your child to such a career as Clarke
holds out to her. I love your daughter because she is a beautiful
girl, a charming personality, and I am able to give her security and
comfort. I will be perfectly frank with you. I think these trances
have been fastened upon her by those about her, and if she consents to
come to me I shall stop them forever. My aim will be to delude her
into thinking life with me of more value than the highest eminence as
a 'medium.' Now, if this seems treason to you, I cannot soften it. I
want you to fully understand my position. My schooling has been all in
the exact sciences, and what skill I possess I am using to make the
world a healthier and happier place to live in. Your way of life (and
Clarke's philosophy of life) seems to me weak and morbid, and your
treatment of your daughter mistakenly cruel. I intend to take her out
of it, if I can. And, furthermore, dear lady, if you withhold your
consent, which I profoundly hope you will not, I must proceed without
it. If she comes to me, she ceases to be a psychic. If I can prevent
it, she will never sit again."

The mother sat as if stunned by the weight of his will, the rush of
his words, the decision of his glance. She fully understood the
situation. She knew that Viola already leaned upon and trusted this
man more than any other being in the world, and knowing this she felt
the full force of the tragic situation. It was not a question of a
temporary separation, that she foresaw as by some prophetic vision.
Her baby, her clinging, loving girl-child was about to pass from her
arms forever, carrying with her all interest in life and all means of
communication with her dead. With her she was about to lose husband,
son--and all the blessed music of the happy multitudes of those on the
spirit-plane. It was as if the shining portals to the world of light
were about to be closed to her forever, closed and barred by the hand
of this implacable young lover, and with a sudden, most lamentable cry
she sobbed forth: "Oh, I can't consent! I can't bear to think of it!"

The sight of that placid, motherly face breaking into lines of anguish
while the gray old head bowed in weakness, completely unmanned the
self-centred young scientist, and bending above her, he tenderly
pleaded.

"Dear Mrs. Lambert, you wring my heart with your weeping. Don't cry, I
beg of you! I didn't intend to be harsh. I only intended to be honest
with you. I wish you would trust me. Let