Chapter XI: Book II: I (7)

When he dwelt on Viola's delight in her own vindication, and remembered her serene, sweet, trustful glance, a shiver of awe went over him, and the work of saving her, of healing her, seemed greater than the discovery of any new principle; but whenever his keen, definite, analytic mind took up the hit-or-miss absurd caperings of "the spirits" he paced the floor in revolt of their childish chicanery. That the soul survived death he could not for an instant entertain. Every principle of biology, every fibre woven into his system of philosophy repelled the thought. To grant one single claim of the spiritists was disaster. "No, the mother and Clarke are in league, and when the bonds are on one the other acts. I see no other explanation. I distrust Clarke utterly--but the mother is apparently very gentle and candid, and yet--Weissmann may be right. Maternal love is a very powerful emotion. That second voice was like hers. And yet, and yet, to suspect that gentle soul of deliberate deception is a terrible thing. What a world of vulgarity and disease and suspicion it all is! An accursed world, and the history of every medium is filled with these same insane, foolish, absurd doings."

And so he trod in weary circles, returning always to the same point, with an almost audible groan. "Why, _why_ was that charming girl involved in all this uncanny, hellish, destructive business? Clarke claims her. On him her fate depends. Perhaps at this moment her name and hideous reproductions of her face are being printed in all the sensational papers of the city. Oh, that crazy preacher! It may be that he has already made her rescue impossible." And always the dark, disturbing thought came at the end to trouble him. "Can she ever regain a normal relation with the world--even if I should interfere? She should have been freed from this traffic long ago. Can the science of suggestion reach her? Am I already too late?"

The conception that sank deepest and remained most abhorrent in his musings was that conveyed in her own tragic words: "_It seems to me I am becoming more and more like a public piano, an instrument on which any one can strum--and the other world is so crowded, you know!_"

"If there is any manhood left in Lambert he must assert it or I will throttle Clarke myself," he muttered through clinched teeth. "I ran away two years ago--I evaded my duty yesterday, but I do not intend to do so now. I will not sit by and see that sweet girl's will, her very reason, overthrown by a fanatic preacher eager for notoriety. I will see her again and demand to know from her own lips whether she is in consent to be his wife. I cannot believe it till she tells me so, and then I can decide as to future action."

And at the moment he was comforted by the recollection of something timidly confiding in her parting smile.

XV

VIOLA REVOLTS FROM CLARKE

No sooner were they seated in their carriage than Clarke broke forth in harsh protest. "You must not think of leaving Pratt's house at this time."

"Why not?" asked Viola, roused by the tone of his voice, which was even less considerate than his words.

"Because it will displease him--may possibly alienate him just at a moment when we need him most. He will not consent to be shut out from these test-sittings; on the contrary, he is likely to insist on their taking place in his own library. Furthermore, I don't see why you are in haste to leave so sumptuous an abode."

"Because I hate him, and all connected with him." Her voice was colored with a fierce disgust. "That is the reason, and reason enough."

"You must not let him know that."

"I don't care if he knows it or not. We are not dependent on him or his house."

"Yes, we are! He is most important to all of us until our tests are over and my book in type. I need his indorsement besides. He is very bitter and vindictive with those whom he thinks should be very grateful, and we must not anger him; we can't afford it."

Mrs. Lambert mildly protested. "I'm sure Mr. Pratt will not think of detaining us if father thinks it best for us to go, and I confess I am anxious to get away myself, Tony. He has been very disagreeable lately."

Clarke went on: "We must continue to let him think his advice and aid invaluable till our book is out, then we can cut loose from him. Our policy--"

Rebellion was in Viola's heart as she cuttingly interrupted: "You speak as if we were in league to cheat him of something. You have always told me that my powers were 'dedicated to the good of the world,' but lately you talk as if they were dedicated to your personal advancement in some way. Now which do you really mean?"

He saw his mistake. Once or twice before he had met her complete opposition, and he feared it. His voice suppled, became persuasive. "I mean, Viola, that in entering upon a great contest--one whose issue is to electrify the civilized world--"

"I don't believe it. What does the world care about a little speck of humanity like me? Professor Serviss is nearer right when he says that converting people to any creed is a thankless task. Ask grandfather to let me live my own life. He listens to you. Tell him I'm tired and--"

"He has promised to be easier on you after we have won our battle."

"But I dread the battle--oh, how I dread it! Professor Serviss says we will lose."

Clarke broke in, sharply: "Please don't quote what Serviss says. His view is that of the worldly wise materialist. You should listen to my advice--not his."

"You said you were anxious to have him on the committee."

"Yes, because I thought his name would count, and that he could bring Weissmann--but now I distrust him. He is too bigoted."

As he continued in this strain he stood in dark contrast to Morton, and the girl could not but wince under the revelation he was unconsciously making. "Anthony, you have talked in that strain ever since we came East. Nothing but using people, using people, all the time. You've been constantly running after those who could 'be of use to us!' and I don't like it. Every word you're saying now makes me doubt your sincerity. I was ashamed of you to-night--I am ashamed of you now. How can I respect you when you say things like that?"

He again tacked. "I do it all for the furtherance of our faith. To do our work we _must_ have authority. It is always necessary to make a big stir in the world in order to do good--think of Christ defying the money-changers and making a scene in the temple!"

She pursued her way. "It's the tone of your voice that scares me. You're a different person since we came here--you've been harsh and cruel to me." Her voice choked, and yielding to a flood of doubt she cried out: "I've lost faith in you. This ends it all, I will never marry you! I don't care what my 'guides' say. I daren't trust myself to you--now that's the truth."

The mother was aghast. "Why, Viola Lambert! What a terrible thing to say!"

"I can't help it, mother--that is my decision."

Clarke blundered a third time. "I won't release you! This mood is all the influence of those accursed pagans we have just left. That man Serviss has been an evil influence upon you from the very first. He has no God in his heart. You must keep away from that home--it is destructive."

"It is not!" she retorted, fiercely. "It is beautiful and honest and--sane, and I'm going there as often as they will let me--and I'm going to leave the Pratt house to-morrow! I will not stay there another day."

"There are others to be consulted about this," he grimly answered. "You have tried playing truant before."

She was now in full tide of revolt. "I am going to leave that house if I fall dead in the streets. I am going if 'they' choke me black in the face."

He sneered. "I know where you are going!"

At this moment she hated him and everything he stood for, and her voice was hoarse with her passion. "I don't care what you say or what you do, I will not be hounded and driven around like a slave by you or Simeon Pratt any longer. I'm going to have a little life of my own if 'they' tear me in pieces for it."

This outburst, so much more intense than any which had preceded it, alarmed Clarke and appalled Mrs. Lambert, who took her daughter in her arm with soothing words and caresses. "There, there, dearie! Don't worry--don't excite yourself. Father will not insist on your doing anything that will be harmful. He will protect you."

The girl, sobbing in reaction, bowed to the maternal bosom, feeling once more her own helplessness, receiving no help from her mother's sympathy, which was merely superficial. Her only hope of release lay in the strong, bright, self-reliant, humorous people she had just left, those to whom her grandfather and his "band" were less than shadows. They alone could save her from the despairing madness which she felt creeping upon her like a beast in the night. Her nerves, strung to dangerous tension, gave away utterly, and Clarke, realizing this, ceased to chide, and the ride ended without another word.

Pratt, who had been waiting for hours with the angry impatience of senility, met them at the door, truculent as a terrier. "What time o' night do you call this?" he asked, with insulting inflection.

Mrs. Lambert answered: "I'm very sorry, but we had a sitting, and it took longer--"

"A sitting!" He faced Viola. "What did you do that for? I told you I didn't want any sittings given unless I was present, and you promised not to give any."

"I did not!" she replied, lifting a tear-stained but imperious face to him.

"Well, Clarke did."

Clarke hastily interposed: "The 'chief control' asked for it--said he wanted to talk to some of those present."

"I don't care what the 'chief control' said--"

Viola, thoroughly roused, now faced him, pale and scornful. "What right have you to ask where I've been or what I've done? I am not your servant--nor one of your poor relatives. You seem to forget that. I will not be your guest another day! I'd leave this house this instant if I could. I came here against my wish, and I will not be insulted by you any longer. I wish I had never seen you." And with haughty step she started to pass him.

He put out a hand to stay her. "Hold on, now!"

With flashing eyes and a voice that smote him like a whip, she cried out, "Leave me alone, please!" He fell back against the wall, and she passed on and up the stairway, leaving him leaning there in dismay, his jaw lax.

The mother hastily followed, and as the door closed behind them Viola turned with blazing eyes. "This is horrible--disgraceful! I hope you enjoy being treated like that! How can you endure it? How can you ask me to endure it? If Anthony Clarke possessed one shred of real manhood--But he hasn't. He's so selfishly bent on his own plans he's willing to let me suffer anything. I'm done with him, mother. You needn't try to find excuse for him. I don't see how I endured him so long. He must never touch me again."

"Don't do anything rash, child."

"Will you submit to more insult? You can stay on till you are ordered out of the house if you like, but I will not!"

"But you know they advise it."

The girl turned, a new tone in her voice. "There, now, mother, we come back to that again! I'm tired of hearing that. If they insist on our staying here I will be sure they are the voices of devils and not those they claim to be. I don't believe my father would ask me to stay in a house where the very servants sniff at us. I don't believe he would let Anthony make use of me in this way. Professor Serviss calls our faith a delusion, and to-night I almost hope he's right. I have lost the spirit of the martyr, and everything seems foolish to me."

Mrs. Lambert regarded her daughter with horror. "Child, some earth-bound spirit has surely taken possession of you."

"I hope it will stay till to-morrow--till I get out of this house," she replied, and went to her own room without a good-night kiss, leaving her mother hurt and dismayed.

A few moments later Clarke knocked at the sitting-room door. "Julia, here is a message I want you to give to Viola."

As she opened to him he faced her, pale and tremulous, all his anger, all his resolution gone. "She was unjust to me," he said, humbly; "take her this." He extended a folded leaf of paper in a hand that partook of the pallor of his face.

"You poor boy," she exclaimed, her heart wrung by his suffering, "you mustn't mind what she said--it was only a girlish pet."

"Mother," he cried, passionately, "to lose her now would kill me. She is my hope, my stay, my God! She has stabbed me to the heart to-night. Did she mean it? She can't mean it!"

She patted him on the shoulder. "Go to bed, laddie, it's only a mood. She will be all sunshine to-morrow. It's only a reaction from a wearisome day--be patient and don't worry."

"She tortured me deliberately," he went on, wildly. "She let that man take her hand. She smiled at him in a way that set my brain on fire. I tried to be calm. I didn't intend to speak harshly, but I wanted to kill him when he said good-night to her. May God eternally damn his soul if he tries to steal her from me!"

She recoiled from his fury. "Tony! What are you saying?"

"I mean it! Do you think I will submit to his treachery? I told him she was mine, and yet he took her hand--he leaned to her--he looked into her face." His eyes blazed with such wild light that the gentle woman shrank and shivered.

"Tony, you are letting your imagination run away with you. Go to bed this instant," she commanded, in a voice that trembled.

He went away at last, weeping, miserably maudlin, almost incoherent, and when she closed and locked the door upon him she dropped into a chair, and for the first time since her husband's death gave way to tears of bewilderment and despair.

XVI

THE HOUSE OF DISCORD

Surely Simeon's house that night was a place of tormenting and tumult--the meeting-place of spirits whose dispositions were to evil fully inclined, and of mortals whose natures were upon the edge of combat. Viola, in full revolt, would not even permit her mother to come to her. Clarke, in an agony of love and hate, paced his room or sat in dejected heap before his grate. Mrs. Lambert, realizing that something sorrowful was advancing upon her, lay awake a long time hoping her daughter would relent and steal in to kiss her good-night, but she did not, and at last the waters of sleep rolled in to submerge and carry away her cares.

Viola, made restless by her disgust of Pratt as well as by her loss of respect and confidence in Clarke, did not lose herself till nearly dawn. Her mind was at first busy with the past, filled with a procession of the many things he had done to enrich her life. She was troubled by the remembrance of the grave, sad courtesy of his intercourse in the days just following his wife's death. At that time his kindly supervision of her music and his suggestions for her reading had given him dignity and romantic charm. "He was nice then," she said to herself. "If only he had stopped there." When he fell at her feet in the attempt to rouse her pity he had been degraded in her eyes. His whole manner towards her became that of suppliant--beseeching the "guides" to sanction their ultimate union. She burned with shame as she thought of her tacit acquiescence in this arrangement. "You have no right to interfere with my--with such things," she now said to the invisible ones. "I do not love Anthony Clarke. I don't even respect him any longer."

He had, indeed, become almost as offensive to her as Pratt, and the picturesque, soulful presence which he affected was at the moment repugnant. In contrast to the young scientist he was mentally and morally sick, and the world which he inhabited (and which she shared with him) hopelessly askew. Of this she had a clear perception as her mind recalled and dwelt upon the taste, the comfort, the orderly cheer of the Serviss home.

"We never made the spirit-world so awful. Mamma did not take such an excited view of it all. What has produced this change in us? Tony has. He has carried us out into a nasty world and he has set us among frauds and fanatics, and I will not suffer it any longer."

She did him an injustice, but she was at the same time right. Mrs. Lambert, left to herself, would have kept a serene mind no matter what the manifestations might be. With her the world of spirit interpenetrated the world of every-day life, and the one was quite as natural as the other and of helpful, cheering effect. She had remained quite as normal in her ways of thought as when in Colorow, and aside from her dependence upon the spirit-world for guidance would not have seemed at any point to be akin to either fraud or fanatic.

At last the girl's restless mind, cleared of its anger, its doubts and its doles, came back to rest upon the handsome, humorous, refined face of young Dr. Serviss. She felt again the touch of his deft, strong hands, and heard again the tender cadence of his voice as he said: "I hope you are not in pain? We will release you very soon." She dwelt long upon the final scene at the table, when, with a jesting word on his lips, but with love in his eyes, he took her hand to remove the marks of her bonds; and the flush that came to her was not one of anger--it rose from the return of her joy of those few moments of sweet companionship.

How sane and strong and safe he was. "He does not believe in our faith, but he does not hate me. How Dr. Weissmann loves him! They are like father and son."

Thinking upon these people and their home, with their griefs, their easy, off-hand, penetrating comments, their laughter filling her ears, the girl grew drowsy with some foreknowledge of happier days to come, and fell asleep with a faint smile upon her lips.

She woke late to find her mother bending over her, and lifting her arms she drew the gray head down to her soft, young bosom and penitently said: "Mamma, forgive me. I am sorry I spoke as I did. I am not angry this morning, but I am determined. We must go away from here this very day."

The mother did not at once reply, but when she spoke her voice trembled a little. "I guess you're right, dearie. This house seems like a prison to me this morning. But what troubles me most is this: Why do Maynard and father permit us to stay here? I am afraid of Mr. Pratt--everybody says he will make us trouble, and yet our dear ones urge us to remain."

"Mamma," gravely replied Viola, "I want to tell you something that came to me this morning. I wonder if _what grandfather says is not made up of what Pratt and Anthony want_?"

"What do you mean, child?" asked the mother, sitting back into a chair and staring at her daughter with vague alarm.

"I mean that--that--grandfather, strong as he seems to be, is influenced in some way by Tony. He goes against my wishes and against your wishes, but _he never goes against Tony's_."

The mother pondered. "But that is because Tony is content to follow _his_ will."

The girl lost her firm tone. "I know that interpretation can be given to it, but to-day I _feel_ that it is the other way, and, besides, it may be that grandfather doesn't realize all our troubles."

The mother rose. "It's all very worrisome, and I wish some change would come. I dread to meet Mr. Pratt, but I suppose I must."

"Don't go down. I don't intend to see him again if I can avoid it. Ring for your coffee and take your breakfast here with me this morning."

"No. That would only make him angry. I'll go down."

"I don't care what he says, mamma, I shall do as I like hereafter."

With this defiant reply ringing in her ears, Mrs. Lambert went slowly down the stairs to find the master of the house, sullen, sour, and vindictive, breakfasting alone in his great dining-room. As she timidly entered he looked up from his toast with a grunt of greeting, and Mrs. Lambert, seeing that his resentment still smouldered, stopped on the threshold pale with premonition of assault. She would have fled had she dared to do so, but the maid drew a chair for her, and so she seated herself opposite him in silence.

"Where's that girl?" he asked, harshly.

"She's not feeling very well this morning, so I told her she needn't come down to breakfast."

He grunted in scorn. "What happened over there last night? Everybody seems upset by it. I want to know all about it. You had a sitting, did you?"

"Yes."

"Whose idea was that--Clarke's?"

"No, father wanted to speak with Dr. Serviss and Dr. Weissmann."

"Weissmann was there, was he? What did _he_ say?"

"He seemed impressed."

"What happened?"

"Father came, as usual--"

"I mean what happened outside the séance? Something set that girl against me and upset Clarke. I want to know what it was."

"I don't think anything was said of you at all."

"Yes, there was. You can't fool me. Somebody warned that girl against me. The whole thing seems funny to me." (By funny he meant strange.) "You go away from my house for a dinner against my will--leave me in the lurch--and come home at one o'clock in the morning with faces that would sour milk, and now here you are all avoiding me this morning. It just convinces me that if we're going to carry on this work together we've got to have a definite understanding. You've got to stop going to such houses and giving séances without my permission. I won't have that under any conditions."

Clarke, who had appeared at the doorway, a worn, and troubled spectre of dismay, now put in a confirmatory word. "You are quite right, Simeon. That house reeks with the talk of wine-bibbers and those who make life a witticism. Such an atmosphere profoundly affects Viola."

Pratt glowered at him with keen, contemptuous glance. "You look as if you'd been drawn through a knot-hole. What happened to _you_?" As Clarke did not reply to this he took another line of inquiry. "About this sitting, what was the upshot?"

"It was a very remarkable test-sitting, and seemed to make a profound impression. The conditions were severe--"

"Why was I left out? That's what I want to know."

"That's what puzzles me. McLeod, who promised us never to have a circle without you, insisted on the sitting there--"

"How do you know he did? Did he write or speak to you?"

"No--he _impressed_ the psychic."

"I don't trust that girl in such a house. Did you talk with Weissmann about heading the committee?"

"Yes, but"--he hesitated--"they both insisted that if they took the matter up both of us must be excluded."

Pratt bristled. "And you consented to that?"

"I did not. I insisted that the sittings take place here and that we be present. They would not listen to that, so I think I'll go ahead on my programme and decide upon the personnel of the committee afterwards."

Pratt regarded him fixedly. "I'm not sure I like your programme, my friend. I've been thinking it over lately, and I've just about come to the conclusion that you'd better not issue that challenge."

"Why not?"

Pratt snapped like a peevish bull-dog. "Because I don't want it done--that's all the reason you need. I've never made any concessions to reach these damn scientists, and I don't intend to begin now. You are planning to involve us in a whole lot of noise and sensation, and I don't like it. Furthermore, I don't intend to submit to it."

Clarke was too irritable to take this quietly, and his eyes blazed. "You're very sensitive all at once. When did you reach this new point of view?"

"Never you mind about that; I've reached it, and I intend to maintain it. Why, you simple-minded jackass, these scientists will eat you up. They'll make a monkey of me and disgrace the girl. They'll pretend to expose her--the press will be on their side--and I will be made the butt of all their slurring gibes. I won't have it!"

"You're too nervous about the press," replied Clarke, loftily. "You're all wrong about the papers. They'll take a malicious joy in girding at the scientists as 'the men who know it all.' They'll have their fling at us, of course, but it won't hurt."

"Oh, it won't! Well, it may not hurt you--it's a fine stroke of advertising for you--but I don't need that kind of publicity. That's settled! Now, about this man Serviss"--he turned to Mrs. Lambert--"is he married?"

"No."

"I thought not. How long has he known Viola?"

"It's nearly two years since he came to Colorow; but he has only seen her a few times--"

Pratt cut her short. "I begin to understand. You'd better not let him mix in here--he's too young and too good-looking to conduct experiments of this kind with your girl. If you had any sense, Clarke, you'd see that for yourself."

Clarke's expression changed. His cheeks grew livid with his passion, and his eyes burned with the same wild light that had filled them as he looked across the room at Morton bending over Viola's hand. Pratt's brutal frankness had cleared his own thought and re-aroused his sense of proprietorship in the girl. Until that dinner came with its revelation, he had thought of Serviss merely as the scientist to be used to further his own plans. Now he knew him for what he was--a young and dangerous rival. With a sinking of the heart he suspected him to be a successful rival.

He rose from the table and left the room, and Mrs. Lambert followed him fearful of what he might do in his rage.

"Tony, Tony!" she called.

He turned and faced her, his face set in horrible lines, his fists clinched. "I've been a fool, a fool!" he declared, through set teeth. "Why didn't you warn me? I should have made her safely my own before I came East. She loves him, but he shall not have her--by God he shall not! Where is she? Tell her I must see her!"

She pleaded for delay, and at last calmed him so that he left her and went to his room. She then hastened to Viola and locked the door behind her.

"Viola, dear, get ready! We must leave this house at once," she said, breathlessly.

"What has happened?" asked Viola.

Mrs. Lambert took time to think. "It was very disagreeable. They are wrangling again about that challenge and about you."

"About me! Yes, that's what wears on me--they wrangle about me as if I had no right to say what part I am to take. But it's all over, mother; unless grandfather holds me by the throat every mortal minute to-day I'm going into the street--"

A knock at the door startled them both, but it proved to be the maid, who said, "Here is a note from Mr. Clarke, miss; he said, 'be sure and bring an answer,' miss."

The note was a passionate appeal for a meeting, but Viola wrote across it in firm letters, "No. It is useless," and returned it to the girl. "Take that to him," she said, careless of the fact that her refusal was open to the eyes of the messenger.

When they were again in private she said: "We'll go if we have to telephone the police to help us. And I'm going to wire Papa-Joe to come and take us home."

"You are cruel to Tony, child."

"No, I'm not! He must understand, once for all, that I belong to myself. I never really cared for him. Deep in my heart I was afraid of him, and now he has grown so egotistical that he is willing to sacrifice me to his own aims, and I hate him. I will not see him again if I can avoid it."

The mother protested less and less strongly, for she was forced to admit that something fine and true had gone out of her idol, and that he now stood in a new and harsh light. All the hard lines of his face appeared to her, and his pallor, his deep-set eyes were those of a sick and restless soul. She no longer rejoiced at the thought of giving her daughter into his hands.

Clarke was truly in a pitiable state of incertitude and despair. His oration, his interdicted challenge, his book, his religion were all swallowed in by the one great passion which now flooded and filled his brain--his love for Viola. "She belongs to me," he repeated, as he walked his room with shaking limbs, a dry, hard knot in his throat, his eyes hot with tears that would not fall. "She must surrender herself to me--finally and now--to-day, I will wait no longer. She must leave this house at once--but she must go as my wife! She is right. Pratt is a beast--a savage. He will rage--he will vilify us both, but we will defy him. Our 'guides' will confound him. We are, after all, not dependent upon him. We can go on--" The maid, returning, handed him Viola's answer and went hastily out. He read it and reread it till its finality burned into his brain, then dropped into a deep chair and there lay for a long time in despairing stupor.

Was it all over, then? Was her final decision in that curt scrawl? She had returned his own note as if with intent to emphasize her refusal to see him, and yet only a few days ago she had assented to all his plans, leaning upon his advice. What had produced this antagonism? What evil influence was at work?

He rose on a sudden, fierce return of self-mastery, and went to Mrs. Lambert's door and knocked, and when she opened to him demanded of her a full explanation. "What is the matter? Is she sick or is she hatefully avoiding me?"

"She's all upset, Anthony. Don't worry, she will see you by-and-by."

"She _must_ see me! After what she said last night I can't think--I am in agony. What is the matter with us all? Yesterday we were triumphant; to-day I feel as if everything were sinking under my feet. She shall not leave me! I will not have it so! Tell her I insist on seeing her! I beg her to speak to me if only for a moment."

"I will tell her you are here." She left him at the threshold, a haggard and humble suitor, while she knocked at her daughter's door. "Viola, child, Anthony is here. Let me in just a moment."

As he waited the half-frenzied man noted the absence of certain family portraits and cried aloud, poignantly: "She is packing! She is going away!" And when Mrs. Lambert returned he seized her by the arm, his eyes wild and menacing. "Tell me the truth! She is preparing to leave."

Mrs. Lambert looked away. "I tried to reason with her, Anthony. I wanted her to 'sit for council,' but she's so crazy to get away she will not do it. She will hardly speak to _me_."

"She must not go--she shall not leave me! I will not permit her to go to him!" His voice rose and his lifted hand shook.

"Hush, Tony! She will hear you. Please go away and let me deal with her."

He lifted his face and spoke with closed eyes. "Donald McLeod, if you are present, intercede for me. Bring her to me. Command her to remain. You gave her to me. You led us here. Will you permit her to ruin all our plans? Stretch out your hand in power. Do you hear me?" There was no answer to his appeal, neither tap nor rustle of reply. In the silence his heart contracted with fear. "Have you deserted me, too?" Then his brain waxed hot with mad hate. His hand clinched in a savage vow. "I swear I will kill her before I will let her go to that man! Together we will enter the spirit-world."

He sprang towards the door, but Mrs. Lambert, with eyes expanded in horror, caught him by the arm. "Tony, Tony! What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

Her hand upon his arm, her face drawn and white with fear, recalled him to himself. He laughed harshly. "No--oh no; I'm not mad, but it's enough to make me so. I didn't mean it--of course I didn't mean it."

"You are dreadfully wrought up, Tony. Go out and walk and clear your brain, and by-and-by we'll sit for council."

In the end she again persuaded him to return to his chamber, but he did not leave the house--neither could he rest. Every word the girl had said of his selfishness, his egotism, burned like poison in his brain. Had his hold on her been so slight, after all? "She despises me. She hates me!" And in his heart he despised and hated himself. He cursed his poverty, his lack of resource. "Why am I, the evangel of this faith, dependent on others for revelation. Why must I beg and cringe for money, for power?" He was in the full surge of this flood of indignant query when Pratt shuffled into his room.

"Some reporters below want to see you. I guess you better--"

Clarke turned, the glare of madness in his eyes. "Curse you and your reporters! Go away from me! I don't want to be bothered by you nor by them."

Pratt stared in dull surprise, which turned slowly to anger. "What's the matter with you _now_?" he roared. "Damn you, anyway. You've upset my whole house with your crazy notions. Everything was moving along nicely till you got this bug of a big speech into your head, and then everything in my life turns topsy-turvy. To hell with you and your book! You can't use me to advertise yourself. I want you to understand that right now. I see your scheme, and it don't work with me."

He was urging himself into a frenzy--his jaws working, his eyes glittering, like those of a boar about to charge, all his concealed dislike, his jealousy of the preacher's growing fame and of his control of Viola turning rapidly into hate. "I don't know why you're eating my bread," he shouted, hoarsely. "I've put up with you as long as I am going to. You're nothing but a renegade preacher, a dead-beat, and a hypocrite. Get out before I kick you out!"

This brought the miserable evangel to a stand. "I'll go," he said, defiantly, "but I'll take your psychic with me--we'll go together."

"Go and be damned to the whole tribe of ye!" retorted Pratt, purple with fury. "Go, and I'll publish you for a set o' leeches--that's what I'll do," and with this threat he turned on his heel and went out, leaving Clarke stupefied, blinded by the force of his imprecations.

The situation had taken another turn for the worse. To leave the house of his own will was bad enough; to be kicked out by his host, and to be followed by his curse was desolating. "And yet this I could endure if only she would speak to me--would go with me."

He fell at last into a deep gulf of self-pity. Yesterday, now so far away, so irrevocable, was full of faith, of promise, of happiness, of grand purpose; now every path was hid by sliding sand. The world was a chaos. His book, his splendid mission, his communion with Adele, his very life, depended upon this wondrous psychic. Without her the world was a chaos, life a failure, and his faith a bitter, mocking lie. With a sobbing groan he covered his face, his heart utterly gone, his brain benumbed, his future black as night.

And yet outside the window, in reach of his hand, the spring sunlight vividly fell. The waves of the river glittered like glass and ships moved to and fro like butterflies. The sky was full of snowy clouds--harbingers of the warm winds of spring. Sparrows twittered along the eaves, and the mighty city, with joy in its prosaic heart, was pacing majestically into the new and pleasant month.

XVII

WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE

At breakfast next morning Morton took up the paper with apprehension, and though he found Clarke's name spread widely on the page, he was relieved to find only one allusion to the unknown psychic on whose mystic power the orator was depending.

"She has another day of grace," he said to himself, thinking of Lambert.

All the way down to his laboratory he pretended to read the news, but could not succeed in interesting himself in the wars and famines of the world, so much more vital and absorbing were his own passions and retreats, so filmy was the abstract, so concrete and vital the particular. A million children might be starving in India, a thousand virgins about to be sold to slavery in Turkestan; but such intelligence counted little to a man struggling with doubt of the woman he loves, and questioning further the right of any philosopher to marry and bring children into a life of bafflement and pain and ultimate annihilation.

This must ever be so. The particular must outweigh the general, and philosophers, even the monists, must continue to be inconsistent. The individual must of necessity consider himself first and humanity afterwards; for if all men considered the welfare of the race to the neglect of self, the race would die at the root and the individual perish of his too-widely diffused pity. To be the altruist, one must first be the egoist (say the philosophers), to give, one must first have.

The questions which filled this implacable young investigator's mind were these: Is my love worthy? And again: Dare I, insisting on man's unity with all other organisms and subject to the same laws of extinction, entertain the idea of marriage? If the theories I hold are true--if the soul of a child is no more than the animating principle of the ant or the ape (and this I cannot deny)--then of what avail is human life? By what right do men bring other organisms into being knowing that they will only flutter a little while in the sun like butterflies and die as unavailingly as moths?

Up to this time he had accepted with a certain calm pitilessness the most inexorable tenets of the evolutionists, and had defended them with remorseless zeal; but on this fair spring morning, with love for Viola stirring in his heart, he found himself far less disposed to crush and confound. He acknowledged a growing sympathy with those who mourn the tragic fact of death.

All that he had read concerning clairvoyance, telepathy, hypnotism, and their allied subjects began to assume new significance and a weightier importance. He was annoyed to find himself profoundly concerned as to whether the power of "suggestion" was anything like as coercive as many eminent men believed it to be, and in this awakened interest he 'phoned Tolman (upon reaching his desk), asking him to lunch with him at the club. "If there is anything in his philosophy I want to know it," he said, as he turned to his desk.

He found no word from Lambert, and this troubled him. "If he does not come to-day I must act alone," he concluded, and attempted to take up his work, but found his brain preoccupied, his hand heavy.

Weissmann came in late, looking old and worn. He, too, had passed a restless night. He nodded curtly to his assistant and set to work without reference to the sitting or the psychic; and yet Morton was very sure his chief's mind was as profoundly engaged as his own, and a little later in the forenoon he stopped at his desk and said: "Lunch, with me, doctor; I have asked Tolman, and I want to talk things over with you both."

Weissmann consented in blunt abstraction, and the work proceeded quite in the regular routine so far as he was concerned.

Tolman was the farthest remove from the traditional mesmerist in appearance, being a brisk, blond man of exceeding neatness and taste in dress. He wore the most fashionable clothing, his hair and beard were in perfect order, and his hands were very beautiful. He was, indeed, vain of his slender fingers and gesticulated overmuch. His voice also was a little over-assertive, but his eyes were clear, steady, and strong.

As they took seats in the cheerful sunlit dining-room of the Mid-day Club, the three theorists formed a notable group and one that attracted general comment, but their conversation would have astonished the easygoing publishers and professional men who were chatting at neighboring tables, so full of interrogation and assertion was each specialist.

As Tolman rose to speak to a friend at a table across the room, Weissmann confidentially remarked: "I did not sleep last night, not a wink. I could not satisfy myself about those performances. Therefore I smoked and studied. Last night's test proved nothing to me except that the girl had nothing to do with the phenomena."

The young man's heart glowed at these words and he feelingly replied. "To prove that would mean a great deal to me, doctor."

Weissmann's tired face lighted up. "So! Then you are interested in her? You love her? I was right, eh?" he asked, with true German directness.

Serviss protested. "Oh no! I haven't said that; but it troubled me to think of her as a possible trickster. Please don't hint such a thing in Tolman's hearing."

As the hypnotist returned to his seat, Serviss opened up the special discussion by asking him his opinion of the claims of spiritualists.

This question threw Tolman into a roar. "That from you, and in the presence of Weissmann, is a 'facer'! What has come over Morton Serviss that he should invite me to a lunch to talk over a case of hysterico-epilepsy, and start in by asking my opinion of spiritualism? Come, now, out with the real question."

Serviss perceived the folly of any subterfuge, and briefly presented Viola's history, without naming her, of course, and ended by describing in detail the sitting of the night before, while Tolman ate imperturbably at his chop and toast with only now and then a word or a keen glance.

When the story was finished, he looked up, like a lawyer assuming charge of a witness. "Now there's a whole volume to say upon what you've told me, and our time is limited to a chapter. Make your questions specific. What point do you particularly want my opinion on?"

"First of all, has the preacher in this case been controlling the girl?"

"Undoubtedly, but not to the extent you imagine."

"Has the mother?"

"Yes. She has been a great and constant source of suggestion."

"You would advise taking the patient out of her present surroundings, would you not?"

"Yes, that would be helpful, but is not absolutely necessary. The essential step is to fill her mind with counter-suggestions." Here he launched into an exposition of the principles and potentialities of hypnotism, and was in full tide of it when Weissmann interrupted to ask:

"But suppose these phenomena actually and independently exist? Suppose that they are not illusions but objective realities, how then will your suggestion help?"

This put Tolman on his mettle. He entered into a discourse filled with phrases like "secondary consciousness," "collective hallucinations," "nerve-force," wherein, while admitting that great and good men believed in the phenomena of "spiritism," he concluded that they were overhasty in assigning causes. For his part, the realm of hallucination was boundless. "The mind has the power to create a world of its own--it often does so, and--"

Here Weissmann again broke in. "You will enroll yourself with Aksakof and Von Hartmann and Lombroso?"

"Not precisely. They admit the reality of the appearances. I do not believe that the mind has power to dematerialize objects, as in the case of your wine-glass last night, which was a trick."

"But the mind can produce a blister without external cause," said Serviss. "You hypnotic sharps have proved that it can also deaden nerves and heal skin diseases, if not bone fractures."

"Yes, we produce marvellous cures within the organism, but we draw the line at the periphery of the body. Telekinesis is to me the word of a lively fictionist."

"One is as easy to believe as the other, and Crookes, Lodge, Lombroso, Tamburini, Aksakof, Von Hartmann, all believe in the reality of these happenings," retorted Serviss. "They differ only in their explanations. One party believes them due to disembodied spirits, the other relates them to the inexplicable action of a certain psychic force generated within the sitters and acting on objects at a distance. I am not yet persuaded of the phenomena, but I am progressing. I am willing to admit that these gentlemen are entitled to a respectful hearing."

Tolman resumed his own explanation, and after several premises and general statements put a case. "For example, take automatic writing. You begin by placing a pad and pencil before the mind. That suggests writing--sets up a certain train of associated ideas. These ideas have the innate tendency to realize themselves, the will of the subject being weakened. This is why the left hand is often used. These ideas disassociate themselves from the rest of the mental organism and may, in highly developed cases, become what is called a 'secondary personality.' They may give a weak imitation of discourse. They may assume a vague resemblance to some other individual, but they can never give a full statement or a new statement. This is why all the so-called spirit communications are so fragmentary and so futile. The cure of any such state is to set up a strong current of counter-suggestion."

Weissmann asked: "Is it not extravagant to say that there can exist in the unconscious mind of a young girl, a skill so great as will enable her to draw intricate patterns, manipulate objects at a distance, and impersonate dead persons unknown to her?"

"But there you have passed into the region of hallucination or deceit."

"I'm not so sure of that. I do not see how fraud or hallucination can come into the most of what we saw last night. I will admit that coming alone by itself the test would have little weight; but it does not come alone. The literature of the subject is great and growing."

Tolman smiled. "Yes, the newspapers are filled with accounts of mediums exposed."

They entered then upon a discussion of the trance, and passed to a consideration of multiple personality, which brought out many singular facts. "We learned also," Tolman said in discussion of a certain case which he had studied, "that certain drugs have the power of arousing specific nerve-centres, and that in cases of alternating personality by flooding the brain with blood we were able to bring back the normal self."

"Doesn't that weaken your argument of the power of mind over matter?" asked Serviss, profoundly interested in this assertion.

"Not at all. It is my belief in the drug that influences the patient."

Serviss laughed and Weissmann's mouth twitched. "You cannot head them off--these modern mind-specialists! They plunge into the subconscious like prairie-dogs into the sod, only to come up at a new point."

Tolman's interest in the unknown psychic was now keen, and he asked for a chance to try his powers.

To this Serviss was strongly averse. "I have never had a chance at a case of this kind and I would very much like to experiment. Perhaps I may need you; but if suggestion is what you claim it to be, if the power is really in the mind of the subject, I can arouse it as well as any one. But as a believer in matter I would like to ally myself with the drug you mention."

"Very well, here is the prescription." He jotted down on a card a few hieroglyphic phrases. "And now I must hurry away. I'm sorry, but I have an engagement."

Serviss took his hand cordially. "I'm glad to have had this talk with you. It has suggested a new train of thought to me."

"If you need me on the case you mention, be sure to let me know. It sounds mighty interesting, and I'd like a hand in it."

After Tolman left, Weissmann remarked: "There is a school of thinkers which believes that exceptional individuals may have the power to effect molecular changes in matter at a distance."

"Yes, I know that. I spent most of the night reading the Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, in which that theory has a large place."

"Well, may it not be that Miss Lambert has this power? May it not be that she is able in some such way as that suggested by Lombroso, to impart cerebral movements to the ether and so modify matter as to produce movement of objects, telekinetic writing, and all the rest of it?"

"That is too violent an assumption. We might as well surrender to the spiritists at once. What evidence have we that Clarke did not rise and tiptoe about the room manipulating the horn himself?"

"We have our own observation, joined to the report of Crookes and Richet."

"But Crookes is discredited on this score. He belongs to what Haeckel calls 'the imaginative scientists.' So do Von Hartmann, Lombroso, Wallace, and Lodge."

"Why should that be? Why should we accept their testimony on gases and the spectrum, and exclude it when it comes to a question of phenomena new to us? 'This man is a great chemist and physicist,' you say,'but a crazy ass when he sets to work to examine the claims of spiritism,' which is absurd and unjust. So far as I can see, he examined the phenomena of spiritism quite as a scientist should."

Morton believed that his chief was taking the opposing side out of perversity and replied: "I admit that as you read, they seem reasonable, and I also admit that the experiments with Eusapia, especially the recent ones, ought to be conclusive to my mind, but they are not. That is the singular thing--they do not convince."

"That is because we do not clear our minds of prejudice. These men are far-sighted and profound in their own lines. They have exposed themselves to sneers by going into these new fields. They are to be honored as pioneers. Why not believe the phenomena they discuss are at least worth our attention?"

"That is Clarke's plea."

"Precisely! And he is right. I am less critical of him to-day than I was last night. He gave his psychic over into our hands. What more could we ask?"

"He might have absented himself."

"He may do that next time."

"No; he was furious when I suggested the idea."

"My interest is awakened. It may be, as Clarke says, that this young lady is about to give the world of science a new outlook. It may be that she is to out-do Home and Eusapia."

Morton's face was cold and his voice firm as he said: "Not if I can prevent it. My zeal as an investigator does not go so far as that. I intend to free her from all connection with this uneasy world, and to that end I have wired her step-father to come on, and with his assistance I hope to end Clarke's control of her and set to work upon the cure she expects of me."