He was hushed by a swift chorus of hisses. The voice of Hallowell was
again uplifted.

"Why won't she answer me?" he begged hysterically of Vance. "Can't
you--can't the medium make her speak?"

During the last few moments the music from the organ had come brokenly.
The hands upon the keys moved unsteadily, drunkenly. Now they halted
altogether and in the middle of a chord the music sank and died. Upon
the now absolute silence the voice of Vance, when he spoke, sounded
strangely unfamiliar. It had lost the priest-like intonation. Its
confidence had departed. It showed bewilderment and alarm.

"I--I don't understand," stammered the showman. "Ask her again. Put your
question differently."

Carefully, slowly, giving each word its value, Mr. Hallowell raised his
voice in entreaty.

"Kate," he cried, "I have made a new will, leaving the money to the
poor. The old will gives it to Helen. Shall I sign the new will or not?
Shall I give the money to Helen, or the Institute? Answer me! Yes or
no."

Before the eyes of all, the apparition, as though retreating to the
cabinet, swayed backward, then staggered forward. There was a sob,
human, heart-broken, a cry, thrilling with distress; a tumult of
weeping, fierce and uncontrollable.

They saw the figure tear away the white kerchief and cap, and trample
them upon the floor. They saw the figure hold itself erect. From it, the
voice of Vera cried aloud, in despair.

"I can't! I can't!" she sobbed. "It's a lie! I am not your sister! Turn
on the lights," the girl cried. "Turn on the lights!"

There was a crash of upturned chairs, the sound of men struggling, and
the room was swept with light. In the doorway Winthrop was holding apart
Vance and the reporter.

In the centre of the room stood Vera, her head bent in shame, her body
shaken and trembling, her hair streaming to her waist.

As though to punish herself, by putting a climax to her humiliation, she
held out her arms to Helen Coates. "You see," she cried, "I am a cheat.
I am a fraud!" She sank suddenly to her knees in front of Mr. Hallowell.
"Forgive me," she sobbed, "forgive me!"

With a cry of angry protest, Winthrop ran to her and lifted her to her
feet. His eyes were filled with pity. But in the eyes of Mr. Hallowell
there was no promise of pardon. With sudden strength he struggled to his
feet and stood swaying, challenging those before him. His face was white
with anger, his jaw closed against mercy.

"You've