"Give me your hands, Loyd," she said in the same murmurous tone, that retained not a vestige of her normal voice, "will you not welcome me back?"
Morton relinquished his hands into the keeping of that cold clasp, in silence.
"O Loyd, my husband," the voice resumed, "can you not believe that it is I, Paula, your wife?"
"What would be the consequence of my saying that I cannot believe?" he responded with constraint.
"It would make it all the more difficult for me to convince you that I am indeed with you."
"Then I will say that I believe."
"I am clairvoyant. You cannot mislead a spirit capable of reading your mind as though it were an open book. Ah, what can I do to conquer your incredulity? What can I say to convince you that I am as truly with you at this moment as I was at any moment while in the flesh? It is your sacred love for me that has attracted my spirit to this fortuitous reunion. Oh, do not doubt me!—rather assist me, if ever you loved me, Lolo!"
He started then, and his dark eyes shone like twin stars. "How came you by that name?" he demanded unsteadily—"a name never uttered in the presence of any living being, save myself?"
"How came I by that endearing epithet!" the voice answered. "Did not my absorbing fondness for you suggest it? Was it not the coinage of my affectionate fancy? I beseech you, separate this medium, through whom I speak, from my personality. Understand that this woman is practically dead, while it is I, Paula Morton, who actuate her brain, her voice, her very being."
"My God!" exclaimed Morton, "this is beyond my comprehension!"