The seeress, tense and watchful, maintained her hold on Clare’s hand with gentle force. She felt the lame girl sink back in her chair limply, with a kind of half-sob, half-sigh. The doctor spoke in hushed tones.

“I’m afraid Clare is fainting,” he worried.

“I guarantee that she is all right for the time being,” replied the psychic quickly. “She has slipped off into a trance. Do not try to waken her. It is better so. I shall direct, instead of becoming the medium myself, for Clare is to be our medium tonight. Now we shall be able to see and talk with Mr. Clifford Bentley.”

Hardly had the words left her lips before Margaret, holding tightly to the hands of father and lover, gave a sharp exclamation.

Standing directly behind Clare’s chair was the figure of Clifford Bentley, his white face and burning eyes fixed upon the unhappy bride with passionate intensity.

-10-

Ned spoke impulsively, half rising as he cried out, “You miserable scoundrel!” His eyes flashed angrily.

Mrs. Campbell maintained her grip on his hand and drew him down firmly. “Sit down, Mr. Wentworth. This is no time to call names.” She addressed the newcomer with cold courtesy. “I see that you have anticipated our wishes. We are here tonight especially to talk with you.”

“I know—I know,” muttered the newcomer fiercely. “I understood that you intended to meddle, and I came before I was called, of my own accord. Otherwise, you would have had the mortification of not seeing me in spite of all your calling.” He laughed shortly. “I want to save all my strength, however, to appear to Margie, my false, lovely Margie,” he added insinuatingly.

“This is really too much,” exclaimed Ned, trying in vain to extricate his hand from the iron hold of the psychic. “I intend to see if that fellow is solid enough to feel the weight of my fist. Let me go, please!”

The Scotchwoman’s strong hand maintained its immovable grip, and she turned to shake her head warningly at him. Then she spoke again to the intruder.

“You have been taking the psychic energy from this poor little lame girl, so that you could appear materially. For shame, Clifford Bentley! No matter what your motive, do you consider that a manly thing to do? What has Clare ever done to you, that you should subject her to such treatment? Look at the poor child now, helpless, her disturbed spirit torn with agony as she sees you clothed in the psychic vitality you have stolen from her in order to destroy her sister’s happiness! Does not that stir your heart with remorse and pity?”