There was a greenish-yellow phosph.o.r.escent light--or I should say a luminous vapour rather than a light--which lay over the surface of the table. It rolled and wreathed and undulated in dim glimmering folds, turning and swirling like clouds of smoke. I could see the white, square-ended hands of the French medium in this baleful light.
"What a fun!" he cried. "It is splendid!"
"Shall we call the alphabet?" asked Moir.
"But no--for we can do much better," said our visitor. "It is but a clumsy thing to tilt the table for every letter of the alphabet, and with such a medium as madame we should do better than that."
"Yes, you will do better," said a voice.
"Who was that? Who spoke? Was that you, Markham?"
"No, I did not speak."
"It was madame who spoke."
"But it was not her voice."
"Is that you, Mrs. Delamere?"
"It is not the medium, but it is the power which uses the organs of the medium," said the strange, deep voice.
"Where is Mrs. Delamere? It will not hurt her, I trust."
"The medium is happy in another plane of existence. She has taken my place, as I have taken hers."
"Who are you?"
"It cannot matter to you who I am. I am one who has lived as you are living, and who has died as you will die."
We heard the creak and grate of a cab pulling up next door. There was an argument about the fare, and the cabman grumbled hoa.r.s.ely down the street. The green-yellow cloud still swirled faintly over the table, dull elsewhere, but glowing into a dim luminosity in the direction of the medium. It seemed to be piling itself up in front of her. A sense of fear and cold struck into my heart. It seemed to me that lightly and flippantly we had approached the most real and august of sacraments, that communion with the dead of which the fathers of the Church had spoken.
"Don"t you think we are going too far? Should we not break up this seance?" I cried.
But the others were all earnest to see the end of it. They laughed at my scruples.
"All the powers are made for use," said Harvey Deacon. "If we _can_ do this, we _should_ do this. Every new departure of knowledge has been called unlawful in its inception. It is right and proper that we should inquire into the nature of death."
"It is right and proper," said the voice.
"There, what more could you ask?" cried Moir, who was much excited. "Let us have a test. Will you give us a test that you are really there?"
"What test do you demand?"
"Well, now--I have some coins in my pocket. Will you tell me how many?"
"We come back in the hope of teaching and of elevating, and not to guess childish riddles."
"Ha, ha, Meester Moir, you catch it that time," cried the Frenchman.
"But surely this is very good sense what the Control is saying."
"It is a religion, not a game," said the cold, hard voice.
"Exactly--the very view I take of it," cried Moir. "I am sure I am very sorry if I have asked a foolish question. You will not tell me who you are?"
"What does it matter?"
"Have you been a spirit long?"
"Yes."
"How long?"
"We cannot reckon time as you do. Our conditions are different."
"Are you happy?"
"Yes."
"You would not wish to come back to life?"
"No--certainly not."
"Are you busy?"
"We could not be happy if we were not busy."
"What do you do?"
"I have said that the conditions are entirely different."
"Can you give us no idea of your work?"
"We labour for our own improvement and for the advancement of others."
"Do you like coming here to-night?"
"I am glad to come if I can do any good by coming."
"Then to do good is your object?"
"It is the object of all life on every plane."
"You see, Markham, that should answer your scruples."
It did, for my doubts had pa.s.sed and only interest remained.
"Have you pain in your life?" I asked.
"No; pain is a thing of the body."