“I can see that he is a nervous fellow,” he said, “and to lie in bed thinking of what he has got to[84] face will probably undo5 all the good that lying in bed will bring to him. You don’t get used to the idea of being cut open; the more you think about it, the more intolerable it becomes. If that sort of adventure faced me, I should infinitely6 prefer not to be told about it until they came to give me the an?sthetic. Naturally, he will have to consent to the operation, but I shouldn’t tell him anything about it till the day before. He’s not married, I think, is he?”
“No: he’s alone in the world,” said I. “He’s been with me twenty years.”
“Yes, I remember Parkes almost as long as I remember you. But that’s all I can recommend. Of course, if the pain became severe, it might be better to operate sooner, but at present he suffers hardly at all, and he sleeps well, so the nurse tells me.”
“And there’s nothing else that you can try for it?” I asked.
“I’ll try anything you like, but it will be perfectly7 useless. I’ll let him have any quack8 nostrum9 you and he wish, as long as it doesn’t injure his health, or make you put off the operation. There are X-rays and ultra-violet rays, and violet leaves and radium; there are fresh cures for cancer discovered every day, and what’s the result? They only make people put off the operation till it’s no longer possible to operate. Naturally, I will welcome any further opinion you want.”
Now Godfrey Symes is easily the first authority on this subject, and has a far higher percentage of cures to his credit than anyone else.
“No, I don’t want any fresh opinion,” said I.
[85]“Very well, I’ll have him carefully watched. By the way, can’t you stop in town and dine with me? There are one or two people coming, and among them a perfectly mad spiritualist who has more messages from the other world than I ever get on my telephone. Trunk-calls, eh? I wonder where the exchange is. Do come! You like cranks, I know!”
“I can’t, I’m afraid,” said I. “I’ve a couple of guests coming to stay with me to-day down in the country. They are both cranks: one’s a medium.”
He laughed.
“Well, I can only offer you one crank, and you’ve got two,” he said. “I must get back to the wards11. I’ll write to you in about a week’s time or so, unless there’s any urgency which I don’t foresee, and I should suggest your coming up to tell Parkes. Good-bye.”
I caught my train at Charing12 Cross with about three seconds to spare, and we slid clanking out over the bridge through the cold, dense13 air. Snow had been falling intermittently14 since morning, and when we got out of the grime and fog of London, it was lying thickly on field and hedgerow, retarding15 by its reflection of such light as lingered the oncoming of darkness, and giving to the landscape an aloof16 and lonely austerity. All day I had felt that drowsiness17 which accompanies snowfall, and sometimes, half losing myself in a doze18, my mind crept, like a thing crawling about in the dark, over what Godfrey Symes had told me. For all these years Parkes, as much friend as servant, had given me his faithfulness and devotion, and now, in return for that,[86] all that apparently19 I could do was to tell him of his plight20. It was clear, from what the surgeon had said, that he expected a serious disclosure, and I knew from the experience of two friends of mine who had been in his condition what might be expected of this “exploratory operation.” Exactly similar had been these cases; there was clear evidence of an internal growth possibly not malignant21, and in each case the same dismal22 sequence had followed. The growth had been removed, and within a couple of months there had been a recrudescence of it. Indeed, surgery had proved no more than a pruning-knife, which had stimulated23 that which the surgeon had hoped to extirpate24 into swifter activity. And that apparently was the best chance that Symes held out: the rest of the treatments were but rubbish or quackery25....
My mind crawled away towards another subject: probably the two visitors whom I expected, Charles Hope and the medium whom he was bringing with him, were in the same train as I, and I ran over in my mind all that he had told me of Mrs. Forrest. It was certainly an odd story he had brought me two days before. Mrs. Forrest was a medium of considerable reputation in psychical26 circles, and had produced some very extraordinary book-tests which, by all accounts, seemed inexplicable27, except on a spiritualistic hypothesis, and no imputation28 of trickery had, at any rate as yet, come near her. When in trance, she spoke29 and wrote, as is invariably the case with mediums, under the direction of a certain “control”—that is to say, a spiritual and discarnate intelligence which for the time was in possession of[87] her. But lately there had been signs that a fresh control had inspired her, the nature of whom, his name, and his identity was at present unknown. And then came the following queer incident.
Last week only when in trance, and apparently under the direction of this new control, she began describing in considerable detail a certain house where the control said that he had work to do. At first the description aroused no association in Charles Hope’s mind, but as it went on, it suddenly struck him that Mrs. Forrest was speaking of my house in Tilling. She gave its general features, its position in a small town on a hill, its walled-in garden, and then went on to speak with great minuteness of a rather peculiar30 feature in the house. She described a big room built out in the garden a few yards away from the house itself at right-angles to its front, and approached by half a dozen stone steps. There was a railing, so she said, on each side of them, and into the railing were twisted, like snake coils, the stems of a tree which bore pale mauve flowers. This was all a correct description of my garden room and the wistaria which writhes31 in and out of the railings which line the steps. She then went on to speak of the interior of the room. At one end was a fireplace, at the other a big bow-window looking out on to the street and the front of the house, and there were two other windows opposite each other, in one of which was a table, while the other, looking out on to the garden, was shadowed by the tree that twisted itself about the railings. Book-cases lined the walls, and there was a big sofa at right-angles to the fire....
[88]Now all this, though it was a perfectly accurate description of a place that, as far as could be ascertained32, Mrs. Forrest had never seen, might conceivably have been derived34 from Charles Hope’s mind, since he knew the room well, having often stayed with me. But the medium added a detail which could not conceivably have been thus derived, for Charles believed it to be incorrect. She said that there was a big piano near the bow-window, while he was sure that there was not. But oddly enough I had hired a piano only a week or so ago, and it stood in the place that she mentioned. The “control” then repeated that there was work for him to do in that house. There was some situation or complication there in which he could help, and he could “get through” better (that is, make a clearer communication) if the medium could hold a séance there. Charles Hope then told the control that he believed he knew the house that he had been speaking of, and promised to do his best. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Forrest came out of trance, and, as usual, had no recollection of what had passed.
So Charles came to me with the story exactly as I have given it here, and though I could not think of any situation or complication in which an unknown control of a medium I had never seen could be of assistance, the whole thing (and in especial that detail about the piano) was so odd that I asked him to bring the medium down for a sitting or a series of sittings. The day of their arrival was arranged, but when three days ago Parkes had to go into hospital, I was inclined to put them off. But a neighbour away for a week obligingly lent me a[89] parlour-maid, and I let the engagement stand. With regard to the situation in which the control would be of assistance, I can but assure the reader that as far as I thought about it at all, I only wondered whether it was concerned with a book on which I was engaged, which dealt (if I could ever succeed in writing it) with psychical affairs. But at present I could not get on with it at all. I had made half a dozen beginnings which had all gone into the waste-paper basket.
My guests proved not to have come by the same train as I, but arrived shortly before dinner-time, and after Mrs. Forrest had gone to her room, I had a few words with Charles, who told me exactly how the situation now stood.
“I know your caution and your captiousness35 in these affairs,” he said, “so I have told Mrs. Forrest nothing about the description she gave of this house, or of the reason why I asked her to come here. I said only, as we settled, that you were a great friend of mine and immensely interested in psychical affairs, but a country-mouse whom it was difficult to get up to town. But you would be delighted if she would come down for a few days and give some sittings here.”
“And does she recognise the house, do you think?” I asked.
“No sign of it. As I told you, when she comes out of trance she never seems to have the faintest recollection of what she has said or written. We shall have a séance, I hope, to-night after dinner.”
“Certainly, if she will,” said I. “I thought we had better hold it in the garden-room, for that was[90] the place that was so minutely described. It’s quite warm there, central-heating and a fire, and it’s only half a dozen yards from the house. I’ve had the snow swept from the steps.”
Mrs. Forrest turned out to be a very intelligent woman, well spiced with humour, gifted with a sane36 appreciation37 of the comforts of life, and most agreeably furnished with the small change of talk. She was inclined to be stout38, but carried herself with briskness39, and neither in body nor mind did she suggest that she was one who held communication with the unseen: there was nothing wan10 or occult about her. Her general outlook on life appeared to be rather materialistic40 than otherwise, and she was very interesting on the topic when, about half-way through dinner, the subject of her mediumship came on the conversational41 board.
“My gifts, such as they are,” she said, “have nothing to do with this person who sits eating and drinking and talking to you. She, as Mr. Hope may have told you, is quite expunged42 before the subconscious43 part of me—that is the latest notion, is it not?—gets into touch with discarnate intelligences. Until that happens, the door is shut, and when it is over, the door is shut again, and I have no recollection of what I have said or written. The control uses my hand and my voice, but that is all. I know no more about it than a piano on which a tune44 has been played.”
“And there is a new control who has lately been using you?” I asked.
She laughed.
“You must ask Mr. Hope about that,” she said.[91] “I know nothing whatever of it. He tells me it is so, and he tells me—don’t you, Mr. Hope?—that he hasn’t any idea who or what the new control is. I look forward to its development; my idea is that the control has to get used to me, as in learning a new instrument. I assure you I am as eager as anyone that he should gain facility in communication through me. I hope, indeed, that we are to have a séance to-night.”
The talk veered45 again, and I learned that Mrs. Forrest had never been in Tilling before, and was enchanted46 with the snowy moonlit glance she had had of its narrow streets and ancient residences. She liked, too, the atmosphere of the house: it seemed tranquil47 and kindly48; especially so was the little drawing-room where we had assembled before dinner.
I glanced at Charles.
“I had thought of proposing that we should sit in the garden-room,” I said, “if you don’t mind half a dozen steps in the open. It adjoins the house.”
“Just as you wish,” she said, “though I think we have excellent conditions in here without going there.”
This confirmed her statement that she had no idea after she had come out of trance what she had said, for otherwise she must have recognised at the mention of the garden-room her own description of it, and when soon after dinner we adjourned49 there, it was clear that, unless she was acting50 an inexplicable part, the sight of it twanged no chord of memory. There we made the very simple arrangements to which she was accustomed.
[92]As the procedure in such sittings is possibly unfamiliar51 to the reader, I will describe quite shortly what our arrangements were. We had no idea what form these manifestations—if there were any—might take, and therefore we, Charles and I, were prepared to record them on the spot. We three sat round a small table about a couple of yards from the fire, which was burning brightly; Mrs. Forrest seated herself in a big armchair. Exactly in front of her on the table were a pencil and a block of paper in case, as often happened, the manifestation52 took the form of automatic script—writing, that is, while in a state of trance. Charles and I sat on each side of her, also provided with pencil and paper in order to take down what she said if and when (as lawyers say) the control took possession of her. In case materialised spirits appeared, a phenomenon not as yet seen at her séances, our idea was to jot53 down as quickly as possible whatever we saw or thought we saw. Should there be rappings or movements of furniture, we were to make similar notes of our impressions. The lamp was then turned down, so that just a ring of flame encircled the wick, but the firelight was of sufficient brightness, as we tested before the séance began, to enable us to write and to see what we had written. The red glow of it illuminated54 the room, and it was settled that Charles should note by his watch the time at which anything occurred. Occasionally, throughout the séance a bubble of coal-gas caught fire, and then the whole room started into strong light. I had given orders that my servants should not interrupt the sitting at all, unless somebody rang the bell from the garden-room.[93] In that case it was to be answered. Finally, before the séance began, we bolted all the windows on the inside and locked the door. We took no other precautions against trickery, though, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Forrest suggested that she should be tied into her chair. But in the firelight any movement of hers would be so visible that we did not adopt this precaution. Charles and I had settled to read to each other the notes we made during the sitting, and cut out anything that both of us had not recorded. The accounts, therefore, of this sitting and of that which followed next day are founded on our joint55 evidence. The sitting began.
Mrs. Forrest was leaning back at ease with her eyes open and her hands on the arms of her chair. Then her eyes closed and a violent trembling seized her. That passed, and shortly afterwards her head fell forward and her breathing became very rapid. Presently that quieted to normal pace again, and she began to speak at first in a scarcely audible whisper and then in a high shrill56 voice, quite unlike her usual tones.
I do not think that in all England there was a more disappointed man than I during the next half-hour. “Starlight,” it appeared, was in control, and Starlight was a personage of platitudes57. She had been a nun58 in the time of Henry VII, and her work was to help those who had lately passed over. She was very busy and very happy, and was in the third sphere where they had a great deal of beautiful music. We must all be good, said Starlight, and it didn’t matter much whether we were clever or not. Love was the great thing; we had to love[94] each other and help each other, and death was no more than the gate of life, and everything would be tremendously jolly.... Starlight, in fact, might be better described as clap-trap, and I began thinking about Parkes....
And then I ceased to think about Parkes, for the shrill moralities of Starlight ceased, and Mrs. Forrest’s voice changed again. The stale facility of her utterance59 stopped and she began to speak, quite unintelligibly60, in a voice of low baritone range. Charles leaned across the table and whispered to me.
“That’s the new control,” he said.
The voice that was speaking stumbled and hesitated: it was like that of a man trying to express himself in some language which he knew very imperfectly. Sometimes it stopped altogether, and in one of these pauses I asked:
“Can you tell us your name?”
There was no reply, but presently I saw Mrs. Forrest’s hand reach out for the pencil. Charles put it into her fingers and placed the writing-pad more handily for her. I watched the letters, in capitals, being traced. They were made hesitatingly, but were perfectly legible. “Swallow,” she wrote, and again “Swallow,” and stopped.
“The bird?” I asked.
The voice spoke in answer; now I could hear the words, uttered in that low baritone voice.
“No, not a bird,” it said. “Not a bird, but it flies.”
I was utterly61 at sea; my mind could form no conjecture62 whatever as to what was meant. And then the pencil began writing again. “Swallow,[95] swallow,” and then with a sudden briskness of movement, as if the guiding intelligence had got over some difficulty, it wrote “Swallow-tail.”
This seemed more abstrusely63 senseless than ever. The only connection with swallow-tail in my mind was a swallow-tailed coat, but whoever heard of a swallow-tailed coat flying?
“I’ve got it,” said Charles. “Swallow-tail butterfly. Is it that?”
There came three sudden raps on the table, loud and startling. These raps, I may explain, in the usual code mean “Yes.” As if to confirm it the pencil began to write again, and spelled out “Swallow-tail butterfly.”
“Is that your name?” I asked.
There was one rap, which signifies “No,” followed by three, which means “Yes.” I had not the slightest idea of what it all signified (indeed it seemed to signify nothing at all), but the sitting had become extraordinarily64 interesting if only for its very unexpectedness. The control was trying to establish himself by three methods simultaneously—by the voice, by the automatic writing, and by rapping. But how a swallow-tail butterfly could assist in some situation which was now existing in my house was utterly beyond me.... Then an idea struck me: the swallow-tail butterfly no doubt had a scientific name, and that we could easily ascertain33, for I knew that there was on my shelves a copy of Newman’s Butterflies and Moths65 of Great Britain, a sumptuous66 volume bound in morocco, which I had won as an entomological prize at school. A moment’s search gave me the book, and by the firelight I turned up[96] the description of this butterfly in the index. Its scientific name was Papilio Machaon.
“Is Machaon your name?” I asked.
The voice came clear now.
“Yes, I am Machaon,” it said.
With that came the end of the séance, which had lasted not more than an hour. Whatever the power was that had made Mrs. Forrest speak in that male voice and struggle, through that roundabout method of “swallow, swallow-tail, Machaon,” to establish its identity, it now began to fail. Mrs. Forrest’s pencil made a few illegible67 scribbles68, she whispered a few inaudible words, and presently with a stretch and a sigh she came out of trance. We told her that the name of the control was established, but apparently Machaon meant nothing to her. She was much exhausted69, and very soon I took her across to the house to go to bed, and presently rejoined Charles.
“Who was Machaon, anyhow?” he asked. “He sounds classical: more in your line than mine.”
I remembered enough Greek mythology70 to supply elementary facts, while I hunted for a particular book about Athens.
“Machaon was the son of Asclepios,” I said, “and Asclepios was the Greek god of healing. He had precincts, hydropathic establishments, where people went to be cured. The Romans called him Aesculapius.”
“What can he do for you then?” asked Charles. “You’re fairly fit, aren’t you?”
Not till he spoke did a light dawn on me. Though I had been thinking so much of Parkes that day, I had not consciously made the connection.
[97]“But Parkes isn’t,” said I. “Is that possible?”
“By Jove!” said he.
I found my book, and turned to the accounts of the precinct of Asclepios in Athens.
“Yes, Asclepios had two sons,” I said—“Machaon and Podaleirios. In Homeric times he wasn’t a god, but only a physician, and his sons were physicians too. The myth of his godhead is rather a late one——”
I shut the book.
“Best not to read any more,” I said. “If we know all about Asclepios, we shall possibly be suggesting things to the medium’s mind. Let’s see what Machaon can tell us about himself, and we can verify it afterwards.”
It was therefore with no further knowledge than this on the subject of Machaon that we proposed to hold another séance the next day. All morning the bitter air had been laden71 with snow, and now the street in front of my house, a by-way at the best in the slender traffic of the town, lay white and untrodden, save on the pavement where a few passengers had gone by. Mrs. Forrest had not appeared at breakfast, and from then till lunch-time I sat in the bow-window of the garden-room, for the warmth of the central heating, of which a stack of pipes was there installed, and for securing the utmost benefit of light that penetrated72 this cowl of snow-laden sky, busy with belated letters. The drowsiness that accompanies snowfall weighed heavily on my faculties73, but as far as I can assert anything, I can assert that I did not sleep. From one letter I went on to another, and then for the sixth or seventh[98] time I tried to open my story. It promised better now than before, and searching for a word that would not come to my pen, I happened to look up along the street which lay in front of me. I expected nothing: I was thinking of nothing but my work; probably I had looked up like that a dozen times before, and had seen the empty street, with snow lying thickly on the roadway.
But now the roadway was not untenanted. Someone was walking down the middle of it, and his aspect, incredible though it seemed, was not startling. Why I was not startled I have no idea: I can only say that the vision appeared perfectly natural. The figure was that of a young man, whose hair, black and curly, lay crisply over his forehead. A large white cloak reaching down to his knees enveloped74 him, and he had thrown the end of it over his shoulder. Below his knees his legs and feet were bare, so too was the arm up to the elbow, with which he pressed his cloak to him, and there he was walking briskly down the snowy street. As he came directly below the window where I sat, he raised his head and looked at me directly, and smiled. And now I saw his face: there was the low brow, the straight nose, the curved and sunny mouth, the short chin, and I thought to myself that this was none other than the Hermes of Praxiteles, he whose statue at Olympia makes all those who look on it grow young again. There, anyhow, was a boyish Greek god, stepping blithely75 and with gay, incomparable grace along the street, and raising his face to smile at this stolid76, middle-aged77 man who blankly regarded him. Then with the certainty of one returning home, he mounted[99] the steps outside the front door, and seemed to pass into and through it. Certainly he was no longer in the street, and, so real and solid-seeming had he been to my vision, that I jumped up, ran across the few steps of garden, and went into the house, and I should not have been amazed if I had found him standing in the hall. But there was no one there, and I opened the front door: the snow lay smooth and untrodden down the centre of the road where he had walked and on my doorstep. And at that moment the memory of the séance the evening before, about which up till now I had somehow felt distrustful and suspicious, passed into the realm of sober fact, for had not Machaon just now entered my house, with a smile as of recognition on some friendly mission?
We sat again that afternoon by daylight, and now, I must suppose, the control was more actively78 and powerfully present, for hardly had Mrs. Forrest passed into trance than the voice began, louder than it had been the night before, and far more distinct. He—Machaon I must call him—seemed to be anxious to establish his identity beyond all doubt, like some newcomer presenting his credentials79, and he began to speak of the precinct of Asclepios in Athens. Often he hesitated for a word in English, often he put in a word in Greek, and as he spoke, fragments of things I had learned when an arch?ological student in Athens came back into my mind, and I knew that he was accurately80 describing the portico81 and the temple and the well. All this I toss to the sceptic to growl82 and worry over and tear to bits; for certainly it seems possible that my mind, holding these[100] facts in its subconsciousness83, was suggesting them to the medium’s mind, who thereupon spoke of them and, conveying them back to me, made me aware that I had known them.... My forgotten knowledge of these things and of the Greek language came flooding back on me, as he told us, now half in Greek, and half in English, of the patients who came to consult the god, how they washed in the sacred well for purification, and lay down to sleep in the portico. They often dreamed, and in the interpretation84 of their dreams, which they told to the priest next day, lay the indication of the cure. Or sometimes the god healed more directly, and accompanied by the sacred snake walked among the sleepers85 and by his touch made them whole. His temple was hung with ex-votos, the gifts of those whom he had cured. And at Epidaurus, where was another shrine86 of his, there were great mural tablets recording87 the same....
Then the voice stopped, and as if to prove identity by another means, the medium drew the pencil and paper to her, and in Greek characters, unknown apparently to her, she traced the words “Machaon, son of Asclepios....”
There was a pause, and I asked a direct question, which now had been long simmering in my mind.
“Have you come to help me about Parkes?” I asked. “Can you tell me what will cure him?”
The pencil began to move again, tracing out characters in Greek. It wrote φ?γγο? ξ, and repeated it. I did not at once guess what it meant, and asked for an explanation. There was no answer, and presently the medium stirred, stretched herself and[101] sighed, and came out of trance. She took up the paper on which she had written.
“Did that come through?” she asked. “And what does it mean? I don’t even know the characters....”
Then suddenly the possible significance of φ?γγο? ξ flashed on me, and I marvelled88 at my slowness. φ?γγο?, a beam of light, a ray, and the letter ξ, the equivalent of the English x. That had come in direct answer to my question as to what would cure Parkes, and it was without hesitation89 or delay that I wrote to Symes. I reminded him that he had said that he had no objection to any possible remedy, provided it was not harmful, being tried on his patient, and I asked him to treat him with X-rays. The whole sequence of events had been so frankly90 amazing, that I believe the veriest sceptic would not have done otherwise than I did.
Our sittings continued, but after this day we had no further evidence of this second control. It looked as if the intelligence (even the most incredulous will allow me, for the sake of convenience, to call that intelligence Machaon) that had described this room, and told Mrs. Forrest that he had work to do here, had finished his task. Machaon had said, or so my interpretation was, that X-rays would cure Parkes. In justification91 of this view it is proper to quote from a letter which I got from Symes a week later.
“There is no need for you to come up to break to Parkes that an operation lies in front of him. In answer to your request, and without a grain of faith in its success, I treated him with X-rays, which I[102] assured you were useless. To-day, to speak quite frankly, I don’t know what to think, for the growth has been steadily92 diminishing in size and hardness, and it is perfectly evident that it is being absorbed and is disappearing.
“The treatment through which I put Parkes is that of ——. Here in this hospital we have had patients to whom it brought no shadow of benefit. Often it had been continued on these deluded93 wretches94 till any operation which might possibly have been successful was out of the question owing to the encroachment95 of the growth. But from the first dose of the X-rays, Parkes began to get better, the growth was first arrested, and then diminished.
“I am trying to put the whole thing before you with as much impartiality96 as I can command. So, on the other side, you must remember that Parkes’s was never a proved case of cancer. I told you that it could not be proved till the exploratory operation took place. All the symptoms pointed to cancer—you see, I am trying to save my own face—but my diagnosis97, though confirmed by ——, may have been wrong. If he only had what we call a benign98 tumour, the case is not so extraordinary; there have been plenty of cases when a benign tumour has disappeared by absorption or what not. It is unusual, but by no means unknown. For instance....
“But Parkes’s case was quite different. I certainly believe he had a cancerous growth, and thought that an operation was inevitable99 if his life was to be saved. Even then, the most I hoped for was an alleviation100 of pain, as the disease progressed, and a year or two more, at the most, of life. Instead, I[103] apply another remedy, at your suggestion, and if he goes on as he has been doing, the growth will be a nodule in another week or two, and I should expect it to disappear altogether. Taking everything into consideration, if you asked me the question whether this X-ray treatment was the cause of the cure, I should be obliged to say ‘Yes.’ I don’t believe in such a treatment, but I believe it is curing him. I suppose that it was suggested to you by a fraudulent, spiritualistic medium in a feigned101 trance, who was inspired by Aesculapius or some exploded heathen deity102, for I remember you said you were going down into the country for some spiritual business....
“Well, Parkes is getting better, and I am so old-fashioned a fellow that I would sooner a patient of mine got better by incredible methods, than died under my skilful103 knife.... Of course, we trained people know nothing, but we have to act according to the best chances of our ignorance. I entirely104 believed that the knife was the only means of saving the man, and now, when I stand confuted, the only thing that I can save is my honesty, which I hereby have done. Let me know, at your leisure, whether you just thought you would, on your own idea, like me to try X-rays, or whether some faked voice from the grave suggested it.
“Ever yours,
“Godfrey Symes.
“P.S.—If it was some beastly voice from the grave, you might tell me in confidence who the medium was. I want to be fair....”
[104]That is the story; the reader will explain it according to his temperament105. And as I have told Parkes, who is now back with me again, to look into the garden-room before post-time and take a registered packet to the office, it is time that I got it ready for him. So here is the completed packet in manuscript, to be sent to the printer’s. From my window I shall see him go briskly along the street down which Machaon walked on a snowy morning.
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tumour
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| n.(tumor)(肿)瘤，肿块 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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excised
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| v.切除，删去( excise的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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infinitely
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perfectly
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quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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nostrum
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| n.秘方；妙策 | |
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10
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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13
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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retarding
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| 使减速( retard的现在分词 )； 妨碍； 阻止； 推迟 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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19
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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extirpate
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| v.除尽，灭绝 | |
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25
quackery
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| n.庸医的医术，骗子的行为 | |
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psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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28
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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29
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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writhes
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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34
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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35
captiousness
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| 吹毛求疵的 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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39
briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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materialistic
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| a.唯物主义的，物质享乐主义的 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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expunged
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| v.擦掉( expunge的过去式和过去分词 )；除去；删去；消除 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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51
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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52
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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53
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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54
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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55
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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56
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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57
platitudes
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| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
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58
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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59
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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60
unintelligibly
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| 难以理解地 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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62
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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abstrusely
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| adv.难解地，深奥地 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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65
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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66
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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68
scribbles
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| n.潦草的书写( scribble的名词复数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下v.潦草的书写( scribble的第三人称单数 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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69
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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71
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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73
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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74
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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76
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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78
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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79
credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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80
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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81
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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82
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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83
subconsciousness
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| 潜意识；下意识 | |
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84
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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85
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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86
shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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87
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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88
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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90
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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91
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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92
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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93
deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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95
encroachment
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| n.侵入，蚕食 | |
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96
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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97
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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98
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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99
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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100
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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101
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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102
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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103
skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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104
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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105
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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