“‘I make the promise now, and beg you to let me see her.’
“Plaxico took his arm and led him into Lottie’s room; and at the end of five minutes he returned, and, sinking down on the sofa, buried his face in his mother’s bosom and burst into tears.
“‘Weep, my dear son,’ said Mrs. Rockland, as she pressed him to her heart, ‘it will do you good; I often find relief in tears when sorrow weighs heavily upon me.’
“‘My dear, good mother,’ he exclaimed, as he threw his arms around her neck, ‘can you ever love me again after I have caused you so many hours of sorrow?’
“‘Love you, my son! Nothing could deprive you of my love; you have erred, but you were deceived by a combination of circumstances that would have misled any one.’
“‘Mother, can you forgive me?’
“‘There is nothing to pardon, my son; you thought your sister was betrayed, and that it was your duty to defend her; you acted upon what appeared to be proof, and not from an evil motive.’
“Doctor Plaxico took a seat near me, and requested Mrs. Rockland to go into Lottie’s room and keep watch until the patient should wake. I then gave the doctor a detailed history of the strange events that happened on the train, and requested him to give me the benefit of his opinion on the subject.
“‘Ah! Demar,’ said he, ‘if you follow the profession as long as I have, you will encounter many curious things. This is the third case of the same sort that I have treated. I was not here when Dodson telegraphed you that she was dead; of course I should have prevented it. Dodson’s heart is too large—it gets away with his judgment. Miss Wallingford was merely in a short trance—a fortunate thing, too, by the by. That was one of nature’s scientific plans adopted to cure the patient; and I think it has succeeded. The authorities differ as to the causes of such a condition, and many different theories have been advanced on the subject; but I am sorry to say that nothing satisfactory has been developed. I am decidedly inclined to the views of the minority, who think that the soul for the time being is absolutely out of the body. You say that Miss Wallingford was with you on the train at exactly 9:20. I believe it, too, for that was the very moment when she fell into the trance. Now if the soul was temporarily released from the body, where would it be most likely to go? Of course to where her affections led—to the man of whom she had been thinking all the time. If my theory is not correct, your imagination was at fault, and you were mistaken in your belief. The fact is, Demar, the more we study and theorize on this subject, the more complicated it seems. I often rack my brain about the matter until it all ends in confusion. God was the Artist who made the wonderful machine called man, and he crammed him full of mystery, eccentricities and unaccountable things. Well, Demar, the best way to secure true happiness is to fear God and keep His commandments; and let Him run the machine in his own way. What is, is, and that’s all we know about it. We don’t know the cause of things; and the less we puzzle our brains about it the better for us. But let me tell you, Demar, you ought to worship God day and night, as long as you live. What have you ever done for Him, by way of compensation for what He has done for you? He made Miss Wallingford; she is the paragon of beauty and loveliness—an angel in disposition; and then He made her fall in love with you. That is more than you deserve—more than any sinner deserves.’
“‘I know it, doctor, and I acknowledge my obligation, and have resolved never to forget it.’