ering and bringing forth
indistinguishable mutterings.

Suddenly she spoke in a loud, husky voice:

"Lopa is here!"

"Yes," Eugene said dryly. "That's what you said last time. I remember
'Lopa.' She's your 'control' I think you said."

"I'm Lopa," said the husky voice. "I'm Lopa herself."

"You mean I'm to suppose you're not Mrs. Horner now?"

"Never was Mrs. Horner!" the voice declared, speaking undeniably from
Mrs. Horner's lips--but with such conviction that Eugene, in spite of
everything, began to feel himself in the presence of a third party,
who was none the less an individual, even though she might be another
edition of the apparently somnambulistic Mrs. Horner. "Never was Mrs.
Horner or anybody but just Lopa. Guide."

"You mean you're Mrs. Horner's guide?" he asked.

"Your guide now," said the voice with emphasis, to which was
incongruously added a low laugh. "You came here once before. Lopa
remembers."

"Yes--so did Mrs. Horner."

Lopa overlooked his implication, and continued, quickly: "You build.
Build things that go. You came here once and old gentleman on this side,
he spoke to you. Same old gentleman here now. He tell Lopa he's your
grandfather--no, he says 'father.' He's your father."

"What's his appearance?"

"How?"

"What does he look like?"

"Very fine! White beard, but not long beard. He says someone else wants
to speak to you. See here. Lady. Not his wife, though. No. Very fine
lady! Fine lady, fine lady!"

"Is it my sister?" Eugene asked.

"Sister? No. She is shaking her head. She has pretty brown hair. She is
fond of you. She is someone who knows you very well but she is not your
sister. She is very anxious to say something to you--very anxious. Very
fond of you; very anxious to talk to you. Very glad you came here--oh,
very, glad!"

"What is her name?"

"Name," the voice repeated, and seemed to ruminate. "Name hard to
get--always very hard for Lopa. Name. She wants to tell me her name to
tell you. She wants you to understand names are hard to make. She says
you must think of something that makes a sound." Here the voice seemed
to put a question to an invisible presence and to receive an answer. "A
little sound or a big sound? She says it might be a little sound or a
big sound. She says a ring--oh, Lopa knows! She means a bell! That's it,
a bell."

Eugene looked grave. "Does she mean her name is Belle?"

"Not quite. Her name is longer."

"Perhaps," he suggested, "she