The last two Lessons were given to me on the 12th of April, and it had been arranged that Mr. T——, the representative of a publishing-house, should come on the evening of the thirteenth for a demonstration of the communication with the next plane. From the day this arrangement was contemplated, frequent assertions were made under Mary K.’s signature, concerning Mr. T—— and his attitude toward this experience, many of which were afterward proved untrue, and all of which I doubted, notwithstanding repeated proofs, already quoted, of her general correctness of statement. Day by day these messages grew more confusing, and I less able to account for them by any theory then formed. That a deliberate “drive” by malign powers was in progress never occurred to me, and would have seemed too absurd to credit, even had I thought of it. As there seemed to be no close tie between Mr. T—— and any of those from whom he had expressed a desire to hear, no great eagerness on either side to complete a circle of which each was a part, I felt that the interview might present difficulties not encountered before, and resolved to do no writing during the day, reserving my strength for the evening’s work. In the morning, however, I had occasion to ask Mary K. for some brief information. Beginning, as usual, with her signature—somewhat haltingly done—the pencil wrote quickly, but erratically: “Mr. Farrow is dead.” This man is a business associate of Cass’s, living abroad. Startled, I thought I must have taken the message incorrectly, but it was repeated. “Mr. Farrow is dead. Cass will hear later.” When I insisted that this could not be true, it was reiterated. “Yes, he is here, and ~b~ ... ~blon~ ... ~latter~ ... bewildered. Mary K.” Our personal relations with Mr. Farrow, while pleasant, have never been close, being based entirely upon a business connection, and my affections were in no way responsible for my resistance to this announcement, nor would our personal affairs have been in any way influenced by his death. But I did not believe it. “Farrow is here with us. May ... Mary K.” This signature was slow and irresolute, beginning as Maynard and ending as Mary K., but lacking the firmness of either—an indecision and inconsequence characteristic, I have since learned, of disintegrating force in these invasions. “Was he killed in an accident?” “No. Pneumonia. Maynard. Tell Cass.” “Shall I telephone to Cass now?” “No. I am watching over him. Maynard.” The use of the word “dead” in this connection was surprising, since the whole trend of former communications had been toward elimination of the idea of death. Once more I asked Mary K. if they were sure there had been no mistake. “Yes. He is dead to your life.” “You mean Farrow of P——? Not his brother? Or his son?” “Yes, P——. It is true. You will hear soon. Cass must go there.”