, but it sounded like Gertrude Forrest's voice.
I turned towards her, and saw her looking admiringly at this man whom I
could not help fearing.

His answer was a beaming smile and a few words, saying that knowledge
should never be boasted of.

That moment my jealousy, which had been allayed, now surged furiously in
me, and I determined that that very night I would match the strength of
my mind with the strength of his.

CHAPTER V

CHRISTMAS NIGHT--THE FORGING OF THE CHAIN

"You have more than redeemed your promise, Voltaire," said Tom Temple,
after a silence that was almost painful. "Certainly there is enough
romance and mystery in your story to satisfy any one. What do you think
of it, Justin?"--turning to me.

"Mr. Voltaire used the word 'imagination' in his story," I replied, "and
I think it would describe it very well. Still, it does not account for
much after one has read Dumas' _Memoirs of a Physician_."

"Am I to understand that you doubt the truth of my words?" asked
Voltaire sharply.

"I think your story is all it appears to be," I replied.

Honestly, however, I did not believe in one word of it. On the very face
of it, it was absurd. The idea of taking a spirit from a living body and
sending it after some one that was dead, in order that some secret might
be learned, might pass for a huge joke; but certainly it could not be
believed in by any well-balanced mind. At any rate, such was my
conviction.

"I have heard that Mr. Blake has attempted to write a novel," said
Voltaire. "Perhaps he believes my story is made on the same principle."

"Scarcely," I replied. "My novel was a failure. It caused no sensation
at all. Your story, on the other hand, is a brilliant success. See with
what breathless interest it was listened to, and how it haunts the
memories of your hearers even yet!"

This raised a slight titter. I do not know why it should, save that some
of the young ladies were frightened, and accepted the first opportunity
whereby they could in some way relieve their feelings. Anyhow it aroused
Mr. Voltaire, for, as he looked at me, there was the look of a demon in
his face, and his hand trembled.

"Do you doubt the existence of the forces I have mentioned?" he asked.
"Do you think that the matters to which I have referred exist only in
the mind? Are they, in your idea, no sciences in reality?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Voltaire," I replied, "but I am an Englishman. We are
thought by foreigners