Before any comment could be made upon this astounding phenomenon, Victor perceived a faint glow of phosphorus upon the table. It increased in brilliancy till it presented a clear-cut square of some greenish glowing substance, and then a large hand in a ruffled sleeve appeared above it as if in the act of writing.
"It is Watts," whispered Leo. "He is writing for us."
Bending forward, Victor was able to read this message outlined in dark script on the glowing surface of what seemed to be the slate: "The dreams of to-day are the realities of to-morrow." These words faded and again the shadowy hand swept over the table, and this companion sentence followed: "The realities of to-day will be but the half-truths or the gross errors of the future.
"WATTS."
Victor was strongly tempted to clutch this hand, but fear of something unpleasant prevented him from doing so. He was sick with apprehension, with dread of what might happen next. A feeling of guilt, of remorse, came upon him. "I am to blame for this!" he thought, and was on the point of rising and calling for the lights, when something happened which changed not merely his feeling at the moment, but the whole course of his life, so incredible, so destructive of all physical laws, of all his scientific training was the phenomenon. A hand, large and shapely, took up the glowing slate and held it like a lamp to his mother's face, so that all might see her. She sat with hands outspread upon the table, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. Her arms extended in rigid lines. It seemed that the invisible ones desired to prove to Victor that his mother could not and was not holding the slate.
Swift as light the glowing mirror disappeared, and then, as if through a window opened in the air before his eyes, Victor perceived a strange face confronting him, the face of a girl with deep and tender eyes, incredibly beautiful. Her eyes were in shadow, but the pure oval of her cheeks, the dainty grace of her chin, the broad, full brow and something ineffably pure in the faintly happy smile, stopped his breath with awe. He forgot his mother, his problems, his doubts, in study of the unearthly beauty of this vision.
Mrs. Joyce whispered in ecstasy, "It is Altair!"
The angelic lips parted, and a low voice, so gentle it was like the murmur of a leaf, replied, "Yes, it is Altair." And to Victor her voice was of exquisite delicacy. "Believe, be faithful."
No one breathed. It was as if they had been permitted to gaze upon one of heaven's angelic choir. How came she there? Who was she? Before these questions could be framed she disappeared, silently as a bubble on the water, leaving behind only that delicious, subtle, unaccountable odor as of tropic fruits and unknown flowers.
Leo, breathing a sigh of sad ecstasy, exclaimed: "Is she not beautiful? Never has she shown herself more glorious than to-night."