Those who believe, as I do, that spiritual beings can and do, subject to general laws and for certain purposes, communicate with us, and even produce material effects in the world around us, must see in the steady advance of inquiry and of interest in these questions the assurance that, so far as their beliefs are logical deductions from the phenomena they have witnessed, those beliefs will at no distant date be accepted by all truth-seeking inquirers.--_Alfred Russell Wallace._ One Sunday afternoon when the two friends sat together, with Planchette as telephone to the invisible world, the responses were unusually prompt and full, for a daytime effort. Prescott came and was in a most obliging mood, as charming as of old. Without warning, when in the middle of a long sentence that he was writing at his usual furious pace, some invisible force drew the Butterfly’s arm from Planchette and sent the little board flying across the room. At the same instant she rose, raised her right hand and pointed directly before her, her face ashy and an unearthly look in her dilated eyes. Straining her faculty of sight Cartice looked in the direction of her friend’s outstretched finger, but saw nothing. In a few seconds the beautiful seeress sank to her chair exhausted, with dry mouth and stiffened tongue, like one who returns to consciousness after a deep faint. Mrs. Doring rushed for water for her to drink, and cologne with which to lave her face, embraced her, and soothed her with reassuring words until she was herself again, though more subdued and humble than ever before. “What was it, dear?” asked Cartice at last. “Prescott,” she gasped. “He was as real in appearance as ever I saw him in life. The scar on his left cheek was plain, and the tooth in front that had been built up with gold was just as it used to be, for he smiled and I saw it distinctly. He spoke, but I could not understand what he said. He came so sudden, and I was so frightened. I hope he will never do that again. It gives me a horrible feeling to see any of them.” After a little coaxing she touched Planchette again, to ask an explanation of the singular occurrence. “I did not mean to frighten you, poor child,” wrote Prescott, “but I wanted to see if I could make myself visible to you for an instant. The exhaustion you experienced afterward was not all owing to fright. In order to appear to you I took a certain substance from your body with which to make myself visible. I made my body, for the moment, out of yours. That leaves you weaker, but what I took will be restored to you. This vital substance is everywhere, and your body, being a magnet, attracts it to you, particularly when you are out doors in the sunlight. Oh, if you but knew the valve of sunshine, and air--pure, fresh air.” “Why couldn’t I see you, too?” Cartice asked. “I should not be frightened; but even so, I am willing to be.” “I have tried to lift the veil from your eyes, but cannot.”