Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Spiritualism -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
The brightness of her face dimmed a little, but she replied bravely: "I
have always paid my way, Victor, and I am sure last night's message
meant much to Mr. Bartol. I always help people. If I bring back a belief
in immortality do I not make fullest recompense to my host? My gift is
precious, and yet I cannot sell it--I can only give it--and so when I am
offered bed and board in return for my work I am not ashamed to take it.
The kings of the earth are glad to honor those who, like myself, have
the power to penetrate the veil."
Never before had she ventured upon so frank a defense of her vocation,
and Victor listened with a new conception of her powers. As she
continued she took on dignity and quiet force.
"The medium gives more for her wages than any earthly soul; and when you
consider that we make the grave a gateway to the light, that our hands
part the veil between the seen and the unseen, then you will see that
our gifts are not abnormal, but supernormal. God has given us these
powers to comfort mankind, to afford a new revelation to the world."
"Why didn't you make me a medium?" he asked, thrusting straight at her
heart. "Why did you send me away from it all?"
Her eyes fell, her voice wavered. "Because I was weak--an earthly
mother. My selfish love and pride overpowered me. I could not see you
made ashamed--and besides my controls advised it for the time."
He took a seat where he could look up into her face. "Mother, tell me
this--haven't you noticed that your controls generally advise the things
you believe in?"
She was stung by his question. "Yes, my son, generally; but sometimes
they drive me into ways I do _not_ believe in. Often they are in
opposition to my own will."
He was silenced for the moment, and his mind took a new turn. "When did
Altair first come?"
"Soon after I met Leo. She came with Leo. She attends Leo."
"Have you seen her?"
"No. I am always in deepest trance when she shows herself. I hear her
voice, though."
"Mother," he said, earnestly, "if Mr. Bartol gets us out of this scrape
will you go away with me into some new country and give up this
business?"
"You don't seem to understand, Victor. I can no more escape from these
Voices than I can run away from my own shadow. I don't want to run away.
I love the thought of them. I have innumerable sweet friends on the
other side. To close the door in their faces would be cruel. It would
leave me so lonely that I should never smile again."
"Then they mean more to you than I do!" he exclaimed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account