“Mary K. You must not doubt. We shall lose control of you if you do.” When I said that what I sought was truth, she said: “I know, but you doubt our control, and weaken it.” “I also doubt my own correctness.” “You are correct.” As, indeed, I was. Her message reached my consciousness. At three o’clock the insistence that Mr. Farrow was dead continued, and attempts were made to explain former inaccuracies, on the plea of a difference in plane, creating “errors in terms of finite space.” Shortly before five, it was said that Cass had received news of Mr. Farrow’s death, and was on his way home. A few minutes later Mary K. warned me again. “You must not doubt.... You can’t be a messenger without faith.” “How am I to know when you are telling the truth and when it is error?” “The truth is the truth, and you must learn to differentiate between the planes.” I suspect that she intended the last word to be “forces,” and that control was wrested from her before it was written. Resenting the whole confused situation, and entirely unable to account for my conviction that this message was false, I said: “If Cass tells me, when he comes home, that Mr. Farrow is dead, I will believe anything you tell me in future. If he is not dead, I’ll have nothing further to do with you or your book.” “Mary K. You will go on with our work. He is dead.” At this point, Cass arrived. He said that he had received neither letter nor cablegram from Mr. Farrow for ten days, although an expected and important letter from him was some time overdue. This seemed to lend color to the report of his death, but my conviction was unshaken. From the beginning of these communications with the next plane, although at times excessively fatigued, I had enjoyed an increasing mental serenity, but with the first announcement of Mr. Farrow’s death, this had given way to the peculiar nervous instability and apprehension invariably accompanying these mischievous invasions. By night my mind was in a turmoil and my nerves on edge, my confidence shaken, my faith in the balance—which did not lessen the difficulties of an interview prompted chiefly by intellectual interest. Establishing connection with an unfamiliar personality is not easy, at best, and frequently some time is required to obtain free communication. On this occasion, instead of devoting the evening to perfecting one connection, several persons were called, all but one responding, and the messages, with one or two exceptions, were unsatisfactory. There were vain and fatiguing efforts to write a name unknown to any of us, and most of the efforts to obtain specific evidential data were unsuccessful. Whether this was due to my own lack of confidence, to interference by the enemy, or to the fact that at no time have the individuals communicating through me concerned themselves with personal and specific details—except occasionally, for my own greater conviction—I do not know.