The fear still on her prompted her first words, “Let me go home now!”
“Not now,” begged the conjurer; “you must go into a trance again. I want you to see something that will be very interesting to you. Please, Miss Courtlandt.” He spoke in the gentlest of tones, but there was a repressed assurance about his manner that was infuriating to Lucy.
“Miss Abbie’s going home,” she cried, angrily; “we ain’t going to have any more of this nonsense. Come, Miss Abbie.” She touched her on her arm, but trembling Abbie fixed her eyes on the conjurer, and he, in that gentle tone, answered:
“Certainly, if she wishes; but she wants to stay. You want to stay, Miss Courtlandt, don’t you?”
“Yes, I want to stay,” said Abbie; and her heart was cold within her, for the words seemed to say themselves, even while she struggled frantically against the utterance of them.
“‘SHE MUST LOOK AT IT’”
“Do you mean it, Miss Abbie?” the girl repeated, sorely puzzled.
“Certainly, just once more,” said Miss Abbie. And she sat down again in her chair.