Meantime Mr. Benjamin Crane was altogether enjoying the process that Thorpe called stinging.

Shelby, deeply interested, and looking innocently credulous, sat by while the medium conducted the _seance_.

Madame Parlato was, as Crane had a.s.serted, a quiet-mannered, refined looking woman, of a gracious and pleasant personality. She was tall and fair, rather English in type, and spoke with a noticeable English accent. She frequently ended sentences of simple statement with a rising inflection and was addicted to the use of the word _very_, which she p.r.o.nounced _virry_.

"You are a bit skeptical?" she said, with a careless glance at Shelby.

"Only by reason of lack of occasions for belief," he returned. "I am, however, open-minded and fair-minded enough to be willingly convinced.

You may or may not know, this son of Mr. Crane's was one of my closest friends, and----"

"Don't advance information, please," she remonstrated, "lest I be thought to make use of it. I will ask you both to be quiet, whilst I compose myself."

"Hush up, Shelby," growled Crane, and Shelby did.

The medium closed her eyes and leaned back in her armchair.

She did not seem to be asleep, but she breathed heavily and a trifle irregularly, and now and then gave a slight convulsive shudder.

At last she spoke, very slowly, and in a voice decidedly different from her own. Shelby couldn't quite make up his mind whether it seemed to him like Peter's voice or not.

The voice said, "I am here, father," and, after a moment's pause, repeated the words.

"Yes, yes," breathed Benjamin Crane, enthralled, as always, by the sound; "talk to me, Peter, tell me things."

"I can't talk much this time, father, it is hard to get through. There is some obstacle."

These words did not follow each other in natural succession, but came haltingly, with waits between. Madame Parlato seemed unconscious of the delays, and merely acted as a mouthpiece for the revelations.

"What sort of an obstacle?" asked Crane.

"An unbeliever is near," the voice hesitatingly a.s.serted.

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Shelby, "tell him who I am!"

"It's only Shelby," Mr. Crane said, "Kit Shelby. He's not really an unbeliever, only inexperienced."

"May I speak to him?" asked Shelby, as if permission were necessary.

"Go ahead," consented Mr. Crane.

"It's old Kit, Peter--Kit Shelby, who went on the trip with you."

"Oh, Kit--all right--all right, old fellow--can't say much to-night--something wrong----"

"Well, but Peter," Shelby begged, "give me some sort of a sign--a test, you know. I can't help wanting that."

"All right," very slowly, "what test."

"Let me see--well, tell me whose picture you carried in your watch case."

"Why, it was--Caroline--Caroline Harper."

Shelby looked dazed. True, they had never called Carly Caroline, but the Harper was undeniable, and the test quite near enough to the truth.

The medium sat still, save for frequent slight shivers. Suddenly she opened her eyes:

"Who is talking?" she said.

"I am," Shelby told her. "Please let me say a few more things."

Madame Parlato's eyes closed, and she was motionless.

"Are you still there, Peter?" asked his father, who was not at all pleased with the presence of Shelby. It seemed to interfere with the continuous talk he had hitherto enjoyed at the _seances_.

"Yes, father. Is Kit there?"

"Can't you see me, Peter?"

"Not--not clearly. There's a haze in the room."

There was no haze visible to the mortals present, but Shelby went eagerly on.

"Never mind seeing me, Peter, but do tell me this: What happened to you?"

"When?" asked the voice, with a far-away, fading sound.

"When--when you died, you know. Oh, Peter, don't go away until you tell us!"

"Tell you--tell you--what?"

"What killed you? How was it? Did you fall down?"

"I--I fell down, yes."

"In the snowdrifts?"

"Yes, the snow was so cold--"

"But why couldn't you get up? What happened to you? Did any attack----"

"Yes, I was attacked. Attacked by a----"

"What!"

"By a wild animal of some sort."

"Oh, Peter! What was it? Are you sure?"