“But what? I know your fears, and what this busy little neighborhood will say. I care no more for all its ideas of life than for the wind, while I feel right here,” said Mr. Wyman, placing his hand upon his heart. “The time has come for all to live individual lives. I would not for a moment have your name sullied, but should you go, would gossip cease? No; stay here, Miss Vernon, and show to this little portion of the world that man and woman can live together sociably and honorably. I love you as a sister; no more. My dear Alice is now my wife, the same as when on earth. I speak as I do, knowing that you will meet with many sneers and frowns if you stay, but the consciousness of right will sustain you.”
“How could you know what was in my mind? You have, indeed, expressed all my fears as regards this relation between us.”
“Will you go or stay?”
“I shall stay.”
“May you never regret the decision.”
“Now may I ask you about this strange belief, that the departed are about us? Excuse me, if I seem curious, but when you spoke of your dear wife, my whole being quivered with a new and strange emotion. I only ask from deepest interest.”
“I believe you. I wish I could transmit to your mind the proofs of my belief. I have almost daily positive proof of my wife's presence, sometimes by my own powers, and then again from those of my child.”
“Then she, too, sees like yourself?”
“She does. And every day my experiences are too real and tangible for me to deny, or even doubt that the loved, and so-called 'lost,' are with us still. To my mind, there is nothing unnatural about it. Every day my faith deepens, and not for all the glory of this life would I change my belief. Death has brought myself and Alice nearer together. But I can only state to you my faith in this, my experience cannot be imparted. Each must seek, and find, and be convinced alone by personal experience and observation.”
“I believe you, and your earnest words have sunk deep within my mind, yet in modern spiritualism I have little faith.”