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Mrs. Wilcox. First rate. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm very grateful to you for inviting me. My assistant and I have been interested for some time in the investigation of the trance state, particularly in relation to the electrical conductivity of the skin. This box"—Jim lifted it onto the table, and Frederick opened it to disclose a copper coil, a mass of twisted wire, brass terminals, and a large glass dial—"is an improved version of the electrodermograph, invented by Professor Schneider of Boston."
    He passed a length of wire to Jim to connect to the batteries, and then uncoiled four more lengths, each ending in a little brass disc. They were all connected to the copper coil.
    "These wires are attached to the medium's ankles and wrists," he explained, "and the resistance is shown on the dial. Mrs. Budd, may we connect you up?"
    "You can connect me to your apparatus anytime, dear," she said brightly.
    Frederick coughed. "Ahem . . . good. Could one of the ladies perhaps oblige by fastening the wires to Mrs. Budd's ankles? It's a delicate matter, I know ..."
    But Mrs. Budd was having nothing to do with delicacy.

    "Oh, no," she said, "you do it, love, sos I dont get electrified. Besides, you ve got the gift, haven't you? I knew it as soon as I saw you, dear. You ve got spirituality shining out of you."
    "Oh," said Frederick, aware that Jim was grinning widely at him. "Well, in that case ..."
    Trailing wires, he plunged beneath the tablecloth while the ladies and gendemen of the Spiritualist League, caught between the impropriety of a young man s actually touching a pair of female ankles and the evident spirituality of both parties, coughed and talked and looked genteelly elsewhere. After a minute Frederick emerged and pronounced the wires attached.
    "And very gende you done it, too," said Mrs. Budd. "I hardly knew you was touching me. Such artistic fin-gets!
    "Well," said Frederick, delivering a sharp kick to Jims ankle. "Shall we try the apparatus?"
    He threw a switch, and the needle sprang away from the stop and trembled at the center of the dial.
    "Fancy that," said Mrs. Budd. "It doesnt even tingle."
    "Oh, theres no danger, Mrs. Budd; the current is very mild. Now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we take our places at the table?"
    Chairs were drawn up, and the spiritualists and their guests jammed themselves as comfortably as they could around the table. Frederick sat on one side of Mrs. Budd with the electrodermograph in front of him, and

    before he could escape, Jim was seized by a strong, beringed hand and planted firmly on the other.
    "Lights, Mrs. Wilcox, if you please," said Mr. Freeman Humphries, and the hostess turned down the gaslights one by one before taking her place. Only the faintest glow now filtered down. A hush fell over the company.
    "Can you see your apparatus, Dr. Semple?" inquired a spectral voice.
    "Perfectly, thank you. The needle is coated with luminous paint. Ready when you are, Mrs. Budd."
    "Thank you, dear," she said placidly. "Join hands, ladies and gentlemen."
    Hands felt for one another and lay palm to palm around the edge of the table. The circle was joined. Frederick peered down at the box, his right hand folded in Mrs. Budd's warm, moist one, his left clutching the bony fingers of the pallid young woman on his other side.
    Silence fell.
    After a minute Mrs. Budd gave a long, shuddering sigh. Her head had fallen forward and she seemed to be slumbering. Suddenly she woke up and began to speak—in a man's voice.
    "Ella?" she said. "Ella, my dear?"
    It was a rich voice, a fruity voice, and more than one person in the circle felt the hairs prickle on their necks in response. Mrs. Jamieson Wilcox started and said faintly, "Oh! Charles—Charles! Is it you?"

    "It is indeed, my dear," answered the voice—a mans voice, a voice no woman could imitate, a voice with sixty-seven years of port and cheese and raisins in it. "Ella, my dear, though the veil has parted us, let not our love grow cold.