a fraud. The mediums merely follow the vulgar superstition in the kind of
spirits that they claim to produce."

"Very likely you are right," said Mrs. Slater. "In fact, I presume you
are quite right. And yet, if I really believed as you do, do you know
what I would do? I would go to some of the spirit mediums over in New
York, of whom the papers are giving such wonderful accounts, and let them
try to materialize for me the spirit of my youth. Probably they couldn't
do it, but possibly they might; and a mighty little sight, Mr. De Riemer,
is more convincing than all the belief in the world. If I could see the
spirit of my youth face to face, I should believe that it had a separate
existence from my own. Otherwise, I don't believe I ever could."

"But the mediums are a set of humbugs!" exclaimed Paul; and then he
added, "I beg your pardon. Perhaps you are a spiritualist?"

"You need not beg my pardon," said Mrs. Slater, good-humouredly. "I am
not a spiritualist beyond thinking--and that is only lately--that there
may possibly be something in it, after all. Perhaps there may be, for
example, one part of truth to a hundred parts of fraud. I really don't
believe there is more. Now, as you think the mediums humbugs, and I am
sure most of them are, their failure to accomplish anything would not
shake your faith in your theory, and you would only have lost an evening
and the fee you paid the medium. On the other hand, there is a bare
possibility--mind you, I think it is no more than that--a bare
possibility, say the smallest possible chance, but a chance--that you
would see--her," and Mrs. Slater glanced at the portrait.

Paul turned pale.