“Not now my beloved; not now mine other self! The veil between the world of matter and the world of spirit still separates us. Have patience, George. Yet a little while and you will have crossed the border. Then to all eternity shall we live as one!”
What was this?
What did it mean?
Every drop of blood in my veins seemed suddenly to have been transformed to liquid fire.
Love!
I swear that no man ever experienced such love as I felt for Walla Benjow then, and yet I could not even bear to think of my former folly ten minutes before.
“Walla! Oh Walla!” I breathed. “What is this? What spell is it that you have the power to cast over me? Tell me—”
“Stay!” she murmured. “It is time that you knew something of the truth. I am not Walla Benjow. This land is not as your land. There the power, yes the very existence of such as I is denied. George Wylde, I am a spirit. I hold this woman in control. It is I you have loved—not Walla. To you she is nothing, but I am your soul’s companion. Have no fear. This trial will pass. Now I must leave you, for your friend would speak.”
It was a hard blow to my scepticism, yet I was not ignorant of the claims of a class of persons whom, until now, I had looked upon as arrant charlatans. I allude, of course, to the trance mediums of modern Spiritualism. I had never seen any of their work, but I had read of it, and now the recollection of what I had read recurred to my mind.
Then I saw Walla’s face change again—saw a shudder pass through her frame—was thanking my stars that the Doctor was not present, when suddenly I was startled by hearing her exclaim in a totally different voice with much more of the masculine about it:
“Hello, George!”
I started back as though stung.
It was not Maurice’s voice, that is certain; yet there was something about it which so strangely resembled his voice as to be positively startling.
I thought of Maurice on the instant, although I positively declare that when “my friend” was alluded to a moment previous it never entered my mind that it bore reference to him.
