“May it not be that you are a clairvoyant, and saw your dead friends clairvoyantly?”
The Butterfly lifted her hands in horror. “O Cartice, how can you suggest such a thing? I a clairvoyant? It would be too dreadful. I wouldn’t have a hint of such a horrid thing get out on me for the world. Why, clairvoyants are hideous creatures, ugly, old, frowsy, untruthful, and advertise to tell you all sorts of things for a dollar.”
“But, my own Butterfly, you are not old and ugly and all the rest of it, neither are all clairvoyants. History contains the names of some very eminent ones. What a wonderful and enviable gift clairvoyance must be. How I wish I had it. And if it be true that you are possessed of it, think what it brings to you—light, light from heaven itself—the most glorious light in the universe—proof that the dead have never died.”
Her friend’s enthusiasm ensnared the Butterfly’s vanity at once, so that she pricked up her ears and gave heed. Whatever Cartice said had weight with her. It gratified her, in spite of her prejudices, to have a faculty unattainable to ordinary persons. All this darted through her head and settled down into acceptance.
“Well, I don’t mind if it is clairvoyance, only don’t tell anybody.”
“It’s not a thing to be talked about with those who don’t understand or respect it. It’s too precious. Would I could see such sights. Then I could sing light-hearted tunes and walk on bravely, be my pack never so heavy. Don’t fail to tell me if you see anything more.”
Chrissalyn did see something more of the same character very soon, and made haste to describe it to her friend.
She had gone to a bank to attend to some business which required more explanation than was convenient to make through the cashier’s window, so she was invited to take a seat in the office of the president, with whom she had some acquaintance.
While she sat there his son entered, bearing strong evidence of having tarried too long at the wine. His reputation as altogether too jolly a dog was well known. His father sent him off as speedily as possible, and then said to Chrissalyn in a burst of distracted confidence, such as we all give to somebody at times when the load grows too heavy, “My boy is going to ruin in spite of all I can do. I have borne with him till I am out of patience, yet my forbearance is wasted. I am tempted to cast him off entirely, to throw him on his own resources and see how that will work. Maybe it will bring him to reason, since no amount of kind treatment does him any good.”
On the instant Mrs. Layton saw a woman stand behind the banker. Whence she came or how she knew not, but there she was, and she spoke—spoke in an earnest, anxious voice, with an entreating gesture: “Tell him not to do that. Beg him not to do it. Say that I implore him not to do it.”