ney. The handsome woman has her
will leaving her everything if she dies."

"But will they really kill her?" insisted Bosio, half breathless in his
fear and nervous excitement.

The spirit voice did not answer. In the silence Bosio heard Giuditta
Astarita's breathing opposite to him.

"Will they really kill her?" he asked again.

Still there was silence, and Bosio held his breath. Then Giuditta spoke
hoarsely.

"The spirit is gone," she said. "He will not answer any more questions
to-day."

"Can you not call it back?" asked Bosio, anxiously, and peering into the
blackness before him, as though hoping to see something.

"No. When he is gone he never comes back for the same person. He
answered you many things, Signore. You must have patience."

He heard her rise, and a moment later the light dazzled him as he looked
up and met her china blue eyes. He was dazed as well as dazzled, for
there had been an extraordinary directness and accuracy about the few
questions and answers he had heard in the clear voice which was so
utterly unlike Giuditta's, though quite human and natural. He was
certain that he had not heard the door open after she had drawn the
curtains. He looked about the scantily furnished room, in search of
some corner in which some third person might have been hidden. Giuditta
Astarita's chronic smile was momentarily intensified.

"There was no one else here," she said, answering his unspoken question.
"You heard the spirit's voice through my ears."

"How can that be?"

"I do not know. But what the spirit says is true. You may rely upon it.
I do not know what it said, for when I return from the trance state I
remember nothing I have heard or seen while I have been in it. If you
wish to ask more, you must have the kindness to come again. It is very
fatiguing to me. You can see that I am not in good health. The hours are
from ten till three."

The smile had subsided within its usual limits, and the china blue eyes
stared coldly. She was evidently waiting to be paid.

"What do I owe you?" asked Bosio, with a certain considerateness of
tone, so to say.

"It is twenty-five lire," answered Giuditta Astarita. "I have but one
price. Thank you," she added, as he laid the notes upon the polished
walnut table. "Do you wish a few of my cards? For your friends, perhaps.
I shall be grateful for your patronage."

"Thank you," said Bosio, taking his hat and going towards the door. "I
have one of your cards. I