her imagination to secure her adhesion,
not, indeed, that it was worth much when obtained, seeing that she was
but a feeble ally at the best. Her employment of the day was a type
of herself. The mornings were passed in mesmeric experiences with her
doctor, or what she fancied were theological discussions with the Abbe
D'Esmonde.

It would be difficult to say in which the imaginative exaltation more
predominated. All the authentic and incredible phenomena of the one, all
the miraculous pretensions of the other, were too little for a credulity
that stopped at nothing. Of second sight, remote sympathy, and saintly
miracles she never could hear enough. "Give me facts," she would say;
by which she meant narratives. "I will have no theories, doctor." "Don't
bear me down with arguments, Monsieur l'Abbe." "Facts, and facts alone,
have any influence with me."

Now, such facts as she asked for were easily obtainable, and the
greatest miser need not have grudged her an ample meal of them. Many
of the facts, too, possessed the pleasing feature of being personal in
their interest. One day it was a charming young patient of the doctor,
who, having touched a tress of Lady Hester's hair, made the most
astonishing revelations of her Ladyship's disposition; telling facts of
her feelings, her nature, and even her affections, that "she knew were
only confided to her own heart." Various little incidents of her daily
life were foretold, even to such minute matters as the purchase of
articles of jewelry, which she had not even seen at the time, and only
met her eyes by accident afterwards. The Abbe, with equal success,
assured her of the intense interest taken in her by the Church.
Beautifully bound and richly illustrated books were offered to her, with
the flattering addition that prayers were then being uttered at many
a shrine for her enlightenment in their perusal. Less asked to conform
herself to a new belief than to reconcile the faith to her own notions,
she was given the very widest latitude to her opinions. If she grew
impatient at argument, a subtle illustration, an apt metaphor, or
sometimes a happy mot settled the question. The Abbe was a clever
talker, and varied his subjects with all the skill of a master. He
knew how to invoke to his aid all that poetry, art, and romance could
contribute. The theme was a grand one when the imagination was to be
interested, and really deserved a better listener; for save when the
miraculous i