I was put to bed at once with hot bottles and hot soup, and soon forgot my past troubles in a long refreshing sleep.

I was still in the invalid stage of "breakfast in bed," and when this had been cleared away, the remembrance of Captain Kent flashed into my mind, and I found pencil and papers at once, in order to redeem my promise.

The message was rather a curious one, and its opening sentence evidently referred to the eccentric old lady whom I have mentioned as being asked to meet me at luncheon at Castle Rush.

So far as I can remember them, the words (very characteristic of Captain Kent's genial but rather brusque style) ran as follows:--

After speaking of the alleged hauntings at Castle Rush as having only too much foundation in fact, he went on: "It's all rubbish, that old woman saying she had cleared them all away! Nothing of the kind. There are plenty of malicious spirits about still, _and now that an heir is coming to Rush they are keener than ever to try and work some mischief_.

No use saying anything to Tom (his brother). He will only laugh, and say it is all skittles. But tell my little sister-in-law to PRAY--PRAY--PRAY. That is all they need and all she needs either."

Now this was not exactly the message one cared to send to a rather recent acquaintance. To begin with, the reference to Mrs Kent's valued friend in the opening sentence was scarcely polite! Then again, the prophecy of an heir to Rush was one that I regretted should have been made, as it would probably only lead to disappointment. Mrs Kent's first child had been a little son, from whose loss she had never recovered.

When I was staying at the castle, two nice little girls, old enough to come down to early dinner, at our luncheon hour, comprised the family.

Another child was certainly expected to arrive about Christmas-time (my visit was paid in September), but Mrs Kent herself was fully convinced that this would be _another girl_, as she said rather sadly. It seemed a pity to disturb her mind by raising false hopes.

But, as usual, I felt bound to send the message, with the customary explanations and apologies.

Mrs Kent was greatly interested by it and by the "PRAY--PRAY--PRAY,"

which, as she explained to me, had a very special meaning for her. It had only struck me as an exceedingly _unlikely_ message for the Captain Kent I had known, to send to anyone.

I am glad to be able to record that the Christmas gift did arrive in the shape of a baby boy, "_heir to Rush_," who is still alive and flourishing, thank G.o.d! I hear that he calls himself "the master," with a true Irish brogue, and lords it over his elder sisters in the regular chieftain style!

To this year belongs another strong impression of psychic atmosphere, left in a room which I occupied in the south of England.

It was a most comfortable room, with nothing in the least ghostly about it. Merely I had an unpleasant feeling that controversies and discussions had taken place in the room, and that a want of harmony hung about it in consequence.

On mentioning this rather tentatively to the master of the house--a very orthodox clergyman--I was told: "Oh dear, no! Nothing of the kind--you are certainly mistaken!"

But when an opportunity arose I changed my room, and felt very much more comfortable in consequence of doing so.

Several times I had noticed on the hall table, letters which had come by post addressed to another clergyman, whose name I had not heard, and who was certainly not staying in the house. Remarking upon this casually to a nice young governess one day, she said at once that the gentleman in question had spent several months with Mr and Mrs Dale in the Vicarage, but that he had died a few weeks before my arrival. "He slept in the room you had when you first came, by-the-by. I was so glad when you changed your room."

"He was a clergyman, I see," was my next remark; and I looked at the envelope which had led to this explanation.

"Yes; he was in orders, but he had become a complete agnostic for some years. During the last few weeks of his life--when he had to keep his bed--Mr Dale was always going up there, and having long arguments and discussions with him; but I don't suppose it did much good: it only worried him very much. He was too ill to listen to long arguments then, and wanted just kind, soothing words, I should have thought."

As the girl retreated to the school-room I naturally pondered over this fresh testimony to the truth of psychic atmosphere. No sensitive can question the _fact_, but at present we know little or nothing of the laws which condition the fact.

My friend Mr W. T. Stead kindly allows me to mention another incident connected with personal experiences of mine in the year 1898.

In the opening month of that year he lost a much-valued friend, who had worked for him loyally, both in his office and also with regard to some of his philanthropic schemes.

This lady in a fit of delirium, incident upon a severe attack of illness, threw herself out of a window in her flat. A fortnight before this sad occurrence, she had seen another resident in the same set of flats throw herself out of the window, and Mr Stead has always feared that this acted as a suggestion upon her mind in delirium, and led her to do the same thing. Her own account of the cause of her action differs somewhat from this impression, as will be seen later.

Mr Stead was naturally greatly affected by Mrs Morris' sudden death and the circ.u.mstances attending it, and having some of her hair cut off after her death, he sent portions of it to at least twelve well-known clairvoyants, hoping to receive some satisfactory solution of the mystery, and also, possibly, a sign decided upon between him and this lady. They were both interested in psychic matters, and had agreed to believe in no communications from the other side purporting to come from one or other of them, unless this preliminary sign were given.

Mrs Besant--an intimate friend of Mr Stead--was one of the oracles consulted, and was very confident of being able to find out all details, including the mystic sign.

But both she and Mr Leadbeater were as absolutely unsuccessful as less gifted mortals proved to be.

In spite of exceptional opportunities for coming in touch with the most noted psychics, in spite of the valuable clue given by hair cut after death, the test seemed quite hopeless, since twelve of the best clairvoyants had been consulted, and all had failed in turn.

A few weeks after hearing about this from Mr Stead, I was invited by an old friend in London to meet at her house, at luncheon, Miss Rowan Vincent, a non-professional sensitive, well known to many of my readers.

I had never seen this lady before, and had little speech with her during the meal.

She was talking very earnestly to a military man--the son-in-law of our hostess--whilst the latter and I were having an interesting conversation to ourselves.

General Maxwell, having a train to catch, did not accompany us to the drawing-room.

On arrival there Miss Rowan Vincent said to me very kindly: "Can I do anything for _you_ now, Miss Bates? Shall I try if I can see anything for you?"

Something induced me, quite against my will, to say: "Do you ever get messages by writing, Miss Vincent?"

"No; I have never done so, but I can try," she answered rather eagerly.

How I bewailed my stupidity in making such a suggestion! I had diverted her mind from her own special gift, which was that of seeing a person's psychic surroundings, and had switched her on to an entirely novel and untried experiment. I had not even the excuse of being specially interested in automatic writing, which was so easily obtained at home; whereas I was greatly interested in seeing whether any of my "other side" friends could make themselves perceptible through this sensitive.

However, the mischief was done past remedy. The suggestion had taken firm root in Miss Rowan Vincent's mind, and she was not to be diverted from it. So I resigned myself patiently to the results of my own foolish remark, whilst she took pencil and paper and sat down expectantly.

Soon she looked up, the writing having already begun.

"Do you know any William? There seems to be some message from a William, as far as I can make out."

Having had a favourite cousin of that name, I told her it might be quite correct, and I should be glad to receive any message that came.

A few moments pa.s.sed, and then Miss Vincent said, in a puzzled tone:

"It is not _from_ William--the message is _to_ some William--I cannot understand it at all." She pushed the paper rather impatiently towards me. Written upon it clearly but faintly were these words:

DEAR WILLIAM,--I want to explain to you how I came to fall out of that window--it was not my fault really--someone came up behind and pushed me out. ETHEL.

The signature was rather indistinct, but quite unmistakable to _me_; but then I knew the Christian name of Mr Stead's friend, and realised at once that she was taking this opportunity of sending a message to him.

I asked Miss Vincent what name was written at the bottom of the paper.

"It looks like Ethel," she said, "but it is not very clear. I will ask the spirit to write it again." A very bold and unmistakable signature was at once given.

I concealed my excitement, and said quietly to Miss Vincent:

"I think I know from whom the message comes and for whom it is intended, but to make quite sure it would be very satisfactory if the spirit could give through you a sign agreed upon by the sender and the recipient and unknown to everyone else."

"Well, I will try," said Miss Vincent at once. She had scarcely touched the pencil when it began describing a circle. "There is no doubt about my having to make a circle," she said, laughing. "Oh, now I am to put a cross into it," she added.

Within a few seconds both these were given, and to _our_ great delight--as well as to his--the sign was recognised by Mr Stead as being the one agreed upon, and which had hopelessly puzzled all the other mediums.

CHAPTER XII