during this last week. It was Amy of whom the man spoke, Amy with her
eyes and hair, peering from the glorious gloom to catch some glimpse
of her lover in his meaningless light of earthly day.

Mr. Vincent cleared his throat a little, and at the sound the two
motionless women stirred and rustled a little. The sound of a hansom,
the spanking trot and wintry jingle of bells swelled out of the
distance, passed, and went into silence before he spoke again. Then it
was in his usual slow voice that he continued.

"Conceive such a soul as that, Mr. Baxter. She desires to communicate
with one she loves on earth, with you or me, and it is a human and
innocent desire. Yet she has lost that connection, that machinery of
which we have spoken--that connection of which we know nothing,
between matter and spirit, except that it exists. What is she to do?
Well, at least she will do this, she will bend every power that she
possesses upon that medium--I mean matter--through which alone the
communication can be made; as a man on an island, beyond the power of
a human voice, will use any instrument, however grotesque, to signal
to a passing ship. Would any decent man, Mr. Baxter, mock at the
pathos and effort of that, even if it were some grotesque thing, like
a flannel shirt on the end of an oar? Yet men mock at the tapping of a
table...!

"Well, then, this longing soul uses every means at her disposal,
concentrates every power she possesses. Is it so very unreasonable, so
very unchristian, so very dishonoring to the love of God, to think
that she sometimes succeeds...? that she is able, under comparatively
exceptional circumstances, to re-establish that connection with
material things, that was perfectly normal and natural to her during