t she was tolled along from one fakery to another, till at
last she found herself powerless in the grasp of her self-induced
coma. She is anxious to escape her slavery; she revolts, and is most
unhappy, but sees no way out. That's my present understanding of the
case. Now, what is your advice? What can I do? I am deeply interested
in the girl, but I have no authority to act."

"You shock and disgust me," said Serviss, profoundly moved. "The girl
seems too fine for such chicanery. Who is this man Clarke?"

"He was a sensational preacher in Brooklyn a few years ago, but a
hemorrhage in the pulpit cut short his career in the East. He came out
here and got better, but his wife, who had a weak heart, couldn't
stand the altitude. She died--a sacrifice to her husband. He's the
kind of a man who demands sacrifice. After his wife's death, he fairly
lived at the Lambert cottage, and is now in full control. The girl's
will is so weakened that she is but a puppet in the grasp of his
powerful personality."

Serviss was now absorbed in reconstructing his conception of Viola.
Her situation appealed to him with the greatest poignancy, but his
ability to help her seemed gone. Fair as she looked, she was to be
avoided, as one tainted with leprosy. His impression that first
afternoon had been true--she was beleaguered, if not lost.

Britt was saying: "If the girl were under age I'd appeal to the health
authorities of the state--I really would, much as I like Mrs.
Lambert--but she is of age, and, what is more to the point, Clarke has
won her love and confidence, and what can you do? He fills her
horizon, and the mother favors him. He talks to her of her daughter's
'mission to the world,' and such-like vapor, and has the girl herself
half convinced that her cataleptic states are of divine origin. I
confess I haven't felt free to make any real tests--you can't treat
her like a professional, you know--but she seems to have induced by
long practice a genuine coma, and until some clamp is applied I can't
say whether she or Clarke is the chief offender. Now what would you
do?"

Serviss burned with the heat of his anger. "Don't reveal to me any
more of this wretched business. I can't advise. If you, her physician,
and Lambert, her step-father, can't put a stop to it, what can I, a
passing stranger, do? I don't want to know anything more about it.
Why, man, it's diabolical! To warp and imprison a girl like that! To
think of that bewitching c