Amen.”
He opened his eyes and Mrs. Peabody thought she had never seen eyes as blue or with a glance so resembling an eagle’s. Spiritual power flowed out of him; you could just feel it.
The spiritualist continued, “Let Mrs. Simmons sit nearest to the cabinet on the far side. Mrs. Peabody on the other side, before the organ which she plays so beautifully. I shall sit here, next to her. Mr. Simmons next to his wife.”
An armchair was carried into the niche for Miss Cahill who sat tautly, her knees close together, her hands clenched. The Rev. Carlisle stepped into the niche.
“Are you sure you feel equal to it this evening, my dear?”
Miss Cahill smiled bravely up at him and nodded.
“Very well. You are among friends. No one here will break the circle. There are no skeptics to endanger your life by suddenly flooding you with light. No one will move from his chair when it is dangerous to the vibration lines. Any ectoplasmic emanations from your body will be carefully observed but not touched so you have nothing to fear. Are you perfectly comfortable?”
“Yes. Comfortable. Fine.”
“Very well. Do you want music?”
Miss Cahill shook her head. “No. I feel so-so sleepy.”
“Relax, my dear friend.”
She closed her eyes.
Mrs. Peabody tiptoed about and extinguished all the lamps except one. “Shall I close the cabinet curtains?”
Carlisle shook his head. “Let us first have her with us. Without anything between us. Let us form the circle.”
Silently they took their places. Minutes crept by; a chair creaked and outside a car passed. Behind the velvet drapes which shut off the street light it sounded out of key and impertinent. The Rev. Carlisle seemed in a trance himself.
Knock!
Everyone gasped and then smiled and nodded.
Knock!
Carlisle spoke. “Ramakrishna?”
Three sharp raps answered him.
“Our dear teacher-our loving
Miss Cahill stirred in her chair and her head drew back. Her lips opened and her voice came softly, as from a great distance:
“The body of man is a soul-city containing the palace of the heart which contains, in turn, the lotus of the soul. Within its blossom are heaven and earth contained, are fire and water, sun and moon, and lightning and stars.”
Her voice came, monotonous, as if it were a transmitter of the words of another. “He, whose vision is clouded by the veils of maya, will ask of that city, ‘What is left of it when old age covers it and scatters it; when it falls to pieces?’ To which the enlightened one replies, ‘In the old age of the body the soul ages not; by the death of the body it is not slain.’ There is a wind that blows between the worlds, strewing the lotus petals to the stars.”
She stopped and let out her breath in a long sigh, pressing her hands against the chair arms and then letting them drop into her lap.
“Our guide has spoken,” Carlisle said gently. “We may expect a great deal tonight, I am sure.”
Miss Cahill opened her eyes, then jumped from the chair and began to walk about the room, touching the furniture and the walls with the tips of her fingers. She turned to the Rev. Carlisle. “D’you mind if I get into something more comfortable?”
The reverend nodded. “My friends, it has always been my aim to present tests of mediumship under such conditions that the slightest suspicion of fraud is impossible. We must face it: there are fraudulent mediums who prey on the noblest and purest emotions known to man. And I insist that the gifts of Mary Cahill be removed from the category of ordinary mediumship. She is able, at an expense to her strength it is true, to work in a faint light. I should like a number of the ladies here tonight to accompany her when she changes her clothes and make sure that there is no chance of fraud or trickery, that nothing is concealed. I know that you do not for one moment harbor such thoughts, but to spread the gospel of Spiritualism we must be able to say to the world-and to our most hostile critics-I
Mrs. Peabody and Mrs. Simmons rose and Miss Cahill smiled to them and waited. Carlisle opened a small valise, drawing out a robe of white watered silk and a pair of white slippers. He handed these to the medium and the ladies filed out.
Mrs. Peabody led the way up to her own bedroom. “Here you are, dear. Just change your things in here. We’ll be waiting downstairs.”
Miss Cahill shook her head. “Mr. Carlisle wants you to stay. I don’t mind a bit.” The ladies sat down, tongue- tied with embarrassment. The medium slowly drew off her dress and slip. She rolled down her stockings neatly and placed them beside her shoes. When she stood completely stripped before them, leisurely shaking out the robe, a sadness gripped Mrs. Peabody, deep and nameless. She saw the naked woman, unashamed there in the frilly celibacy of her own bedroom, and a lump rose in her throat. Miss Cahill was so beautiful and it was all so innocent, her standing there with her mind, or certainly part of her mind, far away still in that mysterious land where it went voyaging. It was with regret and a feeling she had had as a little girl when the last curtain descended on a play, that she watched Miss Cahill finally draw the robe about her and tie the cord loosely. She stepped into the slippers and smiled at them; and Mrs. Peabody got up, straightening her dress.
“My dear, it is so good of you to come to us. We appreciate it so.”
She led the way downstairs.
In the living room all the lights were extinguished, save for a single oil lamp with a shade of ruby-red glass which the clergyman had brought with him. It gave just enough light for each person to see the faces of the others.
The Rev. Carlisle took the medium by the hand and led her to the armchair in the niche. “Let us try first without closing the curtains.”
They formed the circle, waiting patiently, devoutly. Mary Cahill’s eyes were closed. She moaned and slumped lower in the chair, twisting so that her head rested against its back. A low whimper came from deep within her, and she twisted again and began to breathe heavily. The cord of the white robe loosened, the fringed ends fell to the carpet. Then her body suddenly arched itself and the robe fell open.
With a swift intake of breath the sitters leaned forward.
“Mrs. Peabody, do you mind?” The reverend’s voice was like a benediction.
She hurried over, feeling the warmth in her face, and closed the robe, tying the cord firmly. She couldn’t resist giving the girl’s hand an affectionate little pat, but the medium seemed unconscious.
When she had regained her chair she looked over at the Rev. Carlisle. He sat upright, eyes closed, his hands motionless on his knees. In the dim red glow of the lamp his face, above the severe collar, seemed to hang in mid-air; his hands to float as motionless as if they were made of papier-mache. Save for the indistinct circle of faces the only other thing visible in the room was the medium in her white robe. Her hair was part of the darkness.
Slowly and gently spirit sounds began. Gentle raps, then louder knocks. Something set the glass prisms of the chandelier tinkling, and their musical voices continued for several minutes, as if a ghostly hand were playing with them-as a child might play with them if it could float to the ceiling.
Mrs. Simmons spoke first, in a hushed, awed voice. “I see a light.”
It was there. A soft, greenish spark hovered near the floor beside Mrs. Peabody and then vanished. Mrs. Peabody felt a breeze -the psychic breeze of which Sir Oliver Lodge had written. Then, moving high in the air across the room, was another light. She tilted her eyeglasses a trifle to bring it into sharper focus. It was a hand with the forefinger raised as if toward heaven. It vanished.
