alone, in order to carry home evidence of the
existence and knowledge of the Mahatmas.

"What a pity!" broke in Madame Blavatsky, who had not participated in
the conversation, "only three days ago I was told by my Guru that the
shrine must not be used for letters any more!"

"It has generally been my luck," I said, perhaps betraying vexation.
"For thirty years I have been unwearied in trying to test alleged
phenomena, but have always happened to be a little too late or a
little too early. I was assured that it would be otherwise here!"

The young Hindus had eagerly approved my proposal to test the Mahatma,
and had evidently heard nothing of the prohibition. Madame Blavatsky,
who betrayed no embarrassment whatever, presently arose, invited me to
accompany her, and led me to a secluded room. Here she shut the door,
lit a cigarette, offered me one, and sat serenely awaiting my next
move. I told her that I had a sincere purpose in coming. Some of my
valued friends were deeply interested in Theosophy. If extraordinary
events were really occurring, none could be more ready to acknowledge
them than myself. I had a congregation in London, and we were not
afraid to recognize new facts if verified. "Now," I said, "what do
these rumors mean? I hear of your lifting teapots from beneath your
chair, summoning lost jewels, conversing with Mahatmas a thousand
miles away."

"Your questions shall be answered," said Madame Blavatsky. "You are a
public teacher and ought to know the truth. It is glamour; people
think they see what they do not see. That is the whole of it."

I could not repress some homage to the sagacity of this unwitnessed
confession. Forewarned that I was coming, Madame had received from her
Guru a convenient prohibition against further use of the shrine as a
post-office; and now, by one clever stroke, she altogether forestalled
an inconvenient investigation. Obstruction to experiments, or evasion,
would have been such confession as I could use. Failure to obtain
phenomena that could be verified might subtly awaken skepticism in the
simple-hearted Hindus around her. But this secret confession, which
might be repudiated if necessary, raised my whole siege at once.[3]
And the confession itself, while it admitted the unreality of the
miracles, left a marvel,--namely, her power to cause the
hallucinations. I remembered the legend of Glam, from whom came our
word "glamour," and had a droll feeling of being defeated, like