I saw that they were listening impatiently and more than once Roberta tried to interrupt me, but I persisted and said what I had to say as well as I could, with all the love in my heart, for I knew that my precious Penelope's fate was hanging in the balance.

When I had finished Roberta got up from the bed where she had been sitting and lighted a cigarette.

"Now, then, it's my turn," she began. I could see her eyes shining with an evil purpose. "You've heard her pretty little speech, Pen. You've heard her talk about the wonderful power of G.o.d's love, and a great rigamarole about how it guards us from all evil, if we say our prayers and confess our sins and so on. I say that is all bunk, and I can prove it. Take women--they've always said their prayers more than men, always confessed their sins more than men, always been more loving than men, haven't they? And what's the result? Has G.o.d protected them from the evils of life more than men? He has not. G.o.d has let women get the worst of it right straight along through the centuries. Women have always been the slaves of men, haven't they?--in spite of all their love and devotion, in spite of all their prayers and tears? How do you account for that?"

She flashed this at me with a wicked little toss of her head and Penelope chimed in: "Yes, I'd like to know that myself." But, when I tried to answer, Roberta cut me off with a new flood of violence.

"I'll let you know how I account for it," she went on angrily. "It's because all the churches in the world, all the smug preachers in the world, like you, have gone on shooting out this very same kind of hot air that you've been giving us; and the women, silly fools, have fallen for it. _But not the men!_ The women have tried to live by love and prayer and unselfishness; they have said: 'G.o.d's will be done,' 'G.o.d will protect us'; and what is the result? How has G.o.d protected the women, who _did_ believe? And how has He punished the men who refused to believe? He has made the men masters of the world, lords of everything; and He has kept the women in bondage, hasn't He?--in factory bondage, in nursery bondage, in prost.i.tution bondage? Is what I say true, or isn't it true? I ask you, I ask any person who has got such a thing as a clear brain and is not simply a mushy sentimentalist, is what I say true?"

Again I tried to answer, but again she cut me short and rushed on in a blaze of excitement.

"So it has been through all the pitiful history of women, until a few years ago, the poor, foolish creatures began to wake up. At last women are getting rid of their delusions and emerging from their slavery--why?

Because they have begun to imitate men, and go straight after the thing they want, the thing that is worth while, _by using their power as women_, and not depending upon the power of love or the power of G.o.d or any other power. Believe me, the greatest power in the world is the power of women _as women_, and we may as well use it to the limit, just as men would. We can get anything we want out of men by learning to use this power, and, I tell you, Pen, there isn't anything better in this good old United States than money. So far men have had the money, they've ground it out of the poor and the ignorant, especially women, but now women are going after money and getting it, just like the men.

Why not? If I want a sable coat and a limousine and a nice duplex apartment, why shouldn't I have them, if I can get them without breaking the law? And I _can_ get them; so can you, Pen, if you'll play the cards you hold in your hand. Haven't I done it? You don't see me eating in Childs restaurants to any great extent these days, do you? And I'm not worrying about clothes, or about paying my rent."

The poison of her words was stealing into Penelope's soul and defiling it, yet I was powerless to restrain her.

"Listen to this, child, and remember it, women are the equals of men today in every line, and they're going to have their full share of the good things of life. They're going to have freedom, and that means the right to do as they please without asking the permission of any man.

Women are going to have their own latch keys and their own bank accounts. They're going to cut off their hair and put pockets in their skirts, and have babies, if they feel like it, or not have them, if they don't feel like it. The greatest revolution the world has ever known is going on now, it's the revolution of women. Let the men open their eyes!

How did women get the suffrage? Was it by praying for it? Was it by the power of love? Was it by the mercy of G.o.d? No! They got the suffrage by fighting for it, by going out and hustling for it, just the way men hustle for what they want. If women had depended on the power of G.o.d's love to give them the suffrage, they wouldn't have got it in a million years."

Of course, those were not Roberta's exact words, but I am sure I have given the substance of them, and I cannot exaggerate the defiant bitterness of her tone. She was a powerful devil's advocate and I saw that wavering Penelope (if it still was Penelope) was deeply impressed by this false and wicked reasoning. She looked at me out of her wonderful eyes--unflinching, cruel, then the balance swung against me.

"I believe you are right, Roberta Vallis," she spoke with raised forefinger and a show of judicial consideration. "It's a bold speech for a woman, I never heard the thing put that way before, but--I'm d.a.m.ned if I see what the answer is except--"

"Oh, Penelope!" I interrupted, trying in vain to reach her with my eyes.

"You shut up," she answered spitefully. "I said I'm _d.a.m.ned_ if I see what the answer is except your answer, Bobby, that women have always been fools and dupes--dupes of religious superst.i.tion invented by men for the benefit of men and never accepted by men."

Roberta applauded this. "Bravo! little one! I'll tell that to Kendall Brown. _Women have always been dupes of religious superst.i.tion invented by men for the benefit of men and never accepted by men!_ Go on! Tell us some more."

And Penelope went on, flinging aside all restraint, while my heart sank.

"Take my own life. Look at it! I had an ign.o.ble husband. Why didn't I leave him? Because I was loving, trusting. I thought I could save him. I said prayers for him. I asked G.o.d to strengthen him. And what was the result? The result was that Julian not only destroyed himself, but he destroyed what was best in me. Did G.o.d interfere? Did G.o.d give any manifestation of His infinite love? Not so that you could notice it."

She paused with heaving bosom and then swept on in her mad discourse.

"And then, when I was left alone in the world, what happened? I went abroad as a Red Cross nurse. I tried my best to help in the war. I took care of the wounded--under fire. I bore every hardship. I said my prayers. And G.o.d put a curse upon me--yes He did. He took all chance of happiness and health and love away from me. He made me do things that I never meant to do, that I don't remember doing."

Her cheeks were burning scarlet, her eyes shone like black stars. I tried to stop her. "My darling, you are ill!"

"Ill? Who made me ill? G.o.d made me ill, didn't He? That's my reward, isn't it? That's what has come of all my love and faith. If that's what G.o.d does, you can have Him. I don't want Him. I'll go with Roberta.

I'll do as Roberta does--yes, I will." She almost screamed the words.

How I prayed then for wisdom!

"No--no!" I said slowly but firmly. "You will _not_ go with Roberta. You will go with me."

"I must say I like your impertinence," Roberta put in, her face white, her voice trembling with fury. "This happens to be my apartment, Mrs.

Seraphine Walters, and now you can get d.a.m.ned well out of it."

I saw that I could no nothing more, for Penelope's eyes were hard set against me. They both wanted me to go.

"Good night. G.o.d bless you, dear," I said.

"Don't you worry about G.o.d's blessing us. You can tell Him the next time you make your report that there is a young woman named Roberta Vallis living at the Hotel des Artistes who is getting along quite well, thank you, without--"

"Don't say it, please don't say it," I begged. "You have no idea what dangers are threatening, what evil powers are about us--even now--here."

She laughed in my face. "I snap my fingers at your evil powers and your G.o.d of Love. I don't believe in either of them. I'm not afraid of either of them. Evil powers! Ha! Let them come if they want to. Here! We'll drink defiance to the powers of evil. Come on, Pen!"

"Defiance to the powers of evil," laughed my poor soul-sick Penelope, lifting her gla.s.s.

With a shudder I watched these two tragically led young women as they stood there, draped in white, and drank this sacrilegious toast; then, heavy-hearted, I came away.

It was nearly four o'clock when I reached my home and I was so exhausted by the emotions of the night that I lay down without undressing and almost immediately fell into a troubled sleep. Then, suddenly, I awoke with a start of alarm and a sense that a voice had called me. And, though my bedroom was dark, I distinctly saw a white vaporish form pa.s.sing over me as if someone had blown a cloud of tobacco smoke in my face. Once before I had had this experience of a white form pa.s.sing over me--it was when my mother died.

I got up quickly, knowing that this was a summons, and, as I put on my hat and cloak, I heard my control telling me that I must go to Penelope.

I knelt down and prayed that I might not be too late. Then I hurried back to the hotel and got there at half-past five. It was still night.

A sleepy elevator girl took me up to Roberta's apartment and I found that the door opened at my touch. In another moment I was standing in the silent hall looking down a long pa.s.sage that led to Penelope's bedroom. The bedroom door was ajar and a dim light from the chamber illumined the way before me.

Thus far I had acted swiftly, almost mechanically, knowing that I had only one thing to do, and I had been aware of no particular emotion except a natural anxiety; but now, the moment I entered this apartment and closed the door behind me, I was conscious of a freezing, paralyzing fear, a sensation as real as the touch of a hand or the sound of a bell. It was something that could not be resisted. I was bathed in an atmosphere of terror. I was afraid to a degree that made my breath stop, my heart stop....

The pa.s.sage leading to Penelope's bedroom was not more than six yards long, but it seemed as if it took me an hour to traverse it. I could scarcely force my lagging steps, one by one, to carry me. And every hideous moment brought me the vision of Penelope lying on that curtained bed, her beautiful face distorted, her eager young life--crushed out of her. Oh G.o.d, how I prayed!

When at last I came into the bedroom I faced another struggle. There was absolute silence. No sound of breathing from the bed, although I saw a woman's form under the sheets. But not her face, which was hidden by the curtain. For a long time I stood beside that bed, rigid with fear, before I found courage to draw the curtain back. At last I drew it back and--there lay Penelope, sleeping peacefully, quite unharmed. I was stunned with relief, with amazement and--suddenly her eyes opened and she gave a wild but joyful cry and flung her arms around my neck, sobbing hysterically.

"Oh! Oh! My dear, dear Seraphine! You came to me. You forgave me. You did not abandon your poor Penelope." She clung to me like a child in frantic, pitiful terror.

Then she told me that she too had gone through a frightful experience.

When Roberta had left her, about an hour before, to sleep in the adjoining apartment, as they had arranged with Margaret G----, Penelope had tried to compose herself on her pillow, but she had scarcely fallen into a doze when she was awakened by the same sense of horrible fear that had overcome me. She was about to die--by violence. An a.s.sa.s.sin was coming--he was near her. She could hardly breathe. It was almost beyond her power to rise from the bed and search the apartment, but she did this. There was nothing, and yet the terror persisted. She huddled herself under the bed-covers and waited, saying her prayers. And when I entered the apartment and came down the pa.s.sage--so slowly, so stealthily!--she _knew_ it was the murderer coming to kill her. And when I paused at her bedside--how long it was before I drew the curtain!--she almost died again, waiting for the blow.

Of course I did not leave Penelope after this, but comforted her and prayed with her and rejoiced that her madness was past. Then we tried to sleep, locked in each other's arms, but, shortly after six, there came a timid knock at the door and, all of a tremble, Jeanne entered, Penelope's French maid who had come with her mistress to Roberta's party and had occupied a small room overhead, and she told us with hysterical sobs that she had not closed her eyes all night for ghastly visions of Penelope murdered in her bed.

Now it is easy to scoff at premonitions and haunting fears, but there can be no doubt that on this night an evil spirit was present in Roberta's apartment, a hideous, destructive ent.i.ty that came and--wavered in its deadly purpose against Penelope, then--_manifested to Roberta Vallis in the adjoining apartment_, for when I went in there a little later I found Roberta--she who had mocked G.o.d and defied the powers of evil--I found her in her bed, her face convulsed with a look of indescribable terror--_dead!_

The hotel doctor reported it as a case of heart failure, but Doctor William Owen, who has an honest mind, acknowledged that all this was beyond his understanding. This tragedy made him realize at last that there may be sinister agencies in us and about us that cannot be dealt with by mere medical skill. And, at my pleading, he directed that Mrs.

Wells be placed immediately in the care of Dr. Edgar Leroy.

Thank G.o.d, my precious Penelope will receive psychic treatment before it is too late. There is no other hope for her but this.

CHAPTER XIV

POSSESSED