Simeon now flamed with eagerness and set out to find Viola and to test her. It was not easy to locate her, for Clarke had proceeded with caution in Boston. After consultation with the editor of _The Spiritist_, and at his suggestion, he had given only a few very private sittings to a few very discreet friends. These evenings, however, had been very successful, and those who had been permitted to attend them had jealously guarded the jewel they had found, selfishly urging continued secrecy. Nevertheless, the circle had spread, and Viola, apparently resigned to her singular function, was patiently sitting night after night in stuffy, darkened rooms, while Clarke, vivid as ever, sonorous as ever, declaimed in pa.s.sionate rhythms the promise of a new era for spiritism to be inaugurated by the message of "this wonderful organism." He had, indeed, laid out an elaborate programme for the capture of Boston, but this he instantly dropped when Simeon Pratt sent up his card and asked to see what the girl could do. He demanded a sitting much as a dealer in horses would ask the hostler to drive the proffered animal before him in order that he might judge of her paces. He did not intend to offend; on the contrary, he was instantly consumed with anxiety lest this splendid young creature should refuse to perform.

Viola was deeply offended by his first manner and coldly said: "I am not sitting for money, and I will not be put on exhibition for any one."

Simeon ended by pleading with her for one sitting--one short hour; but she refused, and he went away dejected, flabby with defeat. He returned next day, and still a third time; and at last, to work on her sympathies, he told her how he came to enter the faith, and with broken voice and quivering lips displayed his sorrows.

His weakness availed. The utter tragedy of his life brought the ready tears to Viola's eyes and quite melted her opposition. She saw him in a new light, understood him for what he really was, a lonely, broken old man hastening to the grave, and in her pity consented.

The manifestation which followed he reported as the most marvellous he had ever had. "Jennie, my eldest daughter, spoke from the megaphone for more than an hour, minutely detailing the circ.u.mstances of her death, giving orders for the disposition of their jewels and trinkets, and in other ways most completely satisfied me of her ident.i.ty."

He rose from this sitting exalted, comforted beyond measure, pathetically happy, quite ready to embrace the blessed girl who had made his hour of sweet communion possible. His home, his private car, his yacht were all at her disposal. No queen, however powerful, could have won such homage from him. "You must come to my home," he said. "I will enlarge your work. I will meet every wish of your 'guides'."

With Clarke and the mother on his side, he prevailed. Viola consented to go to New York as his guest, provided her secret powers were not revealed. "I will not be advertised," she said. "Too many people are coming to see me now. If you publish me I will never sit again."

This threat threw Simeon into a panic. "Of course you will remain private. You will be my guest, the same as your mother. No one but my own family shall know of your wonderful powers. I will see to that."

Perhaps he was honest in this promise, but his habit of entertaining "Arabian Priestesses," "Crystal Gazers," and other women of singular endowments was too well known to permit of the fulfilment of his agreement. No sooner was Viola seen on the drive in his carriage than his friends and hangers-on began to smile and say: "Simeon has a new enchantress. I wonder who she is?" And those remarks aroused the curiosity of the ubiquitous workers for the press. Furthermore, the directors of the temple, of course, must needs be told, and the other seeresses, neglected by their once-idolized patron, did not need to be told; so that long before Serviss had a hint of her coming the news of Viola's domestication with Simeon was widely disseminated among the faithful, who hurried at once to meet her.

These seekers went with smiling faces and hastening feet, but they came away laggardly, reproaching the master of the temple for a selfish brute. Some few were admitted, stayed, and met the girl and Clarke--for Clarke fairly divided the honors, so vivid, so picturesque was he. He did not hesitate to speak of his great work, a work which would astound the world, and to announce the t.i.tle of his great oration which Simeon had engaged for the temple. This was the first big gun of his campaign, this compelling oration; but he must have Viola's consent to the use of her name--her consent also to sit with a group of chosen great men of the city in order to issue a defiant challenge to science. From these special sittings he expected to deduce the final and greatest chapter of his book.

From this public test of her power Viola still shrank, but Pratt's wealth and power, which Clarke continually emphasized, fairly stunned her into acquiescence. So far from being a faith of the poor, the obscure, a faith that lurked in dark corners, avoiding the direct gaze of men, spiritualism from the portals of a resplendent temple appeared to be not merely respectable but triumphant. From this sacred meeting-place of the angelic forces, from the windows of Pratt's palatial home, she looked out upon the city with more of content with her mission than she had ever known before--troubled only by a deeply hidden wish to see again the man whose buoyant health and smiling eyes had so strongly impressed her on their ride into the Marshal Basin.

But this sense of security of power did not last. As the novelty of her position in Pratt's household wore away she found her duties irksome. She resented the flocks of curious or melancholy visitors and began to perceive the bitter truth--that she was only a servant, after all, ministering to the pleasures of Pratt and his friends. She had very little time to herself, and could not escape her masters even for a drive in the Park--one or the other of them was always at her side.

She attempted to withdraw her consent to the use of her name, but Clarke, the guides, even her mother, insisted on the test. Britt alone of all her friends took the side of her fears. They were in correspondence of a formal sort, and when he reached the city he went straight to her, anxious to know what Clarke's plans actually were. To him she spoke more freely than ever before, expressing her dread of the flaring light which Clarke was about to turn upon her.

Britt listened gravely. "There is one way of escape," he said at last, with a smile, both mocking and tender. "I don't pretend to say it's to your mind, but want to remind you that my offer is still open. If you give me the necessary authority I will stop this crusade with a jolt."

"I'm grateful to you, Dr. Britt, truly I am, but I can't do what you ask--not even--" She hesitated and fell silent.

"Not even to save your life or mine. I don't blame you--I am but a poor thing."

"I didn't mean it that way. I respect you very, very much; but you must know Anthony depends on me, and, besides, maybe it _is_ my duty to go on the platform. Father and grandfather both say it is. To them it seems small and selfish of me to want to be happy in my own home while the millions weep uncomforted; but oh, if I could only live my own life _part_ of the time! If I could feel free of this terrible weight one day in seven."

Britt, looking into her clear eyes, acquired a new confidence in her.

"Tell me, Miss Lambert, do you really believe that your father comes to you in this way?"

"I dare not doubt it," she answered, with evasive eyes.

"Some of the messages are not specially--"

"I know," she acquiesced, with a shudder. "There are evil spirits as well as good, and sometimes the bad ones come. I don't see why grandfather permits them to use me. He says he can't always help it if there are bad people in the circle. That is another reason why I dread this public test--there is no knowing what the evil spirits might make me say or do. If it did not mean so much to Anthony I would refuse--even if grandfather asked it."

"I saw Professor Serviss to-day."

"Did you?" Her eyes were instantly alight. "Where did you see him?

Does he know we are here?"

"He didn't know till I told him. I called at his laboratory."

"Did you tell him where we are?"

"Yes; and he felt as I do, that this is not a good place for you.

Pratt has the reputation of entertaining sensational characters, and it will be a miracle if you are not exploited to the press."

Her face clouded again. "Oh, I am so tired of having people look at me and shrug and whisper. I am so tired of having this abnormal thing reflected in the eyes of all my visitors. I wish I could become commonplace--without the slightest thing queer about me. Sometimes I feel like taking a dose of poison and ending it all."

"Don't do that," Britt replied, soberly. "You mustn't even say such a thing. I wish I could help you, but I see no way so long as your own parents and Clarke himself are your guides; but if at any time you will give me the authority"--here his voice became stern--"I will see that you are not troubled by any outside influence."

"You are very kind," she said, but her face expressed only a troubled liking, and he pressed her hand in both of his and silently went away.

Young Clinton Ward also came seeking, boyish, eager, contemptuous of any barrier so illusory as the fact of her trances, which she confessed to him. Her words hardly impressed themselves on his mind, and he replied, flippantly: "That cuts no ice with me. You couldn't be anything I wouldn't like. You're living too close and your nerves are sort of frazzled. What you need is a jolly good time. Come back to Boston and forget all about this business. Come, I want folks to meet you. My mother knows how I feel about you, and is crazy to see you."

"What would she say if she knew what I have told you?" she asked, bitterly.

"She won't mind--after she sees you," he answered, loyally. "No one can know you without--without--Oh, hang it, Viola, you know what I mean. Nothing matters when you love a person. I want you, no matter what any one says. And, besides, I don't see why you can't just chuck the whole blooming business. I'll chuck Clarke out o' the window, if you say the word. He's just trying to work you, and--"

"You mustn't talk that way, Clinton."

"Why not? It's true."

"Well, because--" She hesitated, then said, as if to end her own uncertainty: "I am committed to this life--and to him. My way is marked out, and I must walk in it."

The young fellow was hard hit. He sat looking at her with eyes of consternation and awe. He tried to speak, but could not for a little while; at last he made a second trial. "Do you mean--you _don't_ mean--"

"Yes, I mean--all you think I mean," she answered, and then her fort.i.tude failed her, and she turned away, her eyes filled with hot tears.

He rose awkwardly, all his jaunty self-confidence gone. "I take my medicine. It's all right. I hope you'll be happy--" He broke off with quivering lips.

"I shall never be happy," she said, and the very calmness of her voice went to the boy's heart. "I've given up all hope of being anything but an instrument--a thing whose wishes do not count. Good-bye, Clint,"

and she gave her hand.

He took it and pressed it hard and went out into the street, staggering under the weight of the revelation he had received.

Viola was fond of Clinton--his simple, wholesome, untroubled nature appealed to her--and yet this very ingenuousness, this ready confidence, made her own life and daily habit seem the more forbidding. She understood now the insuperable barrier which had been raised between herself and the careless youth of the normal world.

In this hour of depression, as in many others, her mind went out towards Morton Serviss. Britt's mention of the young scientist's name seemed to bring him very near, and she wondered again for the hundredth time whether he had entirely forgotten her or not. Would he call, now that he was informed of her presence in the city? She knew (almost as well as if he had written it) the reason for his hasty flight from Colorow, and with a knowledge that he considered her a freak if not something worse she could not write to him, although she still had his card and address.

He was a greater man in the world than when he visited their mountain home, for he had written a book which the critics called "a great and implacable study of diseases and their uses." She had not been able to read it, but she treasured it, nevertheless, and longed to meet him again, to lay her case before him, to ask his advice, not with regard to whether she should go on with her music, but whether her life was worth continuing--for there were times when she secretly considered the morality of making an end of it. It was in the hope of drawing him again to her side that she asked Clarke to include him in the list of scientific men to whom he was planning to send a printed copy of his oration and challenge--after their delivery--and to her mother she said: "I would not be so nervous if I knew that Dr. Serviss were on the committee; I know he would be just and considerate, even if he does despise mediums."

"He's exactly the one," responded Mrs. Lambert, with enthusiasm. "I wonder Tony hasn't spoken of him. Grandfather will be delighted, I'm sure."

V

KATE VISITS VIOLA