“Do you really believe there is anything extraordinary about Laura Campbell’s trances, Clare?” she asked earnestly. “I’ve always wondered at the loss of dignity such feigning costs her.”

“She really has what they call second-sight, Margie. I’ve seen her myself, in trances. Not often, because Mr. Campbell hates to have her give way to them. But the day we were in the garden and I had that heart attack—you remember?—she spoke with the voice of a man, and—I knew, somehow, that it was he.” Her own tones were modified as she spoke, and she glanced timorously about her.

“Well,” conceded Margaret unhappily, “I suppose we ought to do everything we can—and if she is able to help us, I know Mr. Campbell will let her. But I can’t help being skeptical; it all seems so foolish and childish to me. Of course, if you want me to, I’ll run over and ask her if she can help us out.”

“Oh, Margie, if you only would!” urged Clare earnestly.

Margaret accordingly went across the road to their Scotch neighbor’s home and related to Laura Campbell the story of the “nightmare” she had had the previous night. The quiet-faced woman listened in grim silence, a non-committal expression on her round, motherly countenance. Only the continuous snapping of the catch of the chatelaine betrayed her nervousness.

“You’ll have to make up a circle and hold a séance and call him,” she said with finality.

“I don’t see why,” shrank the girl.

“You don’t see why? You foolish girl, you make me lose all patience with you!”

“But—”

“‘But’ nothing!” snapped the Scotchwoman with asperity. “You are an ungrateful girl, Margaret Sloane. And a blindly selfish one, too, if you want my frank opinion. Your sister Clare is being slowly killed; all her vital forces are being drawn out of her by that—that male vampire—that satellite of your attractions. And you—you draw back at the only chance to make terms with him! I’m sure I don’t know what you can be thinking of.”

Margaret’s color was running high. “I had no idea that my sister was in danger of any kind,” she retorted spiritedly. “But the mere suggestion of such a thing is sufficient to make me agree to any plan, no matter how idiotic it may appear. Will you undertake to conduct a séance for us?” abruptly.