Part 27 (1/2)
Her eyes bravely searched his. ”Was that why you did not come to say good-bye to us?” His glance fell in a wish that she had been less cruelly direct. She went on: ”You needn't answer. I'm used to being treated that way. I knew somebody had told you I was a medium. You despised me when you found out about me--everybody does, except those who want to use me. All the people I really want to know go by on the other side as if I were a leper. It was so in Boston; it is going to be the same here.”
Mrs. Lambert interposed. ”That is not true, Dr. Serviss. We met many nice people in Boston.”
”Yes, mamma--nice people who wanted me to tell their fortunes.”
Her tone went to Serviss's heart. She was so young to be so bitter; but he could think of nothing at the moment which would not add to her chagrin, for was not his own interpretation of her quite as hard to bear?
She went on: ”No, I don't blame you or any one for avoiding me. But I wish they would let me have one or two friends. But they won't. Lots of people like me at first, but they surely find out after a while, and then they change towards me. Sometimes I think I might as well publish my name as a medium and let everybody know it at once.”
”You must not permit that, Miss Lambert,” he earnestly said. ”That is what I came to say. Don't allow them to use you so.”
”How can I help it?” she pa.s.sionately exclaimed, ”when they all demand it--mother, Mr. Clarke. Mr. Pratt, grandfather--everybody. They think I owe it to the world.”
”I don't. I think it is your right to say--”
”I have no rights. Listen.” She leaned towards him, her face paling, her eyes big and soft and terrified. ”I want you to understand me, Dr. Serviss. You must know all about me.” Her voice fell to a husky murmur. ”You must know that I can't direct my own life. My 'guides'
can do what they please with me. Can you understand that?”
”I confess I cannot.”
”It is true. My grandfather insists on these public tests. He is determined to 'convict the men of science,' and Mr. Clarke is only too glad to agree with him. Mother is controlled entirely by what grandfather says. My wishes don't count with anybody. But I think I've done my share in this work.” She faced her mother in challenge and appeal. ”Ever since I was ten years old I've given myself up to it; but now I'm afraid to go on. I don't want to be a medium all my life.
They all say it is hard to change after one is grown up, and I'm afraid,” she repeated, with a perceptible shudder.
The mother, undisturbed by this plea, turned to Serviss with an exultant smile. ”Does she look like one breaking down?”
The girl rose from her chair like a tragedienne. ”It isn't my body, it's my mind!” she cried, with poignant inflection, clasping her head with both her hands; and her look transformed her in the eyes of the young scientist. It was the tragic gaze of one who confronts insanity and death at a time when life should be at its sweetest. For an instant she stood there absorbed in her terror, then dropped her hands, and in a voice of entreaty, which melted all his distrust, hurried on. ”I want to know what is going on in my brain. I am losing control of my _self_! I want some man of science like you to study me.
Your sister said you would help me, and you must! You think I deceive--you thought so last night--but I don't. I knew nothing of what went on. I didn't know that you were there. I don't know what I do nor what I am. I want you men of science to investigate me. I will submit to any test you like. You may fasten me in a cage, or padlock me down--anything!--but I will not be advertised to the world as a medium, and I must have rest from this strain. Don't you understand?
Can't you see how it will be?”
”I do,” he answered, quickly. ”I understand perfectly, and I will go at once to see Mr. Clarke and intercede--”
”That is not enough. You must intercede with my grandfather and his band, they are the ones who control me. Ask him to release me.”
This request staggered the scientist. ”My dear Miss Lambert, you will pardon me, but I can't do that--I do not even believe in the existence of your grandfather.”
She stood in silence for a moment and then answered; ”You would if his hands were at your throat as they are at mine. He is just as real to me as you are. He is listening this minute.”
”That is a delusion.”
”I wish it were,” she bitterly and tragically answered. ”The hands are so real they choke me--that I know. I am helpless when he demands things of me. He can lead me anywhere he wants me to go. He can use my arms, my voice, as he wills. You must believe in him to help me. He will listen to you, I feel that.” She grew appealing again. ”Your sister believes in me--I am sure of that--and my heart went out to her. Sometimes it seems as if all the world, even my own mother, were willing to sacrifice me.”
”Viola!” cried Mrs. Lambert, sharply. ”You shall not say things like that.”
”They're true. You know they're true!” the girl pa.s.sionately retorted.
”You all treat me as if I had no more soul than a telephone.”
”That is very unjust,” declared Mrs. Lambert. ”This is only one of her dark moods, doctor. You must not think she really means this.”
The girl's brows were now set in sullen lines which seemed a profanation of her fair young face. ”But I _do_ mean it, and I want Dr. Serviss to know just what is in my heart.” Her voice choked with a kind of helpless, rebellious anger as she went on: ”I'm tired of my life. I am sick of all these moaning people that crowd round me. It's all unnatural to me. I want to touch young people, and have a share in their life before I grow old. I want to know healthy people who don't care anything about death or spirits. It's all a craze with people anyway--something that comes after they lose a wife or child. They are very nice to me then, but after a few weeks they despise me as the dust under their feet--or else they make love to me and want to marry me.”