“It is a well-known term among psychists. People have been levitated, while in an unconscious state, from one house to another,—simply wafted through the air—”
“Oh, rubbish! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Webb, but—do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do—”
“Hush, mother;” Henrietta reproved her; “those fads of yours are inopportune at this moment. She is a believer in all Spiritism, Mr. Whiting, but this is not the time for such suggestions. Do you know it is eleven o’clock? Something must be done! And oughtn’t we to let Elsie know what has happened? She has a right to be told.”
“Who will tell her?” asked Whiting, looking troubled.
Remembering his own hopeless admiration for the girl, Henrietta readily understood his disinclination to carry her the disturbing news.
“I’ll go and tell her,” she said, at last. “But you, Mr. Whiting, must do something toward finding Kimball. The cruel person who would do such a thing as to hide away a man on his wedding day is no less than a criminal. Only a wicked mind could conceive of such a deed!”
“Perhaps he went of his own accord?”
“I truly hope so; then he’ll come back soon. But we must take no chances. Leave no stone unturned to find out what has happened. Tell me frankly, what men at the dinner would you think capable of such an exhibition of cruelty and bad taste?”
“I hesitate to say; I can’t think any of them would be. Oh, don’t take my whilom suggestion as a fact! I can’t believe it myself. But—what else?”