_Thursday night._

I thought I should never be happy again, but whatever the future holds for me of darkness and sadness, I have had one radiantly happy day.

Christopher telephoned this morning and arrived half an hour later with an armful of roses. He took me to luncheon, then for a drive in the Park, then to tea at the Plaza where we danced to delicious music, and finally to dinner and the theater. He would not leave me. And over and over again he asked me to marry him. He will not hear of anything but that I am to be his wife. He loves me, he worships me, he trusts me absolutely. Nothing that has happened makes the slightest difference to him. Dr. Owen is going to cure me in a few weeks, there is no doubt about it, Christopher says, and anyhow, he loves me.

If I were in Europe now I'd make a pilgrimage to the shrine of some saint and heap up offerings of flowers. I _must_ do something to make others happy; my heart is overflowing with grat.i.tude!

I thrilled with pride as I walked beside my lover on the Avenue this afternoon. He looked so tall and splendid in his uniform. I love his eyes--his shoulders--everything about him. My Christopher!

I am to give him his answer within a week, but--_what answer can I give him?_

_Friday morning._

Alas! I have paid for my happiness--it was written, it had to be. I have lived through a night that cannot be described. Seraphine's prophetic words have come true. Horror! Terror! I cannot bear it any longer. It is quite impossible for me to bear it any longer. I have sent for Seraphine, begging her to come to me at once--this afternoon, this evening, any time tonight, before I sleep again. I would sooner die than endure another such night.

_Sat.u.r.day morning._

Seraphine did not get my note until late, but in spite of a snow-storm, she came to me and stayed all night. Dear Seraphine! She spends her life helping and comforting people in distress. She sees nothing but trouble from morning till night, yet she is always cheerful and jolly. She says G.o.d wants her to laugh and grow fat, so she does.

We talked for hours and I told her everything--or nearly everything.

There is only one abominable memory that I can never tell to anyone, I may write it some day in the red leather volume of my diary that is locked with a key and that must be burned before I die. I told Seraphine how I was suddenly awakened Thursday night by a horrible feeling that there was a _presence_ near me in my bedroom. Then I slept again and saw myself all in white lying on the ground surrounded by a circle of black birds with hateful red eyes--fiery eyes. These birds came nearer and nearer and I knew I was suffering horribly as I lay there, yet I looked on calmly without a shred of sympathy for myself; in fact I felt only amused contempt when I saw the dream image of poor Penelope start up from the ground with a scream of fright.

While I opened my heart Seraphine sat silent, watching me like a loving mother. Several times she touched my arm protectingly, and once her gaze swept quickly down my skirt, then up again, as if she saw something moving.

"What is it? What do you see?" I asked, but she did not tell me.

When I had finished she kissed me tenderly and said she was so glad I had let her come to me in my distress. She told me there was a great and immediate danger hanging over me, but that G.o.d's infinite love would protect and heal me, as it protects all His children, if I would learn to draw upon it.

I asked what this danger was and Seraphine said it would strike at me very soon through a dark-haired woman; but she would try to help me, if I would heed her warnings. I don't know why but I immediately thought of Roberta Vallis, and the strange part of it is that within an hour, Roberta called me on the telephone to say she was coming up right away.

Roberta and Seraphine had not seen each other for years, not since that night when Seraphine made her prophecy about me.

Within a half hour Roberta arrived very grand in furs and jewels, quite dashingly pretty and pleased with herself--the real _joie de vivre_ spirit. She was perfectly willing to reveal the source of this sudden magnificence, but I did not ask her--I know enough of Bobby's love affairs already--and I could see that she was uneasy under Seraphine's gravely disapproving eyes. She had come to invite me to a house-warming party that she is planning to give at her new apartment in the Hotel des Artistes. I shall meet all sorts of wonderful people, social and theatrical celebrities, and there will be music. Seraphine's eyes kept saying no, and I told Bobby I would telephone her tomorrow before six o'clock. I was not sure whether I could accept because--"Haven't you an engagement for Thursday with Captain Herrick?" suggested Seraphine.

Whereupon Bobby, with an impertinent little toss of her bobbed-off black hair, said: "Oh, Pen, why do you waste your time on a commonplace architect? He will never satisfy you--not in a thousand years. Bye-bye, I'll see you at the party." Then away she went, her eyes challenging Seraphine who stands for all the old homely virtues, including unselfish love, that Bobby Vallis entirely disapproves of. What shall I do?

Seraphine says I must not go to this party, but--_I want to go!_

I have accepted Roberta's invitation, in spite of a warning from Seraphine that something dreadful will happen to me if I go. I have a morbid curiosity to see what experiences _can_ be in store for me that are worse than those I have gone through already. Besides, I do not believe what Seraphine says--it is contrary to my reason, it is altogether fantastic. And, even if it were true, even if I really am in the horrible peril that she describes, what difference does it make where I go or what I do? I am just a spiritual outcast, marked for suffering--a little more or less _je m'en moque_.

I have hesitated to write down Seraphine's explanation of my trouble, even in my diary. I reject it with all the strength of my soul. I consider it absurd, I hate it, I try to forget it; but alas! it sticks in my thoughts like some ridiculous jingle. So I may as well face the thing on paper, here in the privacy of my diary, and laugh at it. Ha, ha!--is that false-sounding laughter?

_Seraphine says that the great war has thrown the spirit world into confusion, especially in the lower levels where the new arrivals come and linger. Millions, have died on the battle field in hatred and violence. Great numbers of these have gone over so suddenly that they are not able to adjust themselves to the other plane where they const.i.tute an immense company of earth-bound souls that long to come back. There are myriads of these unreconciled souls hovering all about us, crowding about us, eagerly, greedily, striving to come back. Some do not know that they are dead and rebel fiercely against their changed condition. The drunkards still thirst after drink. The murderers want to go on killing. The gluttons would fain gorge themselves with food, the l.u.s.tful with bodily excesses. All these evil spirits, cut off from their old gratifications, try to satisfy their desires by re-entering earthly bodies, and often they succeed. That is the great peril of the war, she says. What a horrible thought! I simply refuse to believe that such things are possible._

_And yet--those Voices!_

CHAPTER VII

JEWELS

If this were a conventional novel and not simply a statement of essential facts in the strange case of Penelope Wells, there would be much elaboration of details and minor characters, including the wife of Dr. William Owen and an adventure that befell this lady during a week-end visit to Morristown, N. J., since this adventure has a bearing upon the narrative. As it is, we must be content to know that Mrs.

William Owen was an irritable and neurasthenic person, a thorn in the side of her distinguished husband, who was supposed to cure these ailments. He could not cure his wife, however, and had long since given up trying. It was Mrs. Owen who quite unintentionally changed the course of events for sad-eyed Penelope.

It happened in this way. Dr. Owen received a call from Mrs. Seraphine Walters on the day following Seraphine's talk with Penelope and was not overjoyed to learn that his visitor was a trance medium. If there was one form of human activity that this hard-headed physician regarded with particular detestation it was that of mediumship. All mediums, in his opinion, were knaves or fools and their so-called occult manifestations were either conjurers' trickery or self-created illusions of a hypnotic character. He had never attended a spiritualistic seance and had no intention of doing so.

But in spite of his aversion for Seraphine's _metier_, the doctor was impressed by the lady's gentle dignity and by her winsome confidence that she must be lovingly received since she herself came armed so abundantly with the power of love. Furthermore, it appeared that the medium had called for no other reason than to furnish information about her dear friend Penelope Wells, so the specialist listened politely.

"You are the first spiritualist I ever talked to, Mrs. Walters," he said amiably. "You seem to have a sunny, joyous nature?"

Her face lighted up. "That is because I have so much to be grateful for, doctor. I have always been happy, almost always, even as a little girl, because--" She checked herself, laughing. "I guess you are not interested in that."

"Yes I am. Go on."

"I was only going to say that I have always known that there are wonderful powers all about us, guarding us."

"You knew this as a little girl?"

"Oh, yes, I used to see Them when I was playing alone. I thought They were fairies. It was a long time before I discovered that the other children did not see Them."

"Them! Hm! How long have you been doing active work as a medium?"

"About fifteen years."

"What started you at it? I suppose there were indications that you had unusual powers?"

"Yes. There were indications that I had been chosen for this work. I don't know why I was chosen unless it is that I have never thought much about myself. That is the great sin--selfishness. My controls tell me that terrible punishment awaits selfish souls on the other side. I was so happy when I learned that the exalted spirits can only manifest through a loving soul. They read our thoughts, see the color of our aura and, if they can, they come to those who have traits in common with their own."

"If they can--how do you mean?"

"My controls tell me that many spirits cannot manifest at all, just as many humans cannot serve as mediums."

At this moment a maid entered the office and spoke to Dr. Owen in a low tone saying that Mrs. Owen had sent her to remind the doctor that this was Sat.u.r.day morning and that they were leaving for Morristown in an hour to be gone over Sunday. No message could have been more unfortunate than this for Dr. Owen's equanimity, since he abominated week-end invitations, particularly those like the present one (which Mrs. Owen revelled in) from pretentiously rich people.

"Very well. Tell Mrs. Owen I will be ready," he said, then turned with changed manner to poor Seraphine, whose brightening chances were now hopelessly dissipated.

"Suppose we come to the point, Mrs. Walters," he went on. "I am rather pressed for time and--you say you are a friend of Mrs. Wells? Have you any definite information bearing upon her condition?"

"Oh, yes," she replied and at once made it clear that she was fully informed as to Penelope's distressing symptoms.

"She is suffering from sh.e.l.l shock," said the doctor.