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Updated: June 29, 2025
I came to myself in my own room, and only mother was with me." Her rebellious fire blazed up again. "Oh, Dr. Serviss, I was resigned yesterday, but to-night I am in terror again, and they know it. They are eager to show their power, to confound you and convert Dr. Weissmann. I'm sure they will do some wonderful thing for you to-night if you will let them."
"How can I help it?" she passionately 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."
"But have you considered the bearing of all these subtleties of science upon" he hesitated "a upon certain a occult phenomena?" Serviss eyed him non-committally. "Well, what, for instance?" "Well, upon, say, telepathy and a well, upon spiritual healing and the like." "I can't say that I have; I don't exactly see the connection. Furthermore, I don't believe in these particular delusions.
He swelled with pride as he spoke, as if visualizing himself on the platform, the centre of thousands of eyes, the champion of reviving faith. "Thank God for your vanity! There is still time for some one to intervene," responded Serviss, minded to thrust him through. Pratt shouldered in again. "What have you got to do with it, anyway? Who asked you to interfere?"
He would discredit the girl in the eyes of normal suitors, thereby assuring her to himself." Aloud he said: "Miss Lambert's right to herself should be your first consideration. She is something more than a trumpet for sounding your fame." Clarke's resounding voice had drawn Mrs. Lambert from her room, and she now hurried down the stairway with intent to calm him. Serviss turned to her.
"It is hard to explain," she replied, still in German. "I can understand you in any language but I can only speak as you taught me." Thereupon he addressed her in French, to which she replied easily, but in her native tongue. As this curious dialogue went on Serviss was searching vainly for an explanation. "Mr. Clarke, will you kindly speak at the same time that this voice appears?"
Not because the author flatters himself that he can walk in the Footsteps of that Immortal Dreamer, but because, like Jules Verne, he believes that the World of Imagination is as legitimate a Domain of the Human Mind as the World of Fact. Garrett Serviss modestly underestimated his abilities.
I deeply feel the injustice of these public tests, and I will do all I can to prevent them." Mrs. Lambert interrupted: "But, Dr. Serviss, my father's advice has always been good; to question it now would be to question my faith. His wish is my law." Serviss shrugged his shoulders a little impatiently. "My dear lady, we have no common ground there.
He was all the lover and nothing of the scientist as he stood to greet her. She, on her part, behind her proud mask, was breathing quick with pleasure. To meet Professor Serviss in dinner-dress, in his own home, exalted her above the pupil and transformed him into something more intimate than the master something more dangerously compelling than friend.
"One is as easy to believe as the other, and Crookes, Lodge, Lombroso, Tamburini, Aksakof, Von Hartmann, all believe in the reality of these happenings," retorted Serviss. "They differ only in their explanations.
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