Victor Ollnee's Discipline
As she paused her lawyer said, wearily: "It is a plain case of swindling, your honor, and we desire to press the case to its limit at once, for Pettus cannot be found, and we fear the flight of the defendant."
Mr. Bartol spoke suavely. "Your honor, it is not 'a plain case of swindling.' Mrs. Ollnee is the personal friend of Mrs. John H. Joyce, whose name you know very well. It is true that messages were given advising the investment of funds in the traction company, but not only has this advice been followed by Mrs. Joyce, but by the defendant herself, who has kept all her own small savings in the same bank."
The judge turned to Mrs. Ollnee. "Is this true?"
"It is, your honor."
The judge spoke to Mrs. Joyce. "You believe in this woman's Voices?"
"I do."
"Yet they have advised you to put your money into the hands of a swindler."
"Her Voices seem to have done this, yes, sir; but she herself has never advised in any way."
"You distinguish between the Voices of your friend and her own personality, do you?"
"I do, yes, sir."
The prosecuting attorney inserted a sneering word. "Your honor, Mrs. Joyce is known to be credulous and under the influence of this trickster. She is not a competent witness. She has permitted herself to be deluded to the point where she will not believe anything ill of her medium. Thomas Aiken is not the only one ready to press this charge against the defendant. Four others to my knowledge stand ready to testify to this woman's uncanny power for deluding and defrauding. My client finds herself stripped of her little fortune and helpless in her declining years. The acting of this medium is criminal, and we demand that she be punished."
The judge turned his musing eyes upon Mrs. Ollnee's pale face. "Have you anything further to say, Mrs. Ollnee?"
"I have never been guilty of any deception, your honor. I claim no wisdom for myself. If it is true that the traction company is a fraud, then it must be that lying spirits have spoken impersonating my husband and my father."
"That is a subterfuge," interposed the young woman, Miss Aiken. "She is responsible for her Voices."
"You accept money for your services, do you not?" the judge asked of Mrs. Ollnee.
"Not now, no sir."
"Did you formerly?"
"Yes, sir, after my husband died, I was forced to do so in order to educate my son."
"Is this your son?"
"Yes, sir."
The judge addressed himself to Victor. "What do you know of your mother's power as a medium? Do you share her faith?"
Victor felt the burning eyes of the angry girl upon him as he replied: "I know very little about it, your honor. I have been away to school ever since I was ten years old."
"Mrs. Joyce, you are a believer in Mrs. Ollnee's powers?"
"I am, a firm believer."
"You've had no reason to doubt the genuineness of these messages?"
"Up to the present time I have not."
"You will lose heavily in this traction swindle, if it is a swindle, will you not?"
"If it has failed, yes, sir."
"Does that shake your faith in the medium?"
"Not in the slightest, your honor. It is a well-known fact that lying spirits sometimes interpose."
During this interrogation, which had proceeded in conversational tone, they had all remained standing before the judge, whose speculative eyes wandered from face to face with growing interest. At last he said to the prosecuting attorney: "From your own statement of it, this case is not to be tried here. I do not feel myself competent at this time to pass upon the questions involved."
"She shall not escape," said Miss Aiken, with bitter menace.
Mr. Bartol interposed. "We demand a trial by jury, your honor."
"You shall have it," responded the judge.
The Aikens withdrew sullenly, and the bailiff indicated that the defendant and her party might retire to an inner office while papers were being prepared; and this they did. This room proved to be a bare, bleak place, with benches and yellow wooden chairs, as ugly as a country railway station, wherein a few officers were carelessly lounging about. They all gazed curiously at Mrs. Ollnee and Leo, and one of them muttered to the other, "It's not often that a classy bunch like that comes into court."
The indignity of it all caused Leo to forget her own share in the traction company's failure. "It is shameful that you should be dragged here," she said, when the door closed behind them.
"Leo!" cried Mrs. Ollnee, in agonized voice. "Do you realize that this failure means almost as much of a loss to you as it does to Louise?"
This affected the girl only for an instant. Then she loyally said: "Yes, I know. But I do not blame you for it."
Mrs. Ollnee turned to her son. "If all they say is true, Victor, we are the victims of some lying devils – "
Leo soothingly laid her hand on her arm. "Let us not think about that just now. Let us wait until we are safely out of this dreadful place."
Victor perceived that his mother was shaken to the very deeps of her faith. She was trembling with excitement and weakness, and his anxiety deepened into a fear that she might faint. "There are devils here," she whispered. "I feel them all about me – bestial, horrible – take me away!"
"Can't we go now?" he asked of the officer, who seemed to have an eye on them. "My mother is not well."
"Wait till the bail is fixed up," the officer replied, pleasantly but inexorably.
They remained in silence till Mrs. Joyce and Mr. Bartol appeared. Then Victor hurried his mother out into the street, eager to escape the desolating air of this moral charnel-house. It was by no means a perfectly pure atmosphere without, but it was fresher than within, and Mrs. Ollnee revived almost instantly. "Oh, the swarms of unclean spirits in there!" she said, looking back with a face of horror.
Mrs. Joyce put her into the car with Leo and told them to go directly home, while she, with Victor, took Mr. Bartol to his office. Victor, stunned by the new and crushing blow which had fallen upon him, turned to the great lawyer with a boy's trust and admiration. "What can we do?" he asked, as soon as they had taken their seats in the car.
Mr. Bartol did not attempt to make light of the case. His dark, strong face was very grave as he answered: "For the present we can do very little beyond getting our bearings. It seems to me at the moment as though the whole question hinged upon the possibility of dual personality, and so far as I am concerned, I have no mind upon that matter. I must give it attention before I can reply. Our immediate concern is to keep your mother from further trouble and assault. If, as the prosecution stated, there are others in this fight, they and the press can make it very unpleasant for you all. Miss Florence Aiken has a powerful and vindictive pen. She will not cease her persecution – for she is at the bottom of the case."
Mrs. Joyce turned to him with eager face. "I wish you would invite Mrs. Ollnee and her son up to your farm for a few days."
"I do so with pleasure. I am going up to-night on the eight-o'clock train, and I shall be very glad to have them go with me, if they care to do so. We can then talk the whole case over at our leisure and in quiet. Perhaps you can run up and stay over Sunday with us."
"That is the very thing," she responded; "and I'm very grateful to you."
Again Victor felt himself helpless, whirling along in a stream of alien purpose like a leaf in a mountain torrent, and again he abandoned himself to its sweep. "I will do anything to get away from here," he replied.
Mr. Bartol went on: "Your mother's case will not come up for some days, and the rest and quiet of the farm will do you both good." To Mrs. Joyce he added, privately: "The whole matter interests me vastly. I don't at all mind giving some time to it, and, besides, I like the young man."
Mrs. Joyce dropped the lawyer at his office door and sped homeward swiftly, with intent to overtake Leo. She did not attempt to conceal her anxiety. "The truth is, Victor, Pettus and his friends called into our circle a throng of wicked, deceiving spirits. They were not what they claimed to be. They were cheats, and they have almost ruined us. Your poor, sweet mother is not to blame, and I can't blame the Aikens. What I cannot understand is this – Why did your father and his band permit these treacherous personalities to intervene? Why did they not defend her from these demons?"
Victor listened to her with a complete reversal to disbelief as regards his mother's mediumship. He forgot the marvels of the direct writing, the mighty murmuring wind, the dream-face of Altair; all these insubstantial and evanescent perceptions were lost, submerged by the returning sea of his doubt. He saw, too, that Leo's faith was shaken. He felt it beneath her brave-spoken words. The whole question of the process, as well as the content of the messages, was reopened for her. His situation grew ever darker. His way was again blocked. He could not leave his mother to her fate, and yet he could not see his way to earning a cent of money while this horrible accusation was hanging over her. He acknowledged, too, a very definite feeling of sympathy with those who had been defrauded. There was moral indignation in Miss Aiken's tremulous eagerness to punish. "She's not to blame," he said. "I'd do exactly as she is doing if I were in her place."
X
A VISIT TO HAZEL GROVE
Bartol, attended by porters and greeted by conductors and brakemen, led the way to the parlor-car in a stern abstraction, which was his habit. Victor studied him closely and with growing admiration. He was not tall, but his head was nobly formed and his broad mask of face lion-like in its somber dreaming. In repose it was sad, almost bitter, and in profile clear-cut and resolute. His dress was singularly tasteful and orderly, with nothing of the careless celebrity in its color or cut, and yet no one would accuse him of being the dandy. He was naturally of this method, and gave little direct thought to toilet or dress.
Mrs. Ollnee looked upon him as her rescuer, one who had snatched her from loathsome captivity; but his manner did not invite repeated and profuse thanks. With a few words of polite explanation, he took a seat behind his wards, unfolded his newspaper, and forgot them till the conductor came through the car; then he remembered them and paid their fares.
Mrs. Ollnee was not merely awed by his powerful visage and searching eyes; she was profoundly stirred by some psychic influence which emanated from him. She whispered to Victor: "He is very sad. He is all alone. He has lost his wife and both his children. He has no hope, and often feels like leaving this life."
Victor did not take this communication as a "psychometric reading," for he had been able to discern almost as much with his own eyes, and, besides, all of its definite information Mrs. Joyce might have furnished; but his mother added something that startled him. She said: "The Voices say, 'Obey this man; study him. He will raise you high!'"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I don't know," she replied. "That is the way I hear it. I hear other Voices – they say to me, 'Comfort him.'"
Victor was not in a mood for "voices," and cut her short by asking in detail about her arrest. "Who came for you? A policeman?"
"Yes, but not in uniform. They were very nice about it. At first I was terribly frightened. I was afraid I should have to go in the patrol-wagon, but we were allowed to ride in the car, the policeman sitting with the driver – "
Victor groaned. "Oh, mother, why did you give out business advice!"
"I gave what was given to me," she responded.
"Think of the disgrace of being in that court-room!"
"I didn't mind the disgrace," she replied; "but it swarmed with horrible spirits. Each one of those poor criminals had a cloud of other base, distorted, half-formed creatures hovering about him. It was like being in a cage with a host of obscene bats fluttering about." She shuddered. "It was horrible! It was a sweet relief when you and Leo came, for a new and happy band came with you. You helped my band drive away the cloud of low beings that oppressed me; and now there is something calming and serenely helpful all about me. It comes from Mr. Bartol. I am no longer afraid; I am perfectly serene."
Victor made no attempt at elucidating her exact meaning; there was something depressing to him in this continued dependence upon spirit guidance, a guidance that had led them into so much trouble and discredit. He sat by the window, watching the faintly-outlined moonlit landscape flowing past, feeling himself to be a very small insect riding on the chariot of the king of tempests, with no power to check the speed or direct the course of his inflexible driver. His own future was but a flutter of vague shadows, his boyhood a serene, sun-warm meadow, now swiftly receding into the darkness of night. Would anything so beautiful ever come again?
His mother, sitting as if entranced, was looking down at her folded hands, her brow unlined; but a plaintive droop in the lines of her sensitive mouth told that she was wearied and secretly disheartened.
"Poor little mother!" he said, laying a hand on her arm, "you are tired."
The tears came to her eyes, but she smiled back radiantly. "I don't care what comes, if only you believe in me," she said, simply; and he took her hand in both of his and pressed it like a lover.
At last Mr. Bartol folded his paper and put away his glasses. "Well, we are nearing Hazel Grove," he announced, smilingly. "It's only a little village, a meeting of cross-roads, but I think you'll like the country; it's the fine old rolling prairie of which you've heard."
The moon was riding high as they alighted from the coach upon the platform of a low, wooden station in the midst of green fields. A clump of trees, and the lights in dimly discerned houses, gave only a faint suggestion of a town; but an open carriage was waiting for them, and entering this, they were driven away into the most delicious and fragrant silence.
Instantly the last trace of Victor's anger and unrest fell away from him. Of this simple quality had been the scenes of his life at school. In such peace and serenity his earlier years had been spent; indeed, all his life, save for the few tumultuous days in the city – and he was immediately restored and comforted by the sounds, sights, and odors of the superb spring night.
"Isn't it glorious!" he cried. "I feel as if I were reaching God's country again."
The swiftly stepping horses whirled them up the street through a bunch of squat buildings and out along a gently rising lane to the south. Ten minutes later the driver turned into a large, tree-shaded drive, and over a curving graveled drive approached a spreading white house, whose porticos shone pleasantly in the moonlight. A row of lighted windows glowed with hospitable intent, and tall vases of flowers showed dimly.
"Here we are!" called Mr. Bartol, with genial cordiality. "Welcome to Hazeldean."
To dismount before this wide porch in the midst of the small innumerable voices of the night was like living out some delicious romance. To come to it from the reek and threat of the court-room made its serene expanse a heavenly refuge, and the beleaguered mother paused for a moment at the door to look back upon the lawn, where opulent elms and maples dreamed in the odorless gloom. "I have never seen anything so peaceful," she breathed. "Only heavenly souls inhabit here."
The interior was equally restful and reassuring. Large rooms with simple and substantial furnishings led away from a short entrance hall. The ceilings were low and dark, and the lamps shaded. Books were everywhere to be seen, many of them piled carelessly convenient to lights and chairs, as if it were both library and living-room.
The first word Victor spoke related to the books, and Mr. Bartol replied with a smile.
"They are not especially well chosen. I fear you'll find them a mixed lot. I read nothing but law in the city – here I indulge my fancy. You'll wonder what my principle of selection is, and, if you ask me, I must answer – I haven't any. I buy whatever commends itself to me at the moment. One thing leads to another – romance to history, history to poetry, poetry to the drama, and so on." He greeted a very tidy maid who entered the room. "Good-evening, Marie. This is Mrs. Ollnee, and this is her son, Mr. Victor Ollnee. Please see that they are made comfortable." Then again to his guests. "You must be tired."
"I am so, Mr. Bartol," replied Mrs. Ollnee, "and if you'll pardon me I'll go to my room."
"Certainly – and you may go, too, if you feel like it," he said to Victor.
"I am not sleepy," replied Victor.
"Very well," replied his host. "Be seated and we'll discuss the situation for a few minutes."
He led the way to a corner where two wide windows opening on the lawn made delicious mingling of night air and study light, and offering his guest a cigar, took a seat, saying: "I run out here whenever the city becomes a burden. I find I need just such a corrective to the intense life of the city. It is my rule to give no thought to legal troubles while I am here; hence the absence of codes and all legal literature. You are a college man, Mrs. Joyce tells me."
"I was at Winona last Saturday, and expected to stay there till June, when I was due to graduate. Then the devil broke loose, and here I am. When will my mother's case come up?"
"Not for some weeks, I fear. If you wish to return to your studies we can arrange that."
"No. I'm done with school. I'm only worried about my mother. What do you think of her case, Mr. Bartol?"
"I'm not informed sufficiently to say," he replied, slowly. "The whole subject of hypnotic control seems to be involved. I must know more of your mother before I can even hazard an opinion. The theories of suggestion are all rather vague to me. I have only what might be called a newspaper knowledge of them; but I have some information as to your mother's profession I gained from my friend Mrs. Joyce, so that I am not entirely uninformed. Besides, it is a lawyer's business to know everything, and I shall at once proceed to bore into the subject."
Mrs. Ollnee returning brought him to his feet in graceful acknowledgment of her sex, and placing a chair for her, he said, "I hope you don't mind tobacco."
"Not at all," she replied, quite as graciously.
He placed a chair for her so that the light fell upon her face, and she knew that he intended to study her as if she were a page of strange text.
"I'm glad you like it here," he said, in answer to her repeated admiration of his home, "for I suspect you'll have to stay here for the present. The city is passing through one of those moral paroxysms which come once in a year or two. Last year it was the social evil; just now it concerns itself with what the reformers are pleased to call 'the occult fakers.' The feeling of a jury would be against you at present, and as I have promised Mrs. Joyce to take charge of your defense, I think it well for you to go into retirement here while I take time to inform myself of the case."
"I do not like to trouble you."
"It is no trouble, my dear madam. Here is this big home, empty and completely manned. A couple of guests, especially a hearty young man, will be a godsend to my cook. She complains of not having men to feed. Don't let any question of expense to me trouble you."
"Thank you most deeply."
"Don't thank me; thank Louise Joyce, who is both client and friend, and the one to whom I owe this pleasure." He bowed. "I never before had the opportunity of entertaining a 'psychic,' and I welcome the opportunity."
She did not quite know how to take him, and neither did Victor; and perceiving that doubt, Bartol added: "I am quite sincere in all this. I hear a good deal, obscurely, of this curious phase of human life, but never before have I been confronted by one who claims the power of divination."
"Pardon me, sir, I do not claim such power."
"Do you not! I thought that was precisely your claim."
"No, sir, I am a medium. I report what is given to me. I divine nothing of myself. I am an instrument through which those whom men call 'the dead' speak."
"I see," he mused. "I will not deceive you," he began again, very gravely. "This charge against you is likely to prove serious, and you must be quite frank with me. I may require a test of your powers."
"I am at your service, sir. Make any test of me you please – this moment if you like."
"I will not require anything of you to-night. Writers tell me that 'mediums' are a dark, elusive, and uncanny set, Mrs. Ollnee, and I must confess that you upset my preconceptions."
"There are all kinds of mediums, as there are all kinds of lawyers, Mr. Bartol. I am human, like the others."
"If you will permit me, I will take up your defense along the lines of hypnotic control on the part of this man Pettus."
"I cannot presume to advise you, sir, but you must know that to me these Voices come from the spirit world. I am the transmitter merely – for instance, at this moment I hear a Voice and I see behind you the form of a lady, a lovely young woman – "
"Mother!" called Victor, warningly. "Don't start in on that!"
"Proceed," said Bartol; "I am interested."
The psychic, leaning forward slightly, fixed her wide, deep-blue eyes upon him. "The maid conducted me to the room which had been your wife's, but I could not stay there. This lady who stands beside you took me by the hand and led me away to another room. She is nodding at me now."
"Do you mean the maid led you from the room?"
"No, I mean the spirit now standing behind you led me here. She says her name is Margaret Bartol. She said: 'Comfort my dear husband. Restore his faith.' She is smiling at me. She wants me to go on."
Bartol's face remained inscrutably calm. "Where does the form seem to be?"
"At your right shoulder. She says, 'Tell him Walter and Hattie are both with me.' She listened a moment. She says, 'Tell him Walter's mind is perfectly clear now.'"
Victor thought he saw the lawyer start in surprise, but his voice was cold as he said, "Go on."
"She says: 'Tell him the way is open. I am here. Ask him to speak to me.'"
Bartol then spoke, but his tone plainly showed that he was testing his client's hallucination and not addressing himself to the imaginary ghost. "Are you there, Margaret?"
"Yes," came the answer, clearly though faintly.
The renowned lawyer gazed at the medium with eyes that burned deep, and presently he asked, "What have you to say to me?"
Again came the clear, silvery whisper: "Much. Trust the medium. She will comfort you."
Victor thrilled to the importance of this moment, and much as he feared for his mother's success, he could not but admire the courage which blazed in her steady eyes. She was no longer afraid of this mighty man of the law, to whom heaven and hell were obsolete words. She was panoplied with the magic and mystery of death, and waited calmly for him to continue.
At last he said: "Go on. I am listening."
Again through the flower-scented, silent room the sibilant voice stole its way. "Father."
"Who is speaking?"
"Margaret."
"Margaret? What Margaret?"
"Your 'rascal' Peggy."
Bartol certainly started at this reply, which conveyed an expression of mirth, but his questions continued formal.
"What is your will with me?"
"Mamma is here – and Walter."
"Can they speak?"
"They will try."
Again silence fell upon the room – a silence so profound that every insect's stir was a rude interruption. At length another whisper, clearer, louder, made itself heard: "Alexander, be happy. I live."
"Who are you?"
"Your wife."
"You say so. Can you prove your identity?"
The whisper grew fainter. "I will try. It is hard. Good-by."
Bartol raised his hand to his head with a gesture of surprise. "I thought I felt a touch on my hair."
"The lady touched you as she passed away," Mrs. Ollnee explained. "She has gone. They are all gone now."
"I am sorry," he said, in polite disappointment. "I wanted to pursue the interrogation. Is this the usual method of your communications?"
