"I do," he answered, quickly. "I understand perfectly, and I will go at once to see Mr. Clarke and intercede--"
"That is not enough. You must intercede with my grandfather and his band, they are the ones who control me. Ask him to release me."
This request staggered the scientist. "My dear Miss Lambert, you will pardon me, but I can't do that--I do not even believe in the existence of your grandfather."
She stood in silence for a moment and then answered; "You would if his hands were at your throat as they are at mine. He is just as real to me as you are. He is listening this minute."
"That is a delusion."
"I wish it were," she bitterly and tragically answered. "The hands are so real they choke me--that I know. I am helpless when he demands things of me. He can lead me anywhere he wants me to go. He can use my arms, my voice, as he wills. You must believe in him to help me. He will listen to you, I feel that." She grew appealing again. "Your sister believes in me--I am sure of that--and my heart went out to her. Sometimes it seems as if all the world, even my own mother, were willing to sacrifice me."
"Viola!" cried Mrs. Lambert, sharply. "You shall not say things like that."
"They're true. You know they're true!" the girl passionately retorted. "You all treat me as if I had no more soul than a telephone."
"That is very unjust," declared Mrs. Lambert. "This is only one of her dark moods, doctor. You must not think she really means this."
The girl's brows were now set in sullen lines which seemed a profanation of her fair young face. "But I do mean it, and I want Dr. Serviss to know just what is in my heart." Her voice choked with a kind of helpless, rebellious anger as she went on: "I'm tired of my life. I am sick of all these moaning people that crowd round me. It's all unnatural to me. I want to touch young people, and have a share in their life before I grow old. I want to know healthy people who don't care anything about death or spirits. It's all a craze with people anyway--something that comes after they lose a wife or child. They are very nice to me then, but after a few weeks they despise me as the dust under their feet--or else they make love to me and want to marry me."
Mrs. Lambert rose. "I will not allow you to go on like this, Viola. I don't understand you to-day. You'll give Dr. Serviss a dreadful opinion of us all."