The Land Of Mist - Doyle Arthur Conan - Страница 11

The harmonium droned in the darkness and the circle sang. They sang very tunefully, too, for the girls had fresh voices and true ears. Low and vibrant, the solemn rhythm became most impressive when no sense but that of hearing was free to act. Their hands, according to instructions, were laid lightly upon the table, and they were warned not to cross their legs. Malone, with his hand touching Enid's, could feel the little quiverings which showed that her nerves were highly strung. The homely, jovial voice of Bolsover relieved the tension.

«That should do it,» he said. «I feel as if the conditions were good to-night. Just a touch of frost in the air, too. I'll ask you now to join with me in prayer.»

It was effective, that simple, earnest prayer in the darkness – an inky darkness which was only broken by the last red glow of a dying fire.

«Oh, great Father of us all,» said the voice. «You who are beyond our thoughts and who yet pervade our lives, grant that all evil may be kept from us this night and that we may be privileged to get in touch, if only for an hour, with those who dwell upon a higher plane than ours. You are our Father as well as theirs. Permit us, for a short space, to meet in brotherhood, that we may have an added knowledge of that eternal life which awaits us, and so be helped during our years of waiting in this lower world.» He ended with the «Our Father», in which we all joined. Then they all sat in expectant silence Outside was the dull roar of traffic and the occasional ill-tempered squawk of a passing car. Inside there was absolute stillness. Enid and Malone felt every sense upon the alert and every nerve on edge as they gazed out into the gloom.

«Nothing doing, mother,» said Bolsover at last. «It's the strange company. New vibrations. They have to tune them in to get harmony. Give us another tune, Mr. Smiley.» Again the harmonium droned. It was still playing when a woman's voice cried: «Stop! Stop! They are here!»

Again they waited without result.

«Yes! Yes! I heard Wee One. She is here, right enough. I'm sure of it.»

Silence again, and then it came – such a marvel to the visitors, such a matter of course to the circle.

«Gooda evenin'!» cried a voice.

There was a burst of greeting and of welcoming laughter from the circle. They were all speaking at once. «Good evening, Wee One!» «There you are, dear!» «I knew you would come!» «Well done, little girl guide!»

«Gooda evenin', all!» replied the voice. «Wee One so glad see Daddy and Mummy and the rest. Oh, what big man with beard! Mailey, Mister Mailey, I meet him before. He big Mailey, I little femaley. Glad to see you, Mr. Big Man.»

Enid and Malone listened with amazement, but it was impossible to be nervous in face of the perfectly natural way in which the company accepted it. The voice was very thin and high – more so than any artificial falsetto could produce. It was the voice of a female child. That was certain. Also that there was no female child in the room unless one had been smuggled in after the light went out. That was possible. But the voice seemed to be in the middle of the table. How could a child get there?

«Easy get there, Mr. Gentleman,» said the voice, answering his unspoken thought. «Daddy strong man. Daddy lift Wee One on to table. Now I show what Daddy not able to do.»

«The trumpet's up!» cried Bolsover.

The little circle of luminous paint rose noiselessly into the air. Now it was swaying above their heads.

«Go up and hit the ceiling!» cried Bolsover. Up it went and they heard the metallic tapping above them. Then the high voice came from above:

«Clever Daddy! Daddy got fishing-rod and put trumpet up to ceiling. But how Daddy make the voice, eh? What you say, pretty English Missy? Here is a present from Wee One.»

Something soft dropped on Enid's lap. She put her hand down and felt it.

«It's a flower – a chrysanthemum. Thank you, Wee One!»

«An apport?» asked Mailey.

«No, no, Mr. Mailey,» said Bolsover. «They were in the vase on the harmonium. Speak to her, Miss Challenger. Keep the vibrations going.»

«Who are you, Wee One?» asked Enid, looking up at the moving spot above her.

«I am little black girl. Eight-year-old little black girl.»

«Oh, come, dear,» said mother in her rich, coaxing voice. «You were eight when you came to us first, and that was years ago.»

«Years ago to you. All one time to me. I to do my job as eight-year child. When job done then Wee One become Big One all in one day. No time here, same as you have. I always eight-year-old.»

«In the ordinary way they grow up exactly as we do here,» said Mailey. «But if they have a special bit of work for which a child is needed, then as a child they remain It's a sort of arrested development.»

«That's me. 'Rested envelopment',» said the voice proudly. «I learn good England when big man here.»

They all laughed. It was the most genial, free-and-easy association possible. Malone heard Enid's voice whispering in his ear.

«Pinch me from time to time, Edward – just to make me sure that I am not in a dream.»

«I have to pinch myself, too.»

«What about your song, Wee One?» asked Bolsover.

«Oh, yes, indeeda! Wee One sing to you.» She began some simple song, but faded away in a squeak, while the trumpet clattered on to the table.

«Ah, power run down!» said Mailey. «I think a little more music will set us right. 'Lead, Kindly Light'»

They sang the beautiful hymn together. As the verse closed an amazing thing happened – amazing, at least, to the novices, though it called for no remark from the circle. The trumpet still shone upon the table, but two voices, those apparently of a man and a woman, broke out in the air above them and joined very tunefully in the singing. The hymn died away and all was silence and tense expectancy once more.

It was broken by a deep male voice from the darkness. It was an educated English voice, well modulated, a voice which spoke in a fashion to which the good Bolsover could never attain.

«Good evening, friends. The power seems good tonight.»

«Good evening, Luke. Good evening!» cried everyone.

«It is our teaching guide,» Bolsover explained. «He is a high spirit from the sixth sphere who gives us instruction.»

«I may seem high to you,» said the voice. «But what am I to those in turn who instruct me! It is not my wisdom. Give me no credit. I do but pass it on.»

«Always like that,» said Bolsover. «No swank. It's a sign of his height.»

«I see you have two inquirers present. Good evening, young lady! You know nothing of your own powers or destiny. You will find them out. Good evening, sir, you are on the threshold of great knowledge. Is there any subject upon which you would wish me to say a few words? I see that you are making notes.»

Malone had, as a fact, disengaged his hand in the darkness and was jotting down in shorthand the sequence of events.

«What shall I speak of?»

«Of love and marriage,» suggested Mrs. Bolsover, nudging her husband.

«Well, I will say a few words on that. I will not take long, for others are waiting. The room is crowded with spirit people. I wish you to understand that there is one man, and only one, for each woman, and one woman only for each man. When those two meet they fly together and are one through all the endless chain of existence. Until they meet all unions are mere accidents which have no meaning. Sooner or later each couple becomes complete. It may not be here. It may be in the next sphere where the sexes meet as they do on earth. Or it may be further delayed. But every man and every woman has his or her affinity, and will find it. Of earthly marriages perhaps one in five is permanent. The others are accidental. Real marriage is of the soul and spirit. Sex actions are a mere external symbol which mean nothing and are foolish, or even pernicious, when the thing which they should symbolize is wanting. Am I clear?»