“But it is true she has gotten up in the night and wandered away, alone, is it not?” “It is thrue Esther has walked in her shlape once or twice.” “But is he not the cause, when she goes to meet him?” “Mr. Cramer, what d’ye mean, insinuating such things of my Esther?” “Mrs. McCleary, this is a painful revelation I must make you. But I know that this has occurred, at least once, and I know that Esther was constrained to go to this meeting by other power than her volition.” “Oi don’t belave ye, Mark Cramer,” said the now thoroughly angry woman. “Oi don’t know what yer object is in coming here and defaming moy poor girrl. Oi don’t belave Professor Russell would use any power he has to hurt moy child’s good name. It’s all along of yer prejudice of the maan, that yer thryin’ to make trouble.” “But, Mrs. McCleary, listen to me, I beg of you, for Esther’s sake. You don’t want me to believe that Esther would go of her own free will to such an appointment?” “If she has gone, it’s the sperits as has led her. And Oi can’t belave they would harm a hair of her head, aither. When the sperits used to come here first, McCleary used to say, ‘Ye’ll lose all yer friends, Miranda, av ye toike ony sthock in these sperits,’ and Oi sez, sez Oi, ‘If moy friends can’t sthand the sperits, they’re not moy friends at all, an’ I can get along without thim.’” Mrs. McCleary was thoroughly aroused, and her hands trembled as she clasped the arms of her rocking-chair. “You are willing, are you, that the spirits should compromise your daughter? Mrs. McCleary, there is not a man, woman, or child in this community that would not grieve to hear this thing of Esther, and would gladly shield and protect her from such influences; but her own mother will not listen nor try to save her.” “Ye don’t know what ye’re talking about, Mark Cramer. If the sperits—but I don’t belave it at all, at all.” “Mother!” It was Esther herself who interrupted them, Esther standing in the doorway, her face white to chalkiness, her dark-lined eyelids heavy with their burden of tears, her voice thrilling with its passionate intensity. “Mother, Mr. Cramer speaks the truth. It is no spirit that controls me, but the wicked, black one—oh, blacker than hell itself!—which lodges in the breast of that dreadful man, Russell. I have prayed to you, O my mother, to save me from him. I have prayed to Heaven as well, upon my bended knees, but Heaven and my own mother have been deaf to my prayers. You would not hear me, you would not believe me. Yes, you, you, mother, have made me see him, forced me against my own will to see him, until he now controls me, body and soul. If he bade me, I should walk into the bottomless pit. And I hate him, hate him, hate him! O mother, mother, mother!” Esther’s voice ended in a shriek and her slender body swayed as she staggered forward toward the woman whose breast should have been her safe and sure refuge. Mark caught the half-fainting girl and supported her to a chair.