Laurie wrenched his attention once more to a focus.

“Then I was in danger?” he said.

“Certainly.  We are always in danger—­”

“You mean, if I hadn’t prayed—­”

“Ah! that is another question....  But, in short, if you hadn’t succeeded in getting past—­well, you’d have failed.”

Again there fell a silence.

It seemed to Laurie as if his world were falling about him.  Yet he was far from sure whether it were not all an illusion.  But the extreme quietness and confidence of this man in enunciating these startling theories had their effect.  It was practically impossible for the boy to sit here, still nervous from his experience, and hear, unmoved, this apparently reasonable and connected account of things that were certainly incomprehensible on any other hypothesis.  His remembrance of the very startling uniqueness of his dream was still vivid....  Surely it all fitted in ... yet....

“But there is one thing,” broke in the medium’s quiet voice.  “Should you ever experience this kind of thing again, I should recommend you not to pray.  Just exercise your own individuality; assert yourself; don’t lean on another.  You are quite strong enough.”

“You mean—­”

“I mean exactly what I say.  What is called Prayer is really an imaginative concession to weakness.  Take the short cut, rather.  Assert your own—­your own individuality.”

Laurie changed his attitude.  He uncrossed his feet and sat up a little.

“Oh! pray if you want to,” said the medium.  “But you must remember, Mr. Baxter, that you are quite an exceptional person.  I assure you that you have no conception of your own powers.  I must say that I hope you will take the strong line.”  He paused.  “These seances, for instance.  Now that you know a little more of the dangers, are you going to turn back?”

His overhung kindly eyes looked out keenly for an instant at the boy’s restless face.

“I don’t know,” said Laurie; “I must think....”

He got up.

“Look here, Mr. Vincent,” he said, “it seems to me you’re extraordinarily—­er—­extraordinarily plausible.  But I’m even now not quite sure whether I’m not going mad.  It’s like a perfectly mad dream—­all these things one on the top of the other.”

He paused, looking sharply at the elder man, and away again.

“Yes?”

Laurie began to finger a pencil that lay on the chimney-shelf.

“You see what I mean, don’t you?” he said.  “I’m not disputing—­er—­your point of view, nor your sincerity.  But I do wish you would give me another proof or two.”

“You haven’t had enough?”

“Oh!  I suppose I have—­if I were reasonable.  But, you know, it all seems to me as if you suddenly demonstrated to me that twice two made five.”

“But then, surely no proof—­”

“Yes; I know.  I quite see that.  Yet I want one—­something quite absolutely ordinary.  If you can do all these things—­spirits and all the rest—­can’t you do something ever so much simpler, that’s beyond mistake?”