“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he said petulantly6, “it will certainly crush me quite flat, and I shan’t be able to be at Mrs. Cumberbatch’s séance! Most provoking! A-ow!”
The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the first half of his horrid7 anticipations9 was thoroughly10 fulfilled. The heavy wheels passed over him from head to foot and flattened11 him completely out. Then the driver (too late) reversed his engine and passed over him again, and finally lost his head, whistled loudly and stopped. The policeman on duty at the corner turned quite faint at the sight of the catastrophe12, but presently recovered sufficiently13 to hold up the traffic, and ran to see what on earth could be done. It was all so much “up” with Mr. Tilly that the only thing possible was to get the hysterical14 engine-driver to move clear. Then the ambulance from the hospital was sent for, and Mr. Tilly’s remains15, detached with great difficulty from the road (so firmly had they been pressed into it), were reverently16 carried away into the mortuary....
Mr. Tilly during this had experienced one moment’s excruciating pain, resembling the severest neuralgia[200] as his head was ground beneath the wheel, but almost before he realised it, the pain was past, and he found himself, still rather dazed, floating or standing17 (he did not know which) in the middle of the road. There had been no break in his consciousness; he perfectly18 recollected19 slipping, and wondered how he had managed to save himself. He saw the arrested traffic, the policeman with white wan20 face making suggestions to the gibbering engine-driver, and he received the very puzzling impression that the traction engine was all mixed up with him. He had a sensation of red-hot coals and boiling water and rivets21 all around him, but yet no feeling of scalding or burning or confinement22. He was, on the contrary, extremely comfortable, and had the most pleasant consciousness of buoyancy and freedom. Then the engine puffed23 and the wheels went round, and immediately, to his immense surprise, he perceived his own crushed remains, flat as a biscuit, lying on the roadway. He identified them for certain by his clothes, which he had put on for the first time that morning, and one patent leather boot which had escaped demolition24.
“But what on earth has happened?” he said. “Here am I, and yet that poor pressed flower of arms and legs is me—or rather I—also. And how terribly upset the driver looks. Why, I do believe that I’ve been run over! It did hurt for a moment, now I come to think of it.... My good man, where are you shoving to? Don’t you see me?”
He addressed these two questions to the policeman, who appeared to walk right through him. But the man took no notice, and calmly came out on the[201] other side: it was quite evident that he did not see him, or apprehend25 him in any way.
Mr. Tilly was still feeling rather at sea amid these unusual occurrences, and there began to steal into his mind a glimpse of the fact which was so obvious to the crowd which formed an interested but respectful ring round his body. Men stood with bared heads; women screamed and looked away and looked back again.
“I really believe I’m dead,” said he. “That’s the only hypothesis which will cover the facts. But I must feel more certain of it before I do anything. Ah! Here they come with the ambulance to look at me. I must be terribly hurt, and yet I don’t feel hurt. I should feel hurt surely if I was hurt. I must be dead.”
Certainly it seemed the only thing for him to be, but he was far from realising it yet. A lane had been made through the crowd for the stretcher-bearers, and he found himself wincing26 when they began to detach him from the road.
“Oh, do take care!” he said. “That’s the sciatic nerve protruding27 there surely, isn’t it? A-ow! No, it didn’t hurt after all. My new clothes, too: I put them on to-day for the first time. What bad luck! Now you’re holding my leg upside down. Of course all my money comes out of my trouser pocket. And there’s my ticket for the séance; I must have that: I may use it after all.”
He tweaked it out of the fingers of the man who had picked it up, and laughed to see the expression of amazement28 on his face as the card suddenly vanished. That gave him something fresh to think[202] about, and he pondered for a moment over some touch of association set up by it.
“I have it,” he thought. “It is clear that the moment I came into connection with that card, it became invisible. I’m invisible myself (of course to the grosser sense), and everything I hold becomes invisible. Most interesting! That accounts for the sudden appearances of small objects at a séance. The spirit has been holding them, and as long as he holds them they are invisible. Then he lets go, and there’s the flower or the spirit-photograph on the table. It accounts, too, for the sudden disappearances29 of such objects. The spirit has taken them, though the scoffers say that the medium has secreted30 them about his person. It is true that when searched he sometimes appears to have done so; but, after all, that may be a joke on the part of the spirit. Now, what am I to do with myself.... Let me see, there’s the clock. It’s just half-past ten. All this has happened in a few minutes, for it was a quarter past when I left my house. Half-past ten now: what does that mean exactly? I used to know what it meant, but now it seems nonsense. Ten what? Hours, is it? What’s an hour?”
This was very puzzling. He felt that he used to know what an hour and a minute meant, but the perception of that, naturally enough, had ceased with his emergence31 from time and space into eternity32. The conception of time was like some memory which, refusing to record itself on the consciousness, lies perdu in some dark corner of the brain, laughing at the efforts of the owner to ferret it out. While he still interrogated33 his mind over this lapsed34 perception,[203] he found that space as well as time, had similarly grown obsolete35 for him, for he caught sight of his friend Miss Ida Soulsby, whom he knew was to be present at the séance for which he was bound, hurrying with bird-like steps down the pavement opposite. Forgetting for the moment that he was a disembodied spirit, he made the effort of will which in his past human existence would have set his legs in pursuit of her, and found that the effort of will alone was enough to place him at her side.
“My dear Miss Soulsby,” he said, “I was on my way to Mrs. Cumberbatch’s house when I was knocked down and killed. It was far from unpleasant, a moment’s headache——”
So far his natural volubility had carried him before he recollected that he was invisible and inaudible to those still closed in by the muddy vesture of decay, and stopped short. But though it was clear that what he said was inaudible to Miss Soulsby’s rather large intelligent-looking ears, it seemed that some consciousness of his presence was conveyed to her finer sense, for she looked suddenly startled, a flush rose to her face, and he heard her murmur36, “Very odd. I wonder why I received so vivid an impression of dear Teddy.”
That gave Mr. Tilly a pleasant shock. He had long admired the lady, and here she was alluding37 to him in her supposed privacy as “dear Teddy.” That was followed by a momentary38 regret that he had been killed: he would have liked to have been possessed39 of this information before, and have pursued the primrose40 path of dalliance down which it seemed to lead. (His intentions, of course, would,[204] as always, have been strictly41 honourable42: the path of dalliance would have conducted them both, if she consented, to the altar, where the primroses43 would have been exchanged for orange blossom.) But his regret was quite short-lived; though the altar seemed inaccessible44, the primrose path might still be open, for many of the spiritualistic circle in which he lived were on most affectionate terms with their spiritual guides and friends who, like himself, had passed over. From a human point of view these innocent and even elevating flirtations had always seemed to him rather bloodless; but now, looking on them from the far side, he saw how charming they were, for they gave him the sense of still having a place and an identity in the world he had just quitted. He pressed Miss Ida’s hand (or rather put himself into the spiritual condition of so doing), and could vaguely45 feel that it had some hint of warmth and solidity about it. This was gratifying, for it showed that though he had passed out of the material plane, he could still be in touch with it. Still more gratifying was it to observe that a pleased and secret smile overspread Miss Ida’s fine features as he gave this token of his presence: perhaps she only smiled at her own thoughts, but in any case it was he who had inspired them. Encouraged by this, he indulged in a slightly more intimate token of affection, and permitted himself a respectful salute46, and saw that he had gone too far, for she said to herself, “Hush47, hush!” and quickened her pace, as if to leave these amorous48 thoughts behind.
He felt that he was beginning to adjust himself to the new conditions in which he would now live,[205] or, at any rate, was getting some sort of inkling as to what they were. Time existed no more for him, nor yet did space, since the wish to be at Miss Ida’s side had instantly transported him there, and with a view to testing this further he wished himself back in his flat. As swiftly as the change of scene in a cinematograph show he found himself there, and perceived that the news of his death must have reached his servants, for his cook and parlour-maid with excited faces, were talking over the event.
“Poor little gentleman,” said his cook. “It seems a shame it does. He never hurt a fly, and to think of one of those great engines laying him out flat. I hope they’ll take him to the cemetery49 from the hospital: I never could bear a corpse50 in the house.”
“Well, I’m not sure that it doesn’t serve him right,” she observed. “Always messing about with spirits he was, and the knockings and concertinas was awful sometimes when I’ve been laying out supper in the dining-room. Now perhaps he’ll come himself and visit the rest of the loonies. But I’m sorry all the same. A less troublesome little gentleman never stepped. Always pleasant, too, and wages paid to the day.”
These regretful comments and encomiums were something of a shock to Mr. Tilly. He had imagined that his excellent servants regarded him with a respectful affection, as befitted some sort of demigod, and the r?le of the poor little gentleman was not at all to his mind. This revelation of their true estimate of him, although what they thought of him could[206] no longer have the smallest significance, irritated him profoundly.
“I never heard such impertinence,” he said (so he thought) quite out loud, and still intensely earth-bound, was astonished to see that they had no perception whatever of his presence. He raised his voice, replete52 with extreme irony53, and addressed his cook.
“You may reserve your criticism on my character for your saucepans,” he said. “They will no doubt appreciate them. As regards the arrangements for my funeral, I have already provided for them in my will, and do not propose to consult your convenience. At present——”
“Lor’!” said Mrs. Inglis, “I declare I can almost hear his voice, poor little fellow. Husky it was, as if he would do better by clearing his throat. I suppose I’d best be making a black bow to my cap. His lawyers and what not will be here presently.”
Mr. Tilly had no sympathy with this suggestion. He was immensely conscious of being quite alive, and the idea of his servants behaving as if he were dead, especially after the way in which they had spoken about him, was very vexing54. He wanted to give them some striking evidence of his presence and his activity, and he banged his hand angrily on the dining-room table, from which the breakfast equipage had not yet been cleared. Three tremendous blows he gave it, and was rejoiced to see that his parlour-maid looked startled. Mrs. Inglis’s face remained perfectly placid55.
“Why, if I didn’t hear a sort of rapping sound,” said Miss Talton. “Where did it come from?”
[207]“Nonsense! You’ve the jumps, dear,” said Mrs. Inglis, picking up a remaining rasher of bacon on a fork, and putting it into her capacious mouth.
Mr. Tilly was delighted at making any impression at all on either of these impercipient females.
“Talton!” he called at the top of his voice.
“Why, what’s that?” said Talton. “Almost hear his voice, do you say, Mrs. Inglis? I declare I did hear his voice then.”
“A pack o’ nonsense, dear,” said Mrs. Inglis placidly56. “That’s a prime bit of bacon, and there’s a good cut of it left. Why, you’re all of a tremble! It’s your imagination.”
Suddenly it struck Mr. Tilly that he might be employing himself much better than, with such extreme exertion57, managing to convey so slight a hint of his presence to his parlour-maid, and that the séance at the house of the medium, Mrs. Cumberbatch, would afford him much easier opportunities of getting through to the earth-plane again. He gave a couple more thumps58 to the table and, wishing himself at Mrs. Cumberbatch’s, nearly a mile away, scarcely heard the faint scream of Talton at the sound of his blows before he found himself in West Norfolk Street.
He knew the house well, and went straight to the drawing-room, which was the scene of the séances he had so often and so eagerly attended. Mrs. Cumberbatch, who had a long spoon-shaped face, had already pulled down the blinds, leaving the room in total darkness except for the glimmer59 of the night-light which, under a shade of ruby-glass, stood on the chimney-piece in front of the coloured[208] photograph of Cardinal60 Newman. Round the table were seated Miss Ida Soulsby, Mr. and Mrs. Meriott (who paid their guineas at least twice a week in order to consult their spiritual guide Abibel and received mysterious advice about their indigestion and investments), and Sir John Plaice, who was much interested in learning the details of his previous incarnation as a Chaldean priest, completed the circle. His guide, who revealed to him his sacerdotal career, was playfully called Mespot. Naturally many other spirits visited them, for Miss Soulsby had no less than three guides in her spiritual household, Sapphire61, Semiramis, and Sweet William, while Napoleon and Plato were not infrequent guests. Cardinal Newman, too, was a great favourite, and they encouraged his presence by the singing in unison62 of “Lead, kindly63 Light”: he could hardly ever resist that....
Mr. Tilly observed with pleasure that there was a vacant seat by the table which no doubt had been placed there for him. As he entered, Mrs. Cumberbatch peered at her watch.
“Eleven o’clock already,” she said, “and Mr. Tilly is not here yet. I wonder what can have kept him. What shall we do, dear friends? Abibel gets very impatient sometimes if we keep him waiting.”
Mr. and Mrs. Meriott were getting impatient too, for he terribly wanted to ask about Mexican oils, and she had a very vexing heartburn.
“And Mespot doesn’t like waiting either,” said Sir John, jealous for the prestige of his protector, “not to mention Sweet William.”
Miss Soulsby gave a little silvery laugh.
[209]“Oh, but my Sweet William’s so good and kind,” she said; “besides, I have a feeling, quite a psychic64 feeling, Mrs. Cumberbatch, that Mr. Tilly is very close.”
“So I am,” said Mr. Tilly.
“Indeed, as I walked here,” continued Miss Soulsby, “I felt that Mr. Tilly was somewhere quite close to me. Dear me, what’s that?”
Mr. Tilly was so delighted at being sensed, that he could not resist giving a tremendous rap on the table, in a sort of pleased applause. Mrs. Cumberbatch heard it too.
“I’m sure that’s Abibel come to tell us that he is ready,” she said. “I know Abibel’s knock. A little patience, Abibel. Let’s give Mr. Tilly three minutes more and then begin. Perhaps, if we put up the blinds, Abibel will understand we haven’t begun.”
This was done, and Miss Soulsby glided65 to the window, in order to make known Mr. Tilly’s approach, for he always came along the opposite pavement and crossed over by the little island in the river of traffic. There was evidently some lately published news, for the readers of early editions were busy, and she caught sight of one of the advertisement-boards bearing in large letters the announcement of a terrible accident at Hyde Park Corner. She drew in her breath with a hissing66 sound and turned away, unwilling67 to have her psychic tranquillity68 upset by the intrusion of painful incidents. But Mr. Tilly, who had followed her to the window and saw what she had seen, could hardly restrain a spiritual whoop69 of exultation70.
“Why, it’s all about me!” he said. “Such[210] large letters, too. Very gratifying. Subsequent editions will no doubt contain my name.”
He gave another loud rap to call attention to himself, and Mrs. Cumberbatch, sitting down in her antique chair which had once belonged to Madame Blavatsky, again heard.
“Well, if that isn’t Abibel again,” she said. “Be quiet, naughty. Perhaps we had better begin.”
She recited the usual invocation to guides and angels, and leaned back in her chair. Presently she began to twitch71 and mutter, and shortly afterwards with several loud snorts, relapsed into cataleptic immobility. There she lay, stiff as a poker72, a port of call, so to speak, for any voyaging intelligence. With pleased anticipation8 Mr. Tilly awaited their coming. How gratifying if Napoleon, with whom he had so often talked, recognised him and said, “Pleased to see you, Mr. Tilly. I perceive you have joined us....” The room was dark except for the ruby-shaded lamp in front of Cardinal Newman, but to Mr. Tilly’s emancipated73 perceptions the withdrawal74 of mere75 material light made no difference, and he idly wondered why it was generally supposed that disembodied spirits like himself produced their most powerful effects in the dark. He could not imagine the reason for that, and, what puzzled him still more, there was not to his spiritual perception any sign of those colleagues of his (for so he might now call them) who usually attended Mrs. Cumberbatch’s séances in such gratifying numbers. Though she had been moaning and muttering a long time now, Mr. Tilly was in no way conscious of the presence of Abibel and Sweet William and Sapphire and[211] Napoleon. “They ought to be here by now,” he said to himself.
But while he still wondered at their absence, he saw to his amazed disgust that the medium’s hand, now covered with a black glove, and thus invisible to ordinary human vision in the darkness, was groping about the table and clearly searching for the megaphone-trumpet76 which lay there. He found that he could read her mind with the same ease, though far less satisfaction, as he had read Miss Ida’s half an hour ago, and knew that she was intending to apply the trumpet to her own mouth and pretend to be Abibel or Semiramis or somebody, whereas she affirmed that she never touched the trumpet herself. Much shocked at this, he snatched up the trumpet himself, and observed that she was not in trance at all, for she opened her sharp black eyes, which always reminded him of buttons covered with American cloth, and gave a great gasp77.
“Why, Mr. Tilly!” she said. “On the spiritual plane too!”
The rest of the circle was now singing “Lead, kindly Light” in order to encourage Cardinal Newman, and this conversation was conducted under cover of the hoarse78 crooning voices. But Mr. Tilly had the feeling that though Mrs. Cumberbatch saw and heard him as clearly as he saw her, he was quite imperceptible to the others.
“Yes, I’ve been killed,” he said, “and I want to get into touch with the material world. That’s why I came here. But I want to get into touch with other spirits too, and surely Abibel or Mespot ought to be here by this time.”
[212]He received no answer, and her eyes fell before his like those of a detected charlatan79. A terrible suspicion invaded his mind.
“What? Are you a fraud, Mrs. Cumberbatch?” he asked. “Oh, for shame! Think of all the guineas I have paid you.”
“You shall have them all back,” said Mrs. Cumberbatch. “But don’t tell of me.”
She began to whimper, and he remembered that she often made that sort of sniffling noise when Abibel was taking possession of her.
“That usually means that Abibel is coming,” he said, with withering80 sarcasm81. “Come along, Abibel: we’re waiting.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Tilly indignantly. “I would sooner use it myself.”
“Oh do, Mr. Tilly!” she said. “What a wonderful idea! It will be most interesting to everybody to hear you talk just after you’ve been killed and before they know. It would be the making of me! And I’m not a fraud, at least not altogether. I do have spiritual perceptions sometimes; spirits do communicate through me. And when they won’t come through it’s a dreadful temptation to a poor woman to—to supplement them by human agency. And how could I be seeing and hearing you now, and be able to talk to you—so pleasantly, I’m sure—if I hadn’t super-normal powers? You’ve been killed, so you assure me, and yet I can see and hear[213] you quite plainly. Where did it happen, may I ask, if it’s not a painful subject?”
“Hyde Park Corner, half an hour ago,” said Mr. Tilly. “No, it only hurt for a moment, thanks. But about your other suggestion——”
While the third verse of “Lead, kindly Light” was going on, Mr. Tilly applied84 his mind to this difficult situation. It was quite true that if Mrs. Cumberbatch had no power of communication with the unseen she could not possibly have seen him. But she evidently had, and had heard him too, for their conversation had certainly been conducted on the spirit-plane, with perfect lucidity85. Naturally, now that he was a genuine spirit, he did not want to be mixed up in fraudulent mediumship, for he felt that such a thing would seriously compromise him on the other side, where, probably, it was widely known that Mrs. Cumberbatch was a person to be avoided. But, on the other hand, having so soon found a medium through whom he could communicate with his friends, it was hard to take a high moral view, and say that he would have nothing whatever to do with her.
“I don’t know if I trust you,” he said. “I shouldn’t have a moment’s peace if I thought that you would be sending all sorts of bogus messages from me to the circle, which I wasn’t responsible for at all. You’ve done it with Abibel and Mespot. How can I know that when I don’t choose to communicate through you, you won’t make up all sorts of piffle on your own account?”
She positively86 squirmed in her chair.
“Oh, I’ll turn over a new leaf,” she said. “I[214] will leave all that sort of thing behind me. And I am a medium. Look at me! Aren’t I more real to you than any of the others? Don’t I belong to your plane in a way that none of the others do? I may be occasionally fraudulent, and I can no more get Napoleon here than I can fly, but I’m genuine as well. Oh, Mr. Tilly, be indulgent to us poor human creatures! It isn’t so long since you were one of us yourself.”
The mention of Napoleon, with the information that Mrs. Cumberbatch had never been controlled by that great creature, wounded Mr. Tilly again. Often in this darkened room he had held long colloquies87 with him, and Napoleon had given him most interesting details of his life on St. Helena, which, so Mr. Tilly had found, were often borne out by Lord Rosebery’s pleasant volume The Last Phase. But now the whole thing wore a more sinister88 aspect, and suspicion as solid as certainty bumped against his mind.
“Confess!” he said. “Where did you get all that Napoleon talk from? You told us you had never read Lord Rosebery’s book, and allowed us to look through your library to see that it wasn’t there. Be honest for once, Mrs. Cumberbatch.”
She suppressed a sob.
“I will,” she said. “The book was there all the time. I put it into an old cover called ‘Elegant Extracts....’ But I’m not wholly a fraud. We’re talking together, you a spirit and I a mortal female. They can’t hear us talk. But only look at me, and you’ll see.... You can talk to them through me, if you’ll only be so kind. I don’t often get in touch with a genuine spirit like yourself.”
[215]Mr. Tilly glanced at the other sitters and then back to the medium, who, to keep the others interested, was making weird89 gurgling noises like an undervitalised siphon. Certainly she was far clearer to him than were the others, and her argument that she was able to see and hear him had great weight. And then a new and curious perception came to him. Her mind seemed spread out before him like a pool of slightly muddy water, and he figured himself as standing on a header-board above it, perfectly able, if he chose, to immerse himself in it. The objection to so doing was its muddiness, its materiality; the reason for so doing was that he felt that then he would be able to be heard by the others, possibly to be seen by them, certainly to come into touch with them. As it was, the loudest bangs on the table were only faintly perceptible.
“I’m beginning to understand,” he said.
“Oh, Mr. Tilly! Just jump in like a kind good spirit,” she said. “Make your own test-conditions. Put your hand over my mouth to make sure that I’m not speaking, and keep hold of the trumpet.”
“And you’ll promise not to cheat any more?” he asked.
“Never!”
He made up his mind.
“All right then,” he said, and, so to speak, dived into her mind.
He experienced the oddest sensation. It was like passing out of some fine, sunny air into the stuffiest90 of unventilated rooms. Space and time closed over him again: his head swam, his eyes were heavy. Then, with the trumpet in one hand, he[216] laid the other firmly over her mouth. Looking round, he saw that the room seemed almost completely dark, but that the outline of the figures sitting round the table had vastly gained in solidity.
“Here I am!” he said briskly.
Miss Soulsby gave a startled exclamation91.
“That’s Mr. Tilly’s voice!” she whispered.
“Why, of course it is,” said Mr. Tilly. “I’ve just passed over at Hyde Park Corner under a traction engine....”
He felt the dead weight of the medium’s mind, her conventional conceptions, her mild, unreal piety92 pressing in on him from all sides, stifling93 and confusing him. Whatever he said had to pass through muddy water....
“There’s a wonderful feeling of joy and lightness,” he said. “I can’t tell you of the sunshine and happiness. We’re all very busy and active, helping94 others. And it’s such a pleasure, dear friends, to be able to get into touch with you all again. Death is not death: it is the gate of life....”
He broke off suddenly.
“Oh, I can’t stand this,” he said to the medium. “You make me talk such twaddle. Do get your stupid mind out of the way. Can’t we do anything in which you won’t interfere95 with me so much?”
“Can you give us some spirit lights round the room?” suggested Mrs. Cumberbatch in a sleepy voice. “You have come through beautifully, Mr. Tilly. It’s too dear of you!”
“You’re sure you haven’t arranged some phosphorescent patches already?” asked Mr. Tilly suspiciously.
[217]“Yes, there are one or two near the chimney-piece,” said Mrs. Cumberbatch, “but none anywhere else. Dear Mr. Tilly, I swear there are not. Just give us a nice star with long rays on the ceiling!”
Mr. Tilly was the most good-natured of men, always willing to help an unattractive female in distress96, and whispering to her, “I shall require the phosphorescent patches to be given into my hands after the séance,” he proceeded, by the mere effort of his imagination, to light a beautiful big star with red and violet rays on the ceiling. Of course it was not nearly as brilliant as his own conception of it, for its light had to pass through the opacity97 of the medium’s mind, but it was still a most striking object, and elicited98 gasps99 of applause from the company. To enhance the effect of it he intoned a few very pretty lines about a star by Adelaide Anne Procter, whose poems had always seemed to him to emanate100 from the topmost peak of Parnassus.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Tilly!” whispered the medium. “It was lovely! Would a photograph of it be permitted on some future occasion, if you would be so kind as to reproduce it again?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mr. Tilly irritably101. “I want to get out. I’m very hot and uncomfortable. And it’s all so cheap.”
“Cheap?” ejaculated Mrs. Cumberbatch. “Why, there’s not a medium in London whose future wouldn’t be made by a real genuine star like that, say, twice a week.”
“But I wasn’t run over in order that I might make the fortune of mediums,” said Mr. Tilly. “I want to go: it’s all rather degrading. And I[218] want to see something of my new world. I don’t know what it’s like yet.”
“Oh, but, Mr. Tilly,” said she. “You told us lovely things about it, how busy and happy you were.”
“No, I didn’t. It was you who said that, at least it was you who put it into my head.”
Even as he wished, he found himself emerging from the dull waters of Mrs. Cumberbatch’s mind.
“There’s the whole new world waiting for me,” he said. “I must go and see it. I’ll come back and tell you, for it must be full of marvellous revelations....”
Suddenly he felt the hopelessness of it. There was that thick fluid of materiality to pierce, and, as it dripped off him again, he began to see that nothing of that fine rare quality of life which he had just begun to experience, could penetrate102 these opacities103. That was why, perhaps, all that thus came across from the spirit-world, was so stupid, so banal104. They, of whom he now was one, could tap on furniture, could light stars, could abound105 with commonplace, could read as in a book the mind of medium or sitters, but nothing more. They had to pass into the region of gross perceptions, in order to be seen of blind eyes and be heard of deaf ears.
Mrs. Cumberbatch stirred.
“The power is failing,” she said, in a deep voice, which Mr. Tilly felt was meant to imitate his own. “I must leave you now, dear friends——”
He felt much exasperated106.
“The power isn’t failing,” he shouted. “It wasn’t I who said that.”
[219]But he had emerged too far, and perceived that nobody except the medium heard him.
“Oh, don’t be vexed107, Mr. Tilly,” she said. “That’s only a formula. But you’re leaving us very soon. Not time for just one materialisation? They are more convincing than anything to most inquirers.”
“Not one,” said he. “You don’t understand how stifling it is even to speak through you and make stars. But I’ll come back as soon as I find there’s anything new that I can get through to you. What’s the use of my repeating all that stale stuff about being busy and happy? They’ve been told that often enough already. Besides, I have got to see if it’s true. Good-bye: don’t cheat any more.”
He dropped his card of admittance to the séance on the table and heard murmurs108 of excitement as he floated off.
The news of the wonderful star, and the presence of Mr. Tilly at the séance within half an hour of his death, which at the time was unknown to any of the sitters, spread swiftly through spiritualistic circles. The Psychical109 Research Society sent investigators110 to take independent evidence from all those present, but were inclined to attribute the occurrence to a subtle mixture of thought-transference and unconscious visual impression, when they heard that Miss Soulsby had, a few minutes previously111, seen a news-board in the street outside recording112 the accident at Hyde Park Corner. This explanation was rather elaborate, for it postulated113 that Miss Soulsby, thinking of Mr. Tilly’s non-arrival, had combined that with the accident at Hyde Park[220] Corner, and had probably (though unconsciously) seen the name of the victim on another news-board and had transferred the whole by telepathy to the mind of the medium. As for the star on the ceiling, though they could not account for it, they certainly found remains of phosphorescent paint on the panels of the wall above the chimney-piece, and came to the conclusion that the star had been produced by some similar contrivance. So they rejected the whole thing, which was a pity, since, for once, the phenomena114 were absolutely genuine.
Miss Soulsby continued to be a constant attendant at Mrs. Cumberbatch’s séance, but never experienced the presence of Mr. Tilly again. On that the reader may put any interpretation115 he pleases. It looks to me somewhat as if he had found something else to do.
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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3
traction
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| n.牵引；附着摩擦力 | |
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4
grooved
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| v.沟( groove的过去式和过去分词 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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petulantly
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7
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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8
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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9
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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10
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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11
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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12
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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13
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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14
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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15
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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16
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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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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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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19
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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21
rivets
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| 铆钉( rivet的名词复数 ) | |
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22
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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23
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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24
demolition
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| n.破坏,毁坏,毁坏之遗迹 | |
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25
apprehend
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| vt.理解，领悟，逮捕，拘捕，忧虑 | |
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26
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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27
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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28
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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29
disappearances
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| n.消失( disappearance的名词复数 )；丢失；失踪；失踪案 | |
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30
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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31
emergence
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| n.浮现，显现，出现，（植物）突出体 | |
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32
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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34
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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35
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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36
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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37
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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38
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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39
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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40
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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41
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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42
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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43
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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44
inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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45
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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46
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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47
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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48
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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49
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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50
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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51
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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52
replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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53
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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54
vexing
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| adj.使人烦恼的，使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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55
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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56
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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57
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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58
thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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60
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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61
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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62
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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63
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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64
psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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65
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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66
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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67
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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68
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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69
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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70
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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71
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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72
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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73
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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75
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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76
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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77
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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78
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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79
charlatan
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| n.骗子；江湖医生；假内行 | |
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80
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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81
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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82
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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83
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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84
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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85
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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86
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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87
colloquies
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| n.谈话，对话( colloquy的名词复数 ) | |
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88
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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89
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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90
stuffiest
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| adj.空气不好的( stuffy的最高级 )；通风不好的；（观点、举止）陈腐的；鼻塞的 | |
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91
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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92
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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93
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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94
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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95
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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96
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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97
opacity
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| n.不透明；难懂 | |
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98
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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100
emanate
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| v.发自，来自，出自 | |
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101
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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102
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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103
opacities
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| n.不透明性( opacity的名词复数 )；费解；难懂；模糊 | |
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104
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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105
abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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106
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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107
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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108
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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109
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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110
investigators
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| n.调查者，审查者( investigator的名词复数 ) | |
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111
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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112
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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113
postulated
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| v.假定，假设( postulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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115
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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