She pointed out a sentence that read: “You cannot escape me nor the just punishment that is yours!”
“Perhaps I visualize too vividly for my own comfort, for I can see his hands at your throat. I know that he is, as you say, dead and dust, but for all that, I can see him as a man that is alive and walks the earth; I see the anger in his face, the anger and the vengeance, and I see it all directed against you.”
She crumpled up the scrawled sheets of paper, and put Planchette away.
“We won’t bother with it any more,” Chris said. “I didn’t think it would affect you so strongly. But it’s all subjective, I’m sure, with possibly a bit of suggestion thrown in—that and nothing more. And the whole strain of our situation has made conditions unusually favorable for striking phenomena.”
“And about our situation,” Lute said, as they went slowly up the path they had run down. “What we are to do, I don’t know. Are we to go on, as we have gone on? What is best? Have you thought of anything?”
He debated for a few steps. “I have thought of telling your uncle and aunt.”
“What you couldn’t tell me?” she asked quickly.
“No,” he answered slowly; “but just as much as I have told you. I have no right to tell them more than I have told you.”
This time it was she that debated. “No, don’t tell them,” she said finally. “They wouldn’t understand. I don’t understand, for that matter, but I have faith in you, and in the nature of things they are not capable of this same implicit faith. You raise up before me a mystery that prevents our marriage, and I believe you; but they could not believe you without doubts arising as to the wrong and ill-nature of the mystery. Besides, it would but make their anxieties greater.”
“I should go away, I know I should go away,” he said, half under his breath. “And I can. I am no weakling. Because I have failed to remain away once, is no reason that I shall fail again.”