stal. I had not thought of succeeding Mrs. Del Garmo until
now--this moment."

"What is your name, child?" he asked in a gently curious voice.

"Athalie Greensleeve."

"You are not a trance-medium?"

"No. I am a stenographer."

"Then you are not psychical?"

"Yes, I am."

"What?"

"I am naturally clairvoyant."

He seemed surprised at first; but after he had looked at her for a
moment or two he seemed less surprised.

"I believe you are," he said half to himself.

"I really am.... If you wish I could try. But--I don't know how to go
about it," she said with flushed embarrassment.

He gazed at her it seemed rather solemnly and wistfully. "There is one
thing very certain," he said; "you are honest. And few mediums are. I
think Mrs. Del Garmo was. I believed in her. She was the means of
giving me very great consolation."

Athalie's face flushed with the shame and pity of her knowledge of the
late Mrs. Del Garmo; and the thought of the secret cupboard with its
nest of wires made her blush again.

The old gentleman looked all around the room and then asked if he
might seat himself.

Athalie also sat down in the stiff arm-chair by the table where her
crystal stood on its tripod.

"I wonder," he ventured, "whether you could help me. Do you think so?"

"I don't know," replied the girl. "All I know about it is that I
cannot help myself through crystal gazing. I never looked into a
crystal but once. And what I searched for was not there."

The old gentleman considered her earnestly for a few moments. "Child,"
he said, "you are very honest. Perhaps you could help me. It would be
a great consolation to me if you could. Would you try?"

"I don't know how," murmured Athalie.

"Maybe I can aid you to try by telling you a little about myself."

The girl lifted her flushed face from the crystal:

"Don't do that, please. If you wish me to try I will. But don't tell
me anything."

"Why not?"

"Because--I am--intelligent and quick--imaginative--discerning. I
might unconsciously--or otherwise--be unfair. So don't tell me
anything. Let me see if there really is in me any ability."

He met her candid gaze mildly but unsmilingly; and she folded her slim
hands in her lap and sat looking at him very intently.

"Is your name Symes?" she asked presently.

He nodded.

"Elisha Symes?"

"Yes."

"And--do you live in Brook--Brookfield--no!--Brookhollow?"

"Yes."

"That town is in Connecticut, is it not?"

"