and a mill. Doctor Keppel feels a vibrating and buzzing; it is a lumber mill. Over the door is a sign; Doctor Keppel can read it all now. H. L-A-Y-L-O-R. H. Laylor, it says. He nods; yes; that is it. It looks like long ago; everything new there; but many years ago. Now there is a mist like a fog. No; he shakes his head. It must be smoke; yes; he says it is smoke. Now Doctor Keppel feels like heat; flames; and much heat; roaring; great flames; a forest fire approaching the mill. He is there and tries to save the mill; he does not try to get away; not till too late—"
The Voice—full, emphatic, resonant—dominated the silent, darkened room. The Voice, which had all but materialized the presence of the departed loved ones to many others, was endowing—with all but materiality—phantoms of the past for Lucas Cullen. It made little difference in the awe with which others watched him whether they believed that the Voice viewed sights actually spread before the spectral dead or whether the Power which spoke was drawing these visions from the close, secret conscience of Lucas Cullen.
If this were so, it was against his will; they could all see him—at least Barney could see him—attempting by senseless physical constriction of the muscles of his body, of his hands, of his jaw and by the tight pressure of his lips, to prevent more being drawn from him.
"He knows," said the Voice, and every one knew that it had ceased to describe the fire and had returned to contemplation of the present spirit of him who had not got away, "he knows that all your life you wondered how much he suffered. He does not feel that now, he wants to say; at first he did. When he came over long ago, he thought to try to punish; before he
