So saying, he held out his hand, which Bradley took mechanically, and then, with a polite bow, passed from the room and out of the house.
Bradley resumed his seat, and the meditations which his pertinacious visitor had interrupted; but the interruption, irritating as it was, had done him good. Absurd as the Professor’s talk had been, it was suggestive of that kind of speculation which has invariably a fascination for imaginative men, and from time to time, amidst his gloomy musings over his own condition, amidst his despair, his dread, and his self-reproach, the clergyman found himself reminded of the odd propositions of the so-called biologist.
After all, there was something in the little man’s creed, absurd as it was, which brought a thinker face to face with the great phenomena of life and being. How wretched and ignoble seemed his position, in face of the eternal Problem, which even spiritualism was an attempt to solve! He was afraid now to look in the mirror of Nature, lest he should behold only his own lineament, distorted by miserable fears. He felt, for the time being, infamous. A degrading falsehood, like an iron ring, held him chained and bound.
Even the strange charlatan had discovered the secret of his misery. He would soon be a laughing-stock to all the world; he, who had aspired to be the world’s teacher and prophet, who would have flown like an eagle into the very central radiance of the sun of Truth!
He rose impatiently, and paced up and down the room. As he did so, his eye fell upon something white, lying at the feet of the chair where his visitor had been sitting.
He stooped and picked it up. He found it to be a large envelope, open, and containing two photographs. Hardly knowing what he did, he took out the pictures, land examined them.
The first rather puzzled him, though he soon realised its character. It represented the little Professor, seated in an armchair, reading a book open upon his knee; behind him was a shadowy something in white floating drapery, which, on close scrutiny, disclosed the outline of a human face and form, white and vague like the filmy likeness seen in a smouldering fire. Beneath this picture was written in a small clear hand,—‘Professor Mapleleafe and Azaleus, a Spirit of the Third Magnitude, from the Evening Star.’
It was simply a curious specimen of what is known as ‘Spirit-Photography.’ The clergyman returned it to its envelope with a smile of contempt.
The second photograph was different; it was the likeness of a woman, clad in white muslin, and reclining upon a sofa.
The figure was petite, almost fairy-like in its fragility; the hair, which fell in masses over the naked shoulders, very fair; the face, elfinlike, but exceedingly pretty the eyes, which looked right out from the picture into those of the spectator, were wonderfully large, lustrous and wild. So luminous and searching were these eyes, so rapt and eager the pale face, that Bradley was startled, as if he were looking into the countenance of a living person.