king for
this new personality, so distinct from the others.

"I am R.M. Waldron--Viola's father."

He seemed to wait for questions, and Serviss asked: "How do _you_ feel
about your daughter's mediumship? Are you not uneasy when you think of
what you are demanding of her?"

The invisible one sighed, hesitated, and replied with evident sadness:
"It troubles me to find her reluctant. I wish she were happier in the
work. It seems so important to us." Then the voice brightened. "But
perhaps it is only for a little while. After the public test--after
the truth of her mediumship is made manifest--I think, I hope, we will
ask less of her. Perhaps it will be possible to release her altogether
for a time; but for the present she is too valuable--" The sentence
was lost in a buzz of inarticulate whispering, as if two or three
friends were consulting. The opening and closing of lips could be
heard, and a stir within the horn was curiously trivial in effect, as
if a mouse were at play with a dry leaf.

"If I were to organize a committee of men like Weissmann and Tolman,
and other men of international fame, willing to test your daughter's
powers, will you give over this public demonstration--this publishing
of a challenge?"

Clarke interrupted almost angrily. "Not unless you promise to--"

"Be silent!" commanded Weissmann.

From the horn came a faint murmur, so dim, so far, Serviss could, with
difficulty, distinguish the words. "We will consider that. I am going.
Guard my girl. Good-bye."

The horn, again seemed to rest, and for a long time no sound or stir
broke the silence, till at last Viola began to writhe in her chair in
greater agony than before.

"I think she is waking," said Morton.

Mrs. Lambert answered, quickly: "No. Some great event is
preparing--when this paroxysm passes some very beautiful test will
come."

While Morton and Weissmann were considering this the girl again became
silent as a stone, and a moment later a clear, sweet sound pulsed
through the air as if an exquisite crystal bell had been struck. Then,
while still this signal trembled in his ear, a whispering noise
developed just before the young man's face, as if tremulous lips were
closing and unclosing in anxious effort to communicate a message
without the use of the trumpet.

"Is some one trying to speak to me?" he asked, gently.

Three measured strokes upon, the tiny bell replied, and with their
pulsations the room seemed to stir with a n