ated, with a perceptible shudder.

The mother, undisturbed by this plea, turned to Serviss with an
exultant smile. "Does she look like one breaking down?"

The girl rose from her chair like a tragedienne. "It isn't my body,
it's my mind!" she cried, with poignant inflection, clasping her head
with both her hands; and her look transformed her in the eyes of the
young scientist. It was the tragic gaze of one who confronts insanity
and death at a time when life should be at its sweetest. For an
instant she stood there absorbed in her terror, then dropped her
hands, and in a voice of entreaty, which melted all his distrust,
hurried on. "I want to know what is going on in my brain. I am losing
control of my _self_! I want some man of science like you to study me.
Your sister said you would help me, and you must! You think I
deceive--you thought so last night--but I don't. I knew nothing of
what went on. I didn't know that you were there. I don't know what I
do nor what I am. I want you men of science to investigate me. I will
submit to any test you like. You may fasten me in a cage, or padlock
me down--anything!--but I will not be advertised to the world as a
medium, and I must have rest from this strain. Don't you understand?
Can't you see how it will be?"

"I do," he answered, quickly. "I understand perfectly, and I will go
at once to see Mr. Clarke and intercede--"

"That is not enough. You must intercede with my grandfather and his
band, they are the ones who control me. Ask him to release me."

This request staggered the scientist. "My dear Miss Lambert, you will
pardon me, but I can't do that--I do not even believe in the existence
of your grandfather."

She stood in silence for a moment and then answered; "You would if his
hands were at your throat as they are at mine. He is just as real to
me as you are. He is listening this minute."

"That is a delusion."

"I wish it were," she bitterly and tragically answered. "The hands are
so real they choke me--that I know. I am helpless when he demands
things of me. He can lead me anywhere he wants me to go. He can use my
arms, my voice, as he wills. You must believe in him to help me. He
will listen to you, I feel that." She grew appealing again. "Your
sister believes in me--I am sure of that--and my heart went out to
her. Sometimes it seems as if all the world, even my own mother, were
willing to sacrifice me."

"Viola!" cried Mrs. Lambert, sharply. "You shall not