“But the scar and the tooth of gold? Were they not of the cast-off body only, or do you have them still?” she asked. “The human eye must have that with which to identify those from this side, so they are simulated as they last appeared in the flesh.” One evening, when another was writing, Planchette was unexpectedly and violently flung to the floor, by a blow on the Butterfly’s delicate arm, from an unseen hand. When order had been restored, Prescott took possession, and it was plain to be seen that he was agitated. He wrote: “I tried to prevent that, but could not. Chrissalyn must be prepared to expect almost anything. The situation here is incomprehensible to you.” “What is it that makes the Butterfly a medium, if she will pardon the word?” Cartice asked. “Something for which there is yet no proper word. You would call it, magnetism. She is wonderful,--powerful, magnetic to the dead, as you call us, as well as to the living--you cannot imagine how much.” Cartice had ever been sensible of a powerful and unaccountable attraction in her friend. She had always loved to watch Chrissalyn, she knew not why, loved to be near her and never wearied of her. For others, both men and women, the Butterfly possessed the same attraction. If she wanted to ensnare the most wary masculine mortal, she had only to cast her eyes upon him and he was hers. If she wished for the good-will or friendship of a woman, a smile and a pleasant word or two were all she need give in order to gain it. “Tell me, what is magnetism?” was the next question. “A power we cannot see but can feel--the power that attracts through all nature, but I cannot define it, for as yet I know very little about it myself.” When asked to explain his manner of using Planchette, Prescott said: “When the Butterfly’s hand rests upon it we stand behind her, with our hands above hers--a few inches above--and we move her hand and Planchette by the power of magnetism.” “Why can’t you use my hand as well as hers?” Cartice asked. “Because you are a positive. Your magnetism is of the controlling and not the controllable kind.” Early in her investigations Mrs. Doring learned that the people on the unseen side of life are like unto those seen, in that there are good and bad, wise and foolish, busy and idle, truth-tellers and liars, sane and insane. Character there is exactly what it was here, growing better if it aspire and worse if it be indifferent to growth, for evolution apparently goes on forever and forever. She learned, too, that a message was not necessarily infallible, because it came from that we call a spirit. Frequently it was wofully fallible. Liars will lie and the mischievous make mischief wherever they are. In short, undeveloped souls, no matter where they dwell, give very direct evidence of their imperfection.