Laurie broke down.
"I can only say," he cried, "that I beg and entreat of you to do what you can--now and here."
There was a silence.
"And you, Mr. Jamieson?"
The young clergyman started, as if from a daze. Then he rose abruptly.
"I--I must be going, Lady Laura," he said. "I had no idea it was so late. I--I have a confirmation class."
An instant later he was gone.
"That is as well," observed the medium. "And you are sure, Mr. Baxter, that you wish me to try? You must remember that I promise nothing."
"I wish you to try."
"And if nothing happens?"
"If nothing happens, I will promise to--to continue my search. I shall know then that--that it is at least sincere."
Mr. Vincent rose to his feet.
"A little table just here, Lady Laura, if you please, and a pencil and paper.... Will you kindly take your seats...? Yes, Mr. Baxter, draw up your chair ... here. Now, please, we must have complete silence, and, so far as possible, silence of thought."
II
The table, a small, round rosewood one, stood, bare of any cloth, upon the hearthrug. The two ladies sat, motionless statues once more, upon the side furthest from the fire, with their hands resting lightly upon the surface. Laurie sat on one side and the medium on the other. Mr. Vincent had received his paper and pencil almost immediately, and now sat resting his right hand with the pencil upon the paper as if to write, his left hand upon his knee as he sat, turned away slightly from the center.
Laurie looked at him closely....
And now he began to be aware of a certain quite indefinable change in the face at which he looked. The eyes were open--no, it was not in them that the change lay, nor in the lines about the mouth, so far as he could see them, nor in any detail, anywhere. Neither was it the face of a dreamer or a sleepwalker, or of the dead, when the lines disappear and life retires. It was a living, conscious face, yet it was changed. The lips were slightly parted, and the breath came evenly between them. It was more like the face of one lost in deep, absorbed, introspective thought. Laurie decided that this was the explanation.
He looked at the hand on the paper--well shaped, brownish, capable--perfectly motionless, the pencil held lightly between the finger and thumb.
Then he glanced up at the two ladies.