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Updated: June 26, 2025
I thought he was trying to send some of his power into me. Soon I felt that he was succeeding in this supposed endeavor. Soon I felt that a strange new power was filtering into me." Chichester fixed his eyes on Stepton as he said the last words, and seemed to emerge from his former condition of self-absorption. "You have sat often. Have you ever felt such a sensation? It is like growth," he said.
He scarcely ever ate at orthodox hours, and had frequently been caught lunching at restaurants in London between four and five in the afternoon. "Where's the rector? At church?" was his greeting. "The rector has gone back to London," replied Malling, sitting down by the table. "What about my cup of tea, then?" snapped Stepton. "I will be your host. I'm here till to-morrow.
"I'll leave you alone," said Mailing. "You need to be alone." "Thank you! Thank you!" said Chichester. And without another word he went into the bedroom, shutting the folding-doors behind him. At half-past seven that same evening Malling was with Professor Stepton, and made what the professor called his "report." "Ah!" said the professor when he had finished.
When would he arrive at Henry Chichester? There were moments when Malling felt irritated by Stepton's silence. That it was emulated by Marcus Harding, Lady Sophia, and Henry Chichester did not make matters easier for him. However, he had deliberately chosen to put this strange affair into Stepton's hands. Stepton had shown no special alacrity with regard to the matter.
The professor knew enough of psychology to be aware that in the very depths of the human heart there is a desire which may perhaps be called socialistic the desire to share truth with one's fellow-men. Chichester was scourged by this desire. But whether what he wished to share was truth, or only what he believed to be truth, was the question. Anyhow, Stepton was determined to make him speak.
This again accorded with the professor's intention. One day, after the even-song at St. Joseph's, Stepton saw flit across the face of the curate, whom he was meeting, a flicker of something like fear. The two men passed each other, and immediately, like one irresistibly compelled, the professor looked back. As he did so, Chichester also turned round to spy upon this unknown.
"Remember I've only seen him to-day and walking in the midst of crowds." "Quite true! Quite true!" Mr. Harding meditated for a minute, and then said: "Mr. Malling, I daresay my conduct to-day may surprise you. You may think it odd of me to be so frank, seeing that you and I have not met before. But Stepton has told me so much about you that I cannot feel we are quite strangers.
You!" interjected Stepton, harshly. "I, then, came into his life. He thought he would use me to further his purpose. He constrained me to sittings such as you have often taken part in, with a view to sending me into a trance and employing me, when in that condition, as a means of communication with the other world if there was one. We sat secretly in this room, at this table."
Chichester: Very glad to have had the opportunity of reading your interesting discourse. If I had not known it was yours, and a sermon, I should have said "a posthumous work of Robert Louis Stevenson." It does credit to your imagination. If you care to publish, I should suggest "The Cornhill." I know nothing about their terms. Yours faithfully, G.R.E. Stepton.
"You'll forgive me, I hope, for saying that you scientific men very often seem to have a great contempt for those who are more mystically minded," he observed. "I've hit the line!" thought Stepton, with a touch of exultation, as he dropped out a negligent, "Forgive you of course."
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