“Mrs. Fordham! Welcome again!” said Dyer, giving the visitor his hand. “You drop down upon us as if from cloud-land. I thought you were far away. But who have we here?”
And he stooped a little, carefully examining the child’s face.
“A prize,—a treasure,—a good gift from our generous spirits,” answered Mrs. Fordham, as she sat down with the air of one who felt herself at home, and lifted the child upon her lap. Drawing her head down upon her bosom, she made a pass or two with her hand, and the little girl was still as an effigy.
“There never was a more impressible subject,” said the woman, “nor one through whom spirits communicate more freely. I saw it in her the instant my eyes rested on her face. Then I consulted the spirits, and they said that she was born to a high mission. But how was she to be brought into the sphere of her holy calling? In common language, she was not mine. I was not the instrument of her birth, and therefore, in the world’s regard, had no right to dispose of her. Again I consulted the spirits. The answer was clear. The bars of custom must be thrown down, they said. The child was destined to a high use, and human bonds must not restrain her. For a time the spirit was willing but the flesh weak. I hesitated, held back, doubted; but clearer and clearer came the indications. At last all communication was withdrawn from me. I asked, but received no answer; again and again I called to my old and dear companions, but not even a faint, far-off echo was returned to my half-despairing cry. Then, and not till then, I yielded. I sent forth my thought and affection toward this child—this beloved one of the spirits—and drew her toward me. Though distant as to the body, I felt that my hands were upon her, and that she was approaching. And she came in good time,—came and threw herself into my arms,—a young devotee to this new science, a neophyte priestess for service at the altar in that grand spiritual temple, the walls of which are towering upward to heaven.”
Mrs. Fordham’s eyes gradually assumed an upward angle: a rapt expression came into her face; her voice was deep and muffled by feeling.
“Precious darling! Chosen one! Beloved of the angels!” said Mrs. Weir, bending over the little girl, who now lay in a trance-sleep against the woman’s bosom.
“Will the spirits communicate through her now?” asked Dyer.
“Let me inquire of them,” answered the woman. And she relapsed into a state of real or apparent cessation of all exterior consciousness. Ten minutes of almost pulseless silence followed, the child still lying in her strange, unnatural sleep.
“They will speak,” said Mrs. Fordham, in a deep yet hushed tone. Then she laid her hand gently on the colorless face of the child-medium, and held it there for the space of several seconds. A few light passes followed. The child caught her breath: there were slight convulsive spasms of the chest and limbs, while a most painful expression saddened her gentle face.
“Dear child!” murmured Mrs. Weir.