y have gained infallibility--a
knowledge of both past and future--merely by passing to the shadow
world?"

To this Clarke made answer: "That is precisely what we do believe.
They have predicted our future, they have laid out all our plans.
Their advice has brought us to our present high place, and we shall
continue in our course, despite you or any other doubter."

"They have brought you to a very dubious sort of success," Serviss
cuttingly replied, "But what about your victim? I know this city and
its ways. I realize, as none of you seem to do, the wasting injustice
you are about to inflict. Let me intercede--let me arrange some other
plan--"

On Clarke's face a sneering, one-sided smile crept as he answered:
"You are too late. Our plans are made, our programme published."

"What do you mean?"

"The reporters have just been here. The notice of my speech and a
broad hint of the nature of my challenge will appear in four of the
leading papers to-morrow morning--"

"But Viola's--Miss Lambert's name! You surely haven't used that?"

"Oh no. That is to follow. The challenge, with her name and defiance,
form the climax to my oration." He swelled with pride as he spoke, as
if visualizing himself on the platform, the centre of thousands of
eyes, the champion of reviving faith.

"Thank God for your vanity! There is still time for some one to
intervene," responded Serviss, minded to thrust him through.

Pratt shouldered in again. "What have you got to do with it, anyway?
Who asked you to interfere?"

"The chief person concerned--Miss Lambert herself."

Pratt was about to utter some further insult when Clarke
diplomatically interposed. "We want you to have a part in the work,
Dr. Serviss. We will welcome you to a committee of investigation, but
we cannot permit you to interfere with our plan. The 'Forces' are bent
on the work, and they are inexorable."

"It is you who are inexorable," replied the young scientist--"you and
this deluded mother."

This rapid dialogue had taken place in the wide hall just beneath the
huge chandelier whose light fell on Serviss's white forehead and
square, determined face. Pratt was confronting him with lowering brow,
a bear-like stoop in his shoulders, and the muttering growl of his
voice was again filling the room as Viola appeared upon the great
stairway. She came slowly, with one slim hand on the railing, as
though feeling her way, and at every step mysterious, jarring sounds
came