n up that light! She is being strangled!"

"Please be silent!" said Clarke, almost angrily. "Take your hands from
her, gentlemen! You are too 'strong'--and do not startle her! Be quiet
everybody!"

Morton took his hand away in anger and disgust. "All this is a ruse to
weaken our grasp upon her," he thought. "Even the mother, so serene,
so candid, is aiding the deception."

"Things will happen now," remarked Mrs. Lambert, confidently; "she is
giving herself up at last."

The girl drew a long, deep, peaceful sigh, and became silent, so
silent that Morton, leaning far over, with suspended breath, his ear
almost to her lips, could detect no sound, no slightest movement, and
listening thus he had for an instant a singular vision of her. He
seemed to see her laughing silently at him from a distant upper corner
of the room, and for the moment secured a glimpse into a new and
amazing world--the world of darkness and silence wherein matter was
fluid, imponderable, an insubstantial world peopled, nevertheless,
with rustling, busy souls.

A sharp rapping began on the cone, a measured beat, which ended in a
clang, which startled Kate into a shriek. "Who is doing that?" she
asked, nervously.

"They are here," Clarke solemnly announced.

"Is that you, Waltie?" asked Mrs. Lambert, sweetly.

Three raps, loud and clear, answered "yes." A drumming on the cone
followed, and Mrs. Lambert, her voice full of maternal pride,
remarked: "Waltie is the life of our sittings--he's _such_ a rogue!
You must be a nice boy to-night--on account of these very
distinguished men."

"Rap, rap!" went the cone.

"Does that mean 'all right'?"

"Rap, rap, rap!" Yes.

"Is grandfather there?"

"Yes."

"Does he wish to speak to the gentlemen?"

"Yes."

"Are we sitting right?"

A decided thump--"No."

Guided by the rapping Mrs. Lambert and Kate moved down to the foot of
the table, sitting close beside Clarke, thus leaving Morton and
Weissmann alone with the sleeping girl. No sooner were they rearranged
than the table began to move, precisely as though pushed by the girl's
feet. Still guided by the rapping, Weissmann and Morton moved with the
table, but retained their threads of silk. Morton's pity had given
place to a feeling of resentment at this device to get them farther
away, and he drew his tell-tale thread tight across his finger. "If
she moves she is betrayed," he thought with hardening heart.

No sooner were they settled than a