Part 32 (1/2)
Kate gave him a reproving glance. ”You've been arguing--I can tell by your guilty looks.”
”Oh no, not at all; a mere statement of opinion--of no interest, I a.s.sure you.”
Kate's voice was eager. ”Mr. Clarke, Viola wants to sit for us--have you any objections?”
”Kate!” called Serviss. ”I am ashamed of you--”
”I a.s.sure you I didn't ask it--I didn't even hint towards it. 'Cross my heart--hope to die.'”
Morton was at the moment displeased, for he had been looking forward to a long and intimate conversation with Viola in the drawing-room, and would have been glad if Clarke had opposed it firmly--which he did not. Perhaps he saw a chance to turn the tables on his critics; at any rate, he rose, saying, ”I will talk with her and decide the matter,”
and followed Kate out of the room.
”What is it? What did she say?” queried Weissmann, bewilderedly.
Morton explained that Miss Lambert had particularly requested him to sit with her and talk to her ”guides,” and that she had expressed a particular desire for an immediate test.
Weissmann's eyes glittered with new interest. ”Very good. Why not? It is a fine opportunity. Do you not feel so?”
In truth he did not. The intrusion of the abnormal side of Viola's life seemed at the moment not merely inopportune but repulsive. As he entered the drawing-room he found her sitting in a low chair beside a small table on which stood a shaded lamp. Clarke was talking with her, and Serviss could detect even at a distance the depressing change which had come to her. Her girlish ecstasy was quite gone and in its place lay pallid languor and a look of appeal.
Clarke moved away as his host approached, and Viola, glancing up wanly and wistfully, said: ”Isn't it stupid? Just when I was so happy. I wanted this evening free, but they would not have it so. No sooner was I seated here than they began to work on me. They say they want to talk with you--my grandfather especially--and I, too, want you to do so--only I didn't intend to ask it to-night. Please be patient with me, won't you?”
”Do not distress yourself about that. I shall be very glad to sit. I was afraid Kate might be requesting it. I particularly warned her against mentioning the subject, but if your 'guides' wish it, and you are willing, be sure Dr. Weissmann and I will be most pleased. But, tell me, how did the change come? What began to happen?”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'BUT, TELL ME, HOW DID THE CHANGE COME? WHAT BEGAN TO HAPPEN?'”]
”The usual tapping--here on the table--then my hand wanted to write. I ignored it--I fought it. I didn't intend to yield, but they set to work undermining my will, and then I knew that I must consent or be strangled. As soon as I gave up they took their fingers from my throat, but they are here--my grandfather is just back of me--I can feel his heavy hand on my head. I'm sorry, Professor Serviss. I was having such a good time. I hope you won't despise me.”
”You are entirely too modest,” he answered, cheerily. ”We are highly favored. It's like having Paderewski volunteer to play for his dinner.”
His lightness of tone hurt her a little. ”You don't believe in me in the least, do you? You think I am an impostor?”
”Oh no. I believe in _you_.”
”But you've got to believe in these manifestations if you believe in me.”
”No, no, that does not follow,” he replied, quickly; then, perceiving that this involved him, ”All you do may possibly be explained without resort to the spiritualistic hypothesis--” He was embarra.s.sed by her gaze.
”Why are you so contemptuous of spiritualists? It is very hard to bear.”
He felt the rebuke. ”I am not contemptuous--”
”Yes, you are. Scientific people never speak of us without a laugh or a sneer, and it hurts. It confuses me, too. If good people like you care nothing about death--if you only laugh--”
”I beg your pardon, Miss Lambert, I never intended to be either harsh or contemptuous. I do not accept--I mean to say I am _unable_ to accept--your faith. I confess that my mind refuses to entertain the postulates of what Clarke considers a religion. I must be honest. I am a 'sceptic,' so far as your faith goes, but that does not mean that I do not believe in the sincerity of your mother; and as to your own powers--I do not wish to dogmatize, for the physical universe is a very large and complicate thing, and, young as I am”--here he smiled--”I don't pretend to a knowledge of all it contains.”
She accepted his explanation, and, with musing candor, replied: ”I don't really blame you. I suppose if these things had happened to some one else I would not have believed in them. I have thought a great deal of what you said to me. I want to get away from that house; I am hating Mr. Pratt more and more, and I will leave to-morrow if grandfather will only consent. If he comes to you to-night, tell him so--maybe my father will come, too. I want you to know my father. I'm sure you will like him. Isn't it strange that I have never been able to hear his voice?”
He ignored her question. ”I do not understand the motives of your 'guides'--I cannot conceive of myself sacrificing you to any cause whatsoever.”