With a full realization of the value of this supreme test of Viola's honor, Morton laid his right hand lightly on her wrist. At the first contact she started as though his fingers had been hot iron, and he was unpleasantly aware that her flesh had grown cold and inert. He spoke of this to Weissmann, who replied: "Is that so! The hand which I clasp is hot and dry, which is a singular symptom." Then to the others: "I am now holding both her hands. One is very hot, the other cold and damp and I feel no pulse."
"She is always so," Mrs. Lambert explained. "She seems to die for the time being."
"That is very strange," muttered Weissmann. "May I listen for her heart-beat?" Three raps assented, and a moment later he said, with increased excitement: "I cannot detect her heart-beat."
Clarke reassured him. "Do not be alarmed. She is not dead. Proceed with your experiment." There was a distinct note of contempt in his voice.
As Morton laid his hand upon the soft coils of her hair Viola again moved slightly, as a sleeper stirs beneath a caress, disturbed yet not distressed—to settle instantly into deeper dream.
"We are ready," called Weissmann. "Whatever happens now Miss Lambert is not the cause. Take Mr. Clarke's hands in yours—"
"Mrs. Lambert's also," added Morton.
"Our hands are all touching," answered Kate.
"Now, let us see!" cried Weissmann, and his voice rang triumphantly. "Now, spirits, to your work!"
Clarke laughed contemptuously. "You scientists are very amusing. Your unbelief is heroic."