Advancing a little way into the circle, it shrank back as though timorous, then wavered. From the circle came a woman’s voice—anxious, eager, straining with heart-break—“Oh, my sister!”
The figure turned toward her, slowly extended its arms, and glided back to the curtains, where it stood as though waiting.
The sobbing woman arose from her chair and hastened toward the wraith.
“Agnes!” she whispered imploringly. “Won’t you speak to me, Agnes?”
The ghostly figure slowly shook its head.
“Are you happy, Agnes? Tell me. Oh, don’t go until you have told me.”
The figure nodded mutely, and with a final slow gesture, waved the woman back to her seat.
Meantime Orme cast his eyes over the circle. Dimly he saw faces, some stolid, some agitated; and there, at the farther end were the two Japanese, intent as children on these wonders. Their sparkling eyes were directed to the cabinet.
The apparition had disappeared between the curtains. But now there was a fresh gasp of wonder, as the figure of a little child stepped out into the room. It did not go far from the cabinet, and it alternately advanced and retreated, turning this way and that, as though looking for someone.
“It wants its mother!” exclaimed one of the women in the circle. “Is your mother here, little one?”