To this Victor made no reply, for while he now believed absolutely in all that his mother claimed to do, he had not been brought to a belief in the return of the dead, and it was this fundamental doubt which made his grief so bitter. "If only she could know that I believe in her," he said to Leo, on the morning of the day when his mother's body was to be taken away. "Think of it! She died a thousand times for the curious and the selfish, only to be called an impostor and a cheat--and I, her only son, was afraid the charge was true. If only I could have told her that I believed in her!" "She knows," the girl gently assured him. They were seated at the moment in the library and the morning was very warm and silent. The birds seemed to be resting in preparation for their evensong. "Your mother is near us--she may be listening to us this minute." "I can't believe that," he declared, sadly. "I'm not sure that I want to believe it. I can't endure the thought of my mother's destruction, and yet the notion of her floating about somewhere like a wreath of mist is sorrowful to me." Leo confessed to somewhat the same feeling. "Heaven--any kind of heaven--has always been incomprehensible to me, and yet we must believe there is some sort of system of rewards and punishments. Anyhow, your mother's death was glorious. She died as she would have wished to die--in proving her faith." "She gave too much," he protested. "All her life she was set apart to do a martyr's work. I understand now why my father couldn't stand it. I know how he must have resented these Voices, and I cannot blame him for going away. Would you marry a man like Stainton Moses or David Home?" She recoiled a little before the thought. "Of course not--but--" "What?" "Your mother was charming. If your father really loved her--" "He did! I'm sure of that, at first, but these 'ghosts' destroyed his home. My mother confessed to me that they tormented my father for his unbelief, and he had to go." "They are together now, and he believes." Victor fixed a penetrating look upon her. "Do you really believe that the dead speak to us?" "I see no reason why they shouldn't--if they want to. How else can you explain these Voices?" He shook his head. "I'm afraid these modern Italian scientists are right. The Voices were only 'parasitic personalities,' nothing else. But let's not talk of them. I'm tired of the 'ghost-room'--all my life I've had it--and now I'm going to forget it if I can." "Hush! Your mother may hear you and grieve." "If she can hear me she will understand my feeling. I like the world as it is--I don't want the supernatural thrust into it." "I think you're wrong," she said, firmly. "The larger view is that of the scientist who recognizes nothing supernatural in the universe. I would not part with what your mother gave me for huge sums. I've had wonderful, thrilling experiences. Remember Altair!"