“Oh, God--what is it? Look--look, there in the crystal--what have you done? There’s blood, and worse than blood! Oh, my God, what’s this? It’s all over England--_you_--they’re talking about _you_----” Irene Tidmarsh screamed wildly, and Elsie realised that she had sprung to her feet. She herself was utterly unable to move, wave after wave of sick terror surging through her as the high, unrecognisable voice of the clairvoyante screeched and ranted, and then broke horribly. “It’s blood! My God, get out of here! I won’t see any more--you’re all over blood!...” A strange, strangled cry, that Elsie did not recognise as having come from her own lips, broke across the obscurity, the room surged round her, she tried to clutch at the table, and felt herself falling heavily. Elsie Williams had fainted. She came back to a dazed memory of physical nausea, bewilderment, and resentment, as she felt herself being unskilfully pulled into a sitting position. “Let go,” she muttered, “let me go....” “She’s coming round! For Heaven’s sake, Elsie ... here, try and get hold of her....” She felt herself pulled and propelled to her feet, and even dragged a few steps by inadequate supporters. Then she sank down again, invaded by a renewal of deadly sickness, but she was conscious that they had somehow got her outside the dark, scented room, and that the door had been slammed behind her. Very slowly her perceptions cleared, and she realised that Irene was gripping her on one side, and the little hunch-backed girl holding a futile hand beneath her elbow on the other. With an effort, Elsie raised her head. “Look here, old girl, are you better?” said Irene, low and urgently. “I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. D’you think you can get downstairs?” Elsie, without clearly knowing why, was conscious that she, too, wanted to get away. She pulled herself to her feet, shuddering, and staggered down the stairs, leaning heavily on Irene. “What happened?” “Oh, you just turned queer. Don’t think about it. Look here, we’d better have a taxi, hadn’t we?” “Yes. I couldn’t walk a step, that’s certain. Why, my knees are shaking under me.” “Go and get a taxi,” Irene commanded the hunch-backed child, who went obediently away. Elsie sat down on the lowest stair and wiped her wet, cold face with her handkerchief. “What made me go off like that, Ireen? That woman said something beastly, didn’t she?” “Oh she’s mad, that’s what she is. She suddenly started ranting, and you got frightened, I suppose--and no wonder. Never mind, you’ll soon be home now.” It struck Elsie that Irene was looking at her in a strangely anxious way, and that she was talking almost at random, as though to obliterate the impression of what had passed at the _séance_. Elsie herself could not remember clearly, but there was a lurking horror at the back of her mind. “What did she say?” she persisted feebly.