, Nathan, how
could you have done it? Why didn’t you tell me?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Major Walden, I don’t understand what I have
done that was wrong. ’Pon my honor I don’t!” said
Nathan stoutly. “You knew it was a spirit—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did you ask me to that place to-night? Tell
me!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I certainly did, but I did not suppose it could be
so offensive to you.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“You asked me there to see her?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Her? Whom? My wife? I asked you to meet
my wife, and Mrs. Wylie, and—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And her, the woman that—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good God!” cried Nathan, a light breaking in
upon him. “You don’t mean that Mrs. Lucien is—”</p>
<p class='c005'>“My lost wife, Agnes! Yes.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh! my poor friend, forgive me. I never
<span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>dreamed of such a thing. Believe me, Major, I am
innocent of any such plot as this. Mrs. Lucien is
an entire stranger to me. I only knew of her through
Mrs. Wylie’s friendship for her, and she knows
nothing of her past history. We have been blind instruments
in the hands of Providence, Major. Why
should it have happened?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“God knows, or the Devil. I’d rather have seen
Agnes in her coffin, Bartram. That villain Teasdale
must be with her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Impossible! Did he not tell you otherwise?
Don’t, Major, lay that crime upon her in your excitement.
Surely, surely she is blameless and good.
Her face shows that.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Aye! Her face is the face of an angel. O
Agnes, Agnes! Nathan, I’m beset by a thousand
furies and fiends of torture. What shall I do? I
want to see her and talk with her. I must, now,
now—that I’ve seen her at all.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan was perplexed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You might call at her hotel and see her in the
morning,” he ventured to suggest.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, I’ll see her to-night. I’ll be here at the door
when this infernal business is over, and I will see
and speak to her. I want to lift the weight from
my conscience, if possible, and I <em>will</em> speak to her.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, think of the shock to her. My friend, is it
best?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Best? Perdition take me! I don’t know what
is best. Leave me! Go back into the hall and tell
your friends I am sick—vertigo—jimjams—anything.
But leave me to think.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>“But,” began Nathan, loth to leave him by himself
in his excited condition.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Go in! I can’t be spoken to now. Go back into
the hall. Will you?” he exclaimed vehemently.</p>
<p class='c005'>Nathan turned away slowly and reentered the
building, beset with many misgivings. What might
not this irascible and tortured man do if left alone?</p>
<p class='c005'>Mrs. Lucien had begun her reading. She held in
her hand a knife which had been submitted to her for
test.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure the person to whom this knife belongs
is one of very orderly habits, or was. The present
owner has not had it very long. I can see the
woman to whom it formerly belonged. She has auburn
hair, and is rather below the medium height.
She is laughing, and says she won the knife on a
philopena.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is this true?” asked the chairman, taking the
knife from Mrs. Lucien and holding it up.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is true,” responded a man from the audience.
“I am acquainted with the knife’s history.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Suddenly an idea presented itself to Nathan, upon
which he immediately acted.</p>
<p class='c005'>He picked up one of the Major’s gloves which, in
his agitation, he had withdrawn and left behind him,
and motioning to an usher, asked him to place it
upon the table for Madame Lucien’s reading. Then
he awaited results with eager curiosity.</p>
<p class='c005'>One after another the articles were taken up and
read.</p>
<p class='c005'>“This brings me face to face with an aged
<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>woman,” she said, as a thimble was presented. “She
calls ‘Annette, Annette.’”</p>
<p class='c005'>A woman across the aisle from Nathan began to
sob. He noticed the tawdry showiness of her attire,
and read in her face a pathetic history as she stood
up to reclaim the thimble. “It was my mother’s,”
she sobbed, as she dropped back into her seat.</p>
<p class='c005'>Then Madame Lucien’s fingers lifted the glove
Nathan had sent to her.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I am sure the owner of this glove is a person of
very positive character,” she began. “He will combat
any irrational belief, or one not proven to his
satisfaction. I can feel a chill of opposition. I—I—can—”
Mrs. Lucien began to breathe in gasps. Her
hands shook. Nathan was frightened at the spasm
of agony which swept her face. She dropped the
glove and stretched out her hands helplessly.</p>
<p class='c005'>The manager came forward and assisted her from
the platform, amid a buzz of excitement in the audience,
returning in a few moments to announce that
Madame Lucien had been affected by the heat of the
room and would be unable to continue the reading,
but he would introduce in her place the trance medium
Mr. Eugene Potts, who was both clairvoyant
and audient.</p>
<p class='c005'>While this scene was transpiring in Boxwell Hall,
Major Walden was hurrying down the street as
though driven by a legion of furies. He felt that
he must get away or do that for which he might be
sorry. On, on he walked, heeding not his direction
or whereabouts. He was fleeing from her and from
this nightmare of horror which beset him. And the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>vision before his eyes of the pale, spirituelle face of
his lost one kept pace with him. He could not escape
it.</p>
<p class='c005'>An hour later he had turned his steps homeward.
He had walked away the uncontrollable emotion
which had possessed him at the sight of Agnes, and
a calmer spirit prevailed. He had decided that it
was better that he should not meet her again. He
would go to his office and write her fully, and send
her again the letter which he had sent to her Eastern
home and which had been returned to him through
the dead letter office but a few days before this. She
should know how completely he had been punished
for his lack of trust in her, and should forgive him,
if her sweet, forgiving nature could do so.</p>
<p class='c005'>The people were returning from the hall. He
stepped into the shadow of a doorway and waited for
the crowd to pass by and the street to become once
more deserted. He realized he scanned each face
and figure closely. Was he hoping to see her? No,
it were better that he did not; he had settled that
question, but now, in the struggle with himself.</p>
<p class='c005'>The street lamps flamed and flickered, casting
weird shadows on the darkened buildings of the business
street where he stood. Ahead of him, as he
again started forward, he saw a solitary individual
stop under a light and take a letter from his pocket,
which, leaning against the lamp-post, he began to
read. Something in his figure and attitude arrested
Major Walden’s attention. He looked at him
searchingly as he approached him. At the moment
<span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>the man, hearing his footsteps, turned his face from
the letter toward him.</p>
<p class='c005'>A flame of angry fire shot from the Major’s brain
to each prescient nerve and muscle of his being.
With a spring he was upon the man, his hand upon
his throat.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, ha! You miserable, white-livered abomination!
It is well I have found you now,—now, when
your victim is here in this city,—you fiend-ambassador
of Satan! Killing is too good for you!”</p>
<p class='c005'>The attack was so sudden the victim had no chance
to cry out, and sank to the ground, with no show of
resistance, the Major’s hand in a death-grip upon his
throat, shutting off breath from his lungs.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Take that—and that—and that!” cried Walden,
raining the blows with his clenched fist upon the
other’s face and shoulders. “I shall kill you! do you
hear?”</p>
<p class='c005'>The victim struggled, his eyes, protruding from
their sockets, pleaded for mercy, and his speechless
tongue hung swollen from his lips. Voices were
heard approaching him, but the infuriated and frenzied
man did not heed them. The higher man had,
for the time, been lost in the maddened animal.</p>
<p class='c005'>“You snake! It is a joy to throttle you, to see
your lying tongue palsied! Your forked tongue that
has stung with its venom God’s best and purest. A
thousand deaths could not pay for the ruin you have
made, you viper!” and the Major’s eyes, red with
passion and fury, glared into the terrified ones beneath
him.</p>
<p class='c005'>It is a fearful thing to see a man, made in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>image of God, unchain the passions of his soul and
allow them to control him. Major Walden was, for
the time, a madman.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Hold on, what’s the matter here?” cried a voice,
and a hand grasped the collar of the would-be murderer.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I should think the fellow was holding on with a
vengeance,” said another voice. “Come, let up that
fellow, or you’ll be an assassin.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Releasing his hand from his victim’s throat, Major
Walden wrenched himself free from the intruder’s
clutch, and planting his foot upon the prostrate
man, turned defiantly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Is it murder to kill a reptile—a miserable, venomous
viper?” he hissed.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Good God! It is the Major. Have you gone
mad, friend? What does this mean?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It means that I’ve nearly or quite squeezed the
life out of that villain Teasdale. I’ll assure you I
shall not let him go till I’ve finished him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Markham! O Markham!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Agnes!” he faltered, as he heard the tones of her
voice, so pathetic in its intensity.</p>
<p class='c005'>She stood before him, her hands clasped, her pale
face agonized with fear and supplication.</p>
<p class='c005'>It was a scene for a painter. The gladiatorial attitude
of the Major, the frightened faces of Lissa, Elinor,
and Alice, with Nathan and Mark standing at
either side as rescuers.</p>
<p class='c005'>“‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the
Lord,’” feebly quoted Agnes.</p>
<p class='c005'>The Major’s hands fell. He took his foot from
<span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>Teasdale’s body as the man began to breathe and
struggle to rise.</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark bent forward to assist him, then started
back in disgust.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s that contemptible hound Russell,” he said,
with a gesture of abhorrence. “Lie where you are,
sir, you travesty upon man, until we see about this!
Lie still, or, by the powers, I’ll finish you myself!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Get him out of my sight, or I’ll not answer for
the results!” the Major cried in a hoarse voice.
“There is all of murder in my heart, and my conscience
would not trouble me more than if I had
killed a snake.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The lock-up’s the place for him. He’s unfit to
run loose,” said Mark.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I’m sorry to be found in such company, Captain
Cramer, but Nathan will explain to you my cause of
provocation,” Walden continued. “And this letter
will explain to you,” turning to Mrs. Lucien.</p>
<p class='c005'>He took a letter from his pocket with a dead letter
stamp upon it, and handed it to her. “This has but
recently been returned to me from Washington.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Wait! He shall explain,” cried Nathan, catching
the battered and bleeding Teasdale, or Russell, by
the collar and jerking him forward.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Here, you knave, explain to these ladies that
those letters you wrote and sent were but forgeries,
fabricated and secreted by you or your emissaries, to
work ruin and unhappiness.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Russell gulped and gasped in an effort to speak.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Speak! Out with it! Tell the truth!” Mark
commanded savagely.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>“I admit it,” he groaned at last. “I wrote the letters
and bribed a servant to hide them in a desk at
the Major’s house when his wife was away from
home, in the hope that he might find them and believe
that she was false to him. She knew nothing
of them, nor did she ever receive a letter from me.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Oh, wretched man! How could you conceive of
such infamy!” murmured Agnes, turning away her
pallid face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“It is to be hoped you will receive a just reward
for your wickedness,” said Mrs. Wylie, who in the
light of this scene could unravel all the mysteries
that had so long puzzled her with regard to Mrs. Lucien’s
past history.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He shall receive it if there is any justice in this
land of ours,” said Mark. “This is not the only
crime he has to answer for. What could have been
your object in this case, you dog?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Revenge!” Russell uttered the word with an evil
sneer.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Can you ever forgive me, Agnes?” Major Walden
had turned from Russell and was looking at Agnes
beseechingly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“As I hope to be forgiven, Markham,” she replied
solemnly.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Thank you. It is more than I have a right to
expect. I—” His voice broke in its utterance, and
he turned away to recover his self-control.</p>
<p class='c005'>“And now what shall we do with this fellow?”
asked Nathan. “Turn him over to the police?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“He certainly should not be allowed to go about
leaving in his wake the slimy trail of the serpent,”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>responded Mark. “I’ll swear out a warrant charging
him with abducting Esther McCleary.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“There are reasons,” said Major Walden, “why it
might be unpleasant to bring my affair into court.
However, I am ready to testify against him if
needed.”</p>
<p class='c005'>Mark turned again toward Russell, but to his consternation
and astonishment the man had vanished.
Before the eyes of six persons he had managed to
glide away unobserved. They looked up and down
the streets, peered into stairways, and searched alleys,
but he was not to be found. He had disappeared
as suddenly and entirely as though the
ground had opened and swallowed him.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A guard of his imps must have snatched him
away,” said Nathan as the men came back from
their search to the place they had left the women.</p>
<p class='c005'>“Perhaps he assumed his natural form and slithered
away on the ground to his den,” said Walden.</p>
<p class='c005'>“I imagine the fellow must have hypnotized us,”
Mark replied. “I can’t account for his getting away
without being seen by some of us by any other hypothesis.
But let us believe it is good riddance.
He’ll not be apt to trouble any of us again. I should
like to have had him reveal Esther’s whereabouts,
however.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“It’s a pity he’s at large to ruin other homes,”
Mrs. Wylie murmured. “But if God permits him
to live, I suppose we may.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Markham!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Agnes!” The Major turned toward his former
wife and stood with bowed head and dejected countenance.</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>“I must ask you a question which has been upon
my lips since I met you, but which I am almost—afraid
to ask. Is Freddie alive?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, Agnes, yes. He is with me. I will send
him to you at once. Oh, my God!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What is it? Is he ill? Is anything wrong concerning
him, my precious boy?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, he is well,” he groaned. “Freddie is well,
and bright and good. You may well be proud of
him.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Thank God, oh, thank God!” She put her handkerchief
to her eyes and sobbed for very joy. The
other women wept with her. Finally, while her
moistened eyes shone with the happiness of the moment,
she said tremulously: “I have news for you,
Markham. I want to tell you what perhaps I should
not have kept from you, that God sent me solace for
the loss of my children. A little girl was born to
me soon after the death of my darlings. She is with
me here at the hotel. Do you care to see her, your
child, the little Dolores?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, only—Good God, I cannot!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Markham, I do not understand you. Have you
aught against me now?” Agnes Walden said, raising
her eyes, now filled with doubt and questioning, to
search his face.</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, no; Heaven knows I have not, but—some
one tell her. I cannot.” Major Walden turned
from her and walked forward several paces, his face
set and drawn.</p>
<p class='c005'>“He has another family, another wife,” said Lissa
softly. “God pity both him and you!”</p>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>
<h2 class='c007'>CHAPTER XXXIII<br> <span class='large'>CONCLUSION</span></h2>
</div>
<p class='c011'>It is radiant summer-time and the June roses are
making the air sweet with fragrance. June breezes
are fanning alike the flower-crowned prairie of the
West and the crowded thoroughfares of the Eastern
cities.</p>
<p class='c005'>The electric current has bridged distances and
connected the breath-note of Chicago with that of
New York. By it we can listen to the voices of our
friends, across the mighty expanse of the continent.
We can even store up their words and songs and reecho
them at will. A strange force is this invisible
current of which we are now learning the Alpha.
What its ultimate possibilities are, who shall determine?
With it the opposing forces of nature are
made subservient and the very winds can be made
messengers between physical and sentient beings.</p>
<p class='c005'>We look at the trolley car passing our door and
wonder at the power that propels it. Little by little
we are opening our souls to the reception of beliefs
in the invisible powers of nature.</p>
<p class='c005'>How far is it to the end? What new and marvelous
revelations shall each succeeding year bring to
us?</p>
<p class='c011'>A reception is being held in the parlors of the
hotel where the scene of our first chapter was laid.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>Forest City has become a town of metropolitan proportions
and its citizens are among the most progressive
people of these twentieth century days.</p>
<p class='c005'>Among the guests filling the parlors are several
whose names are household words throughout our
land.</p>
<p class='c005'>“A strange case,” says one, “that reported of
double identity. A Welshman half of the time and
an Englishman the other half, and the two wholly
unacquainted with each other.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Did you hear,” inquires another, “of the psychic
experience of Dr. Seba?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“No, what was it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, as I heard it, the Doctor was out one day at
the farther end of Grande Avenue, and on his way
home, when he felt an impelling force direct him to
go to a certain house. It was a place which he had
never before visited, and he could not account for the
power which moved him. However, he yielded to
the influence, and arrived just in time to save the life
of a lady taken with hemorrhage from the lungs.
He prescribed for her, wondering that no one expressed
any surprise at seeing him there, and did
not know until he reached his down-town office that
a telephone message directing him to that same place
awaited him, having been received by his clerk after
he had left the office.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“How do you account for it?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Telepathy. The message was taken to him by a
mental current, no more mysterious nor wonderful
than that which propels that electric fan there. All
the mechanism of the world is governed by unchanging
<span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>law. Thought transference, hypnotism, clairaudience
and clairvoyance are undoubtedly governed
by laws which, when understood, may appear simple.
Science is a divine revelation, and some genius will
be given the key by which its mysteries shall be deciphered.
Tesla’s discoveries are opening the door
to a before-closed world of knowledge. The Roentgen
ray has proven supposed opaque bodies transparent.
Who among us would not have denied a few
years ago the possibility of such a thing? And then
think of wireless telegraphy, another wonderful discovery.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Of course you have read Hudson’s explanation of
psychic phenomena?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; his idea of subjective mind explains much
of the before-unexplained, so-called spirit manifestations,
at least to my satisfaction; but there is much
more that I would like to understand. It will be
some time, I imagine, before we shall equal the Hindoos
in the knowledge of psychic forces. I confess,
when I read of some of their performances, I am
ready to believe it supernatural.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“True, but think how much is no longer mysterious
which, a few years ago, was deemed supernatural!”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes, we are a progressive people. For one thing,
Doctor, mental therapeutics has done much to prevent
the mortality from drug-poisoning. Don’t you
think so?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ahem! Well, yes, perhaps it has. The great
trouble is, when a person is given a glimmering of
a great truth he immediately jumps at conclusions
<span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>and carries the idea beyond the bounds of common
sense. I am Rosicrucian enough to believe that nature
has given an antidote to every ill human flesh
is heir to, and that every leaf and flower that grows
has its beneficent uses if we were wise enough to
understand them. I don’t deny that the mind has
much to do with the condition of the body, but I believe
even mind influence has its limitations. Of
course, nervous and hysterical people are most susceptible
to it, and oftentimes diseases exist only in
the mind.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What do you think of hypnotism as a factor in
healing, Doctor?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Well, the French have been experimenting somewhat
with that. It is even a more dangerous agent
to use than electricity. Hypnotism may be dangerous
even if self-imposed. For one thing, I believe
it is enervating to the will, and a person controlled
by the will of another may be evilly influenced.
Again, what is insanity but the loss of control of
the will over the subjective mind. Each time a
person yields himself to the control of another or
suffers himself to be put in the condition called
trance, is he not approaching the borderland of insanity?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“I suppose, generally speaking, a sound nervous
organization is not susceptible to hypnotic influence.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Not as susceptible as the more frail, disturbed
ones.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Doctor, it is a great thing to control delirium
and render a subject insensible to pain, even during
a surgical operation.”</p>
<p class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>“Yes, if it can be done. I am told that it has been
done, and may serve with a certain class of subjects;
but it will not reset a broken arm nor remove a cancer.
I have not much use for it.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Beware, Doctor, we have not learned all its possibilities
yet. By the way, that Major Walden and
his wife are a fine couple.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; did you ever hear that they had been twice
married?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Twice married? No; how was that?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Why, it seems that a rascally spirit-medium separated
them ten or fifteen years ago, and the Major
married again. Fortunately, or unfortunately as the
case may be, number two was smashed up in a railway
wreck and the story turned out in the orthodox
fashion. She herself used to be a clairvoyant or
something of the kind.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“What, not that pretty woman he has with him
now?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“The same. I heard her myself once, out in Denver.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ugh! That is incredible. She is the last one I
should think of connecting with the idea of spirit-mediumship.
She looks as innocent as an angel.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Ah, my friend, see what prejudice will do. She
is as innocent as one, in my opinion. She was merely
self-deceived as to the source of her power, and not
understanding it, supposed it supernatural. It is a
wonder it had not either killed her or made her insane,
for even self-imposed hypnotism, as I said before,
seems to weaken and wear both the mental and
physical beings, and where one escapes injury, many
<span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span>suffer from it. But we all hug our delusions. The
more monstrous, the dearer they are to us.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“And yet, as you have already stated, what may
appear false to us in one generation may prove to be
truth in the next.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“Yes; but remember the hunter after Truth took
from his breast the shuttle of Imagination and
wound on it the thread of his wishes, and so wove
his net to entrap Truth. What we must do is to
hunt for Truth with a different net, one in which
credulity and desire have no place.”</p>
<p class='c005'>“But, Doctor, who shall determine when we have
complied with the requirements? May each generation
pass away, holding but a feather from Truth’s
wing in his hand? Shall we believe in nothing of
which a shadow of doubt remains in our minds?
What creed—what <em>ism</em> can bear the test?”</p>
<p class='c005'>“We read, ‘By their fruits ye shall know them.’
We are also told that Truth is the work of God,
falsehood the work of man. If any belief bear evil
fruit, shall we not reject it? According to Froude,
‘The practical <em>effect</em> of a belief is the real test of its
soundness.’ Let us apply that test to modern beliefs.
Wherever we find misery, wretchedness, or demoralization
concomitant or subsequent, let us reject the
creed or belief as false and dangerous.”</p>
<p class='c011'>We have been told to learn of the philosophers
always to look for natural causes in all extraordinary
events; and when such natural causes are wanting,
recur to God.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c004'>
</div>
<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'>
<div class='chapter ph2'>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<ol class='ol_1 c003'>
<li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.
</li>
<li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
</li>
</ol>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69307 ***</div>
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