He longed for the coming of the day when he could
commune in solitude with the unfleshed and immortal. This was the full
flowering of those seeds of fantasy that had fallen into his infant mind
as he lay baking his brains by the wide fire in the old stone house at the
head of the hollow, while his father read, haltingly, of the wonders of
the invisible world.
But, to his great mortification, he saw nothing, heard nothing,
experienced nothing but in the company of others. He must brave the
ridicule of the profane to taste the raptures which his soul loved. His
simple, trusting faith made him inevitably the butt of the mischievous
circle. They were not slow in discovering his extreme sensibility to
external influences. One muscular, black-haired, heavy-browed youth took
especial delight in practicing upon him. The table, under Gershom's
tremulous hands, would skip like a lamb at the command of this Thomas Fay.
One evening, Tom Fay had a great triumph. They had been trying to get the
"medium"--for Gershom had reached that dignity--to answer sealed
questions, and had met with indifferent success. Fay suddenly approached
the table, scribbled a phrase, folded it and tossed it, doubled up, before
Gershom; then leaned over the table, staring at his pale, unwholesome face
with all the might of his black eyes.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186