"You--shall--not! You are killing me. Don't you see that is a part of me. Don't you know--Put it down instantly! _My very life and soul are in it._" He dropped the broken thing in a disordered pile at her feet. Her anguish, which seemed both physical and mental, stunned him. As they stood thus confronting each other Mrs. Joyce returned. She seemed to comprehend the situation instantly, and, putting her arm about the little psychic's waist, gently said, "You'd better lie down, Lucy, you are hurt." Mrs. Ollnee permitted herself to be led to the little couch silently sobbing. It was growing dusky in the room, and the youth, though still rebellious, was profoundly affected by this action. His hot anger died away and a swift repentance softened him. "Don't cry, mother," he said, clumsily kneeling beside her. "I didn't think you cared so much about the old thing." Mrs. Joyce broke forth in scorn: "What a crude young barbarian you are! That table is something more than a piece of wood to her. It is a sacred altar. It is the place where the quick and the dead meet. It is sentient with the touch of spirit hands--and you have desecrated it. You have laid violent hands upon your mother's innermost heart. You will destroy her if you keep on in this way." At these words the youth for the first time caught a glimpse of the vital faith which lay behind and beneath these foolish and ridiculous practices. No matter what that worn table was to him, it stood for his mother's faith--that he now saw--and he was sorry. "I can rebuild it again," he said. "It is not hopelessly smashed. I will repair it to-morrow." The symbolism which could be read in his words seemed to comfort his mother and she grew quieter, but her face remained ghastly pale and her breathing troubled. Mrs. Joyce turned to him again. "You can't deceive her. She knew the instant you laid your destroying hands on that slate." He did not doubt this. In some hidden way his action had reached and acted upon his mother as she was speeding down the avenue. Her sudden return proved this--and his hair rose at the thought of her clairvoyancy, and in answer to Mrs. Joyce's question, "Why did you do it?" he replied, sullenly, but not bitterly: "I did it because I detest the thing and all that goes with it. I have hated that table all my life." "What did you think your mother would do?" "I didn't stop to think. I only wanted to get the brute out of sight. I wanted to end the whole trade at once." "You've got to be careful or you'll end your mother's earth-life. Let me tell you, boy, if you want to keep her on this plane with you you must be gentle with her. Any shock, especially when she is in trance, is very dangerous to her." Victor began to feel his helplessness in the midst of the intangible entangling threads of his mother's faith. He now saw the folly of his action, and took an unexpected way of showing his contrition.