In September 1906 I was going through a course of baths at Buxton, and on a certain Sunday (2nd September) I saw the moon through glass in my bedroom window in the most unmistakable way. There was no friendly cloud, no other twinkling light to throw the smallest shadow of doubt upon the fact. There was much good-humoured laughter over my "superstition" in the house; but I knew some trouble was on its way, little dreaming that it was one which would alter my whole life.
On the Wednesday morning (5th September) I received the first intimation of what proved to be the last illness of a brother who has been mentioned in these pages already, and who had been an invalid for nearly thirty years. A point to be noticed is that on the Sunday, when the sign came to me, he was in his usual health, and even on Monday went out for a long drive. The first attack of angina pectoris only came on in the middle of the night of Monday-Tuesday, 3rd to 4th September.
Later, when the disease had become acute, and I was in the south of England, living in hourly suspense, and receiving telegrams and letters several times a day, another curious incident occurred which has a bearing upon our subject.
As my readers are probably aware, in this sad and painful illness the only proof of unselfish affection which one can give, may be to keep away from the patient, when you know that all is being done for him that skill and devotion can suggest. The smallest agitation is almost certain to bring on a fresh attack of the terrible pain, and so long as there is any hope of a rally, or, in fact, any consciousness that can possibly result in increased suffering, everyone should be kept away from the patient except those who are in actual and necessary attendance.
This naturally entails great mental distress and suffering upon those who are living from hour to hour, in a state of tension and suspense.
After more than a fortnight of alternate hopes and fears, the position became almost unendurable, and I was making all preparations for a visit to the patient, or at least to the house where he lay (against my better judgment), when letters and a telegram arrived imploring me not to come, as a short visit from another relative had proved most disastrous in bringing on another attack of the terrible pain; from which he never really rallied.
Under these distressing circumstances, there could be but one course open to me.
I was staying with my kind friends Admiral and Mrs Usborne Moore at this sad time, and can never feel sufficiently grateful for their goodness to me and sympathy with my distress.
The Admiral, as many of us know, is a most persevering student of psychic science, and I think it was by his suggestion, or at anyrate with his approval, that I determined to pay a visit to a lady of whom he had spoken to me—Mrs Arnold, a daughter-in-law of Sir Edwin Arnold—who is a gifted clairvoyant.
I went alone to the house, that she might not be able to connect me with my host and hostess; and the interview was a remarkable one.