“It is entirely up to Margaret,” replied the materialized Clifford. “I loved Margie. She promised to be my wife. She let me put my ring on her finger. She is morally bound to me. Now she is betraying me, for that other—that weak fellow whose silly brain I can sway as I choose,” scornfully.

“That is a lie!”

This time Ned would have torn his hand from Mrs. Campbell’s had she not cried hastily, “Mr. Wentworth, beware of what you are doing! If you so much as injure a hair of his head, the harm done him will rebound—it will result in serious suffering to this little lame girl, entranced in our circle.”

“It seems I find friends wherever I go,” observed Clifford Bentley, with a mocking intonation that infuriated Wentworth. “Even Margie,” he went on with pointed and deliberate malice, “lay in my arms last night, and returned my warm kisses with her own! She cannot deny it, can you, Margie?”

Ned, his tanned skin pallid with unutterable horror and loathing, turned wide eyes upon the face of the girl whose hand he held; her lids dropped before his accusing gaze.

“Margie!” he groaned. “It isn’t true, dear?”

“It might be well, Mr. Wentworth, to refrain from questions and accusations for the time being,” observed Mrs. Campbell dryly. “You should be ashamed to think evil of the woman you love. Mr. Clifford Bentley, you have been telling a lie that is half-truth, and that is the basest of lies. I must ask you now to tell the exact truth, or I shall waken Clare—you know I can do it—and after you have returned to your etheric form, I shall take certain steps that will result in your being bound down for many years as you may not care to be bound. Oh, you may smile! I assure you I can do this, much as I dislike it, and much as it may cost me. Are you going to speak?”

Somewhat sulkily, the unwelcome Clifford turned from her. “Oh, I suppose I must not refuse a lady’s request, especially since it is put so persuasively,” and he smiled sourly. “Very well, then—I lied about Margie. I kissed her. To be sure, she kissed me, too—but she didn’t know it was I. But what does it matter, my dear lady?” he went on to Mrs. Campbell sarcastically. “If Margie won’t remain true to her promise of her own free will, I shall have to see to it that she keeps her word and remains unwed. As long as Clare lives, I shall be able to get what I need to make myself not only visible, but tangible. Perhaps Margie won’t like the idea of that,” he finished, turning his terrible, burning eyes upon Margaret.

“As long as Clare lives?” said the seeress, very slowly and gravely. “And—when she shall have passed over—?”