“Tested.”
“You mean that you have tested it?”
“Yes.”
The next day, Sunday—two weeks from the day she had first talked to me through planchette—she returned to this theme, which still seemed somewhat fantastic to my practical and pragmatical mind, with further allusions to our long association.
During the days of confusion and uncertainty before Mr. Kendal replied to my telegram, when his wife constantly implored me to write to him again, and I as constantly refused, insisting that she first show cause why she had misled me about his movements and whereabouts, I wrung from her an admission that in some way he had put her so far from him that she neither knew nor could learn anything about him, except that he suffered and needed her, which both Mary K. and Frederick verified. I said once to Mary K. that it was incredible that this could be, to which she laconically returned, “It can.” After his actual receipt of my telegram, Mary Kendal never returned to me until she came with him, and the character of her earlier banishment, and consequent inability to perceive his movements, was still unexplained.
As the hour of his arrival approached I grew uneasy, and asked Mary K. whether he came happily or in dread.
“Certainly with o”—the joy circle, and as we have since learned, the circle of completion.
When I asked her to write it out in full to reassure me, the pencil ran back, underscoring “certainly.” She said further that Mary Kendal was with him, and very happy.
“Has Mary Kendal been very unhappy?” I asked.
“No. Aeons ago they were one purpose.”