St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1911-01-07

and true, leaping from string to string
as the bow squeaked and scrapea
across them A moment later the
door was flung into orr faces as Ce-
laye burst into the room.
81 cannot bear it," he cried. 1T is
not she: that would be too horrible.
Light a match, for the love of heav-
en-
The doctor found and struck one,
and on the instant the noise ceased.
Brodsky and l ran across this room
and inspected the instrument. The
strings were still vibrating, but no
sound came from them. We stared
at one another in establishment. Then
we heard .Celaye soobing in the next
room. 1t took the doctor half an hour
to restore him to his normal self.
II cannot help you," he said at
length, when Celaye was dressed and
we three sat once more in the gas
light. If had anything from which to
obtain inferences-but / am helpless
here. The world of psychic phenome-
ma is an unmapped chart; we are only
beginning to explore the coasts and
boundaries. But one thing l would
advise you; destroy the instrument"
"Never!" cried Celaye, his face
af1ame. She has come to me, she
has tried to make herself ineligible,
to give Inc the sign 1 asked for
well, will not be responsible for
your sanity" said Brodsky c.1rtly.
"a lot I care for that" retorted Ce-
laye, laughing bitterly. Man. he
added fiercely, snatching at the Doc
tors arm, don't you understand
what is troubling me? My wife lived
for her music; she lived in it, it was
all in life to her, except perhaps my
love. And am I to believe that, once
she has put on the garments of i'm
mortality she has lost all her knowl
edge of it, so that she can only play
tangled, hideous mockeries of what
she tries? Why, if that be so, then
indeed death changes us beyond all
recognition; we are no longer the
same personality that we have been,
but something different. We spend
our lives developing ourselves, our
finer natures, we hope and dream that
it is not for nothing. And now-must
I believe that all this is thrown away
upon the rubbish heap and that we
become mere helpless automatic? An
sWer me. answer"s
His grief was pitiful to witness.
But argument with him would have
been impossible. His mind was be-
yond reason, tottering as it was upon
the borderland of madness.
81 do not think that is So" Brodsky
replied
Think" shouted Celaye, springing
to his feet, his face distorted with
passion. You are an impostor, sir.
I asked you here in good faith, hop
ing that you could give me back my
faith and confidence, and you came
looking upon the matter as an expert
ment. You care nothing for my grief,
only for your own amusement. DR..
Brodsky, I have the honor to wish
you goodnight"
Brodsky faced him unmoved. His
cheek paled, but all his muscles were
under complete control.
You have used hard words to me-"
he said. Sometimes, indeed, the wisest
of physicians are at fault; and then
1t is our reward to be accused of i'm
position. Well, sir, it is unnecessary
for me to reply further to your accu-
sations. 1 wish you goodnight
I thought Celaye would have come
to his senses then, but, to my astonish-
ment, he made no answer of any kind.
Instead he sank into chair and burst
into a fit of historical weeping. The
doctor looked at him in seeming irres-
olution for one moment; then, as
though realizing the impossibility of
assisting him further, he took his hat,
and followed me out of the door. The
sleepy elevator man took us down
stairs
well, it's a hotel in town for us
tonight" said Brodsky, as we
marched down the deserted street.
There is good hotel 1 used to visit
some 20 blocks from here. What do
you say to a walk?"
I agreed, and we tramped on in ST.
lence. We must have covered some
half dozen blocks when Brodsky
stopped on a corner.
Now why couldn't I solve that
mystery" he asked abruptly; and
then, without waiting for any reply,
he resumed his walk, muttering to
himself all the while. We covered