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As the story is so well authenticated, and has become a leading case in the discussion, I reprint the passage in which it occurs from the "Proceedings of the Psychical Research Society." The narrative is by a friend of the recipient:
The want of this power in which he stood in such sharp contrast to his friend might be either a strength or a weakness; a strength, if his business was only to fight; a weakness, if it was to attract and persuade. But Froude was made for conflict, not to win disciples.
"Friend," said Nathan, "with this halter I must bind one that sits in watch over the maiden; and, truly, it is better it should be so, seeing that these hands of mine have never been stained with the blood of woman." "And you have found my mistress?" said Ralph, in a rapture. "Jist call the Captain, and let's be a doing!"
"Here's the fine lad," said Danny, who caught sight of Steve before Miller did. "Mr. Sam Edwards, Coach, a particular friend of mine." Steve, rather embarrassed, started to say that his name was not Sam, but Miller interrupted him. "So here you are, Edwards? Glad to see you again. I've been looking for you and Hall to drop in on me. How are you, Hall?
'It is thanks to my good friend Captain Maret, who will soon receive us, that I have ever seen my country again.
Althea had dropped her hands. She did not look at her friend, but, with tear-disfigured eyes, out of the window; and there was a desolate dignity in her aspect. For the first time in their unequal intercourse they were on an equal footing.
But consider that before they know it, the newspapers will; so that, should it be needful, we shall have our own time to caution them. I need only say to Lucy's woman, 'A poor gentleman, a friend of the late squire, whom your mistress used to dance with, and you must have seen, Captain Clifford, is to be tried for his life.
Two years passed, and then I got a letter from an old friend, saying that Freeman's wife had eloped with a Frenchman. Another year, and then came a letter from Freeman himself, saying that his wife was dead; that he had identified her body in the Morgue at Paris found drowned, and all that. He believed that remorse had driven her to suicide.
A woman of extraordinary beauty and talent, possessed of the rarest qualities of mind and soul, was one day asked by a friend, to whom she seemed the most perfect creature on earth: "What are your plans? Can any man be worthy of your love? Your future puzzles me. I cannot conceive a destiny that shall be lofty enough for a soul such as yours." He knew but little of destiny.
"I do not see a matter of serious importance in that," said Cara. "His love of dress is a mere foible, that may be excused. It certainly has nothing to do with his real character." "It is an indication of the man's true character," her friend replied. "I am sure that I want no plainer exhibition.
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