"It isn't my theory. It's as old as Christianity, it's a part of Christianity. As to evidence, my dear sir, you are blind to evidence. The young lady I speak of was despaired of by everybody, she was on her way to an insane asylum, two alienists had declared her case hopeless, yet, thanks to psychic treatment, she was restored to health and happiness. Does that impress you? Not at all if you call it a coincidence. And if I am fortunate enough to cure Mrs. Wells, whom you have failed to cure, you will call that a coincidence, too." Dr. Owen tried to control his irritation, but his prejudices got the better of him. "Of course I want to see Mrs. Wells cured, but--do you mean to tell me seriously that you believe she is possessed by an evil spirit?" "I believe that some malignant influence is near her and able to control her--intermittently. How else do you account for the facts in her case? Even Mrs. Wells believes this." "That is because Seraphine put the notion in her head. It's unfortunate." "No, she believes this because of the way her friend died. You know how she died?" "Miss Vallis? She died suddenly, but the cause of her death is doubtful. People die suddenly from all sorts of causes." "Yes," answered Leroy with a significant tightening of the lips, "and one of the causes is fear. People die suddenly of fear, doctor." "Referring to Mrs. Wells and her bad dreams?" "Precisely. If you had seen her last night--after midnight--watching the clock with dark, furtive glances, watching, waiting, as the hands approached half past twelve, you would understand what fear can do to a woman. That is Mrs. Wells' worst symptom, she is afraid--not all the time but intermittently." Owen leaned forward in concentrated attention. "Why was she in such a state at half past twelve rather than at any other time?" "Because the change in her takes place then, the change into her other personality." "Fauvette? You saw her--in that personality?" "Yes. I saw her. Besides, she told me about it in advance. She knows what is going to take place, but is powerless against it. Every night at exactly half past twelve there comes a violent period that lasts until one o'clock. Then she falls into a deep sleep, and a dream begins, always the same dream, a horrible dream that terrifies her and drains her life forces. She had this dream last night, she will have it again tonight, and again tomorrow night. _She believes that she will die tomorrow night, just as her friend died!_" "Good God! What a pity!" exclaimed Owen. "Why does she think she is going to die tomorrow night?" "Her Voices tell her so, and she believes them." "She told you this?" "Yes." The older man tapped impatiently on his chair-arm. "And you? What did you say to her? You surely do not believe that Mrs. Wells will die tomorrow night? You know these are only the morbid fancies of an hysterical woman, don't you?" Leroy rose quietly and took down a volume from the bookcase.