Shiela shivered, wide-eyed, as she sat watching the table which was now snapping and cracking and heaving under her gaze.  A slow fear of the thing crept over her—­of this senseless, lifeless mass of wood, fashioned by human hands.  The people around it, the room, the house were becoming horrible to her; she loathed them and what they were doing.

A ripping crash brought her to her feet; everybody sprang up.  Under their hands the table was shuddering convulsively.  Suddenly it split open as though rent by a bolt, and fell like a live thing in agony, a mass of twisted fibres protruding like viscera from its shattered core.

Stunned silence; and Malcourt turned to his sister and spoke in a low voice, but she only shook her head, shivering, and stared at the wreck of wood as though revolted.

“W-what happened?” faltered Portlaw, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” said Malcourt unsteadily.

“Don’t know!  Look at that table!  Why, man, it’s—­it’s dying!”

Tressilvain stood as though stupefied.  Malcourt walked slowly over to where Shiela stood.

She shrank involuntarily away from him as he bent to pick up the pad which had fallen from her hands.

“There’s nothing to be frightened about,” he said, forcing a smile; and, holding the pad under the light, scanned it attentively.  His sister came over to him, asking if the letters made any sense.

He shook his head.

They studied it together, Shiela’s fascinated gaze riveted on them both.  And she saw Lady Tressilvain’s big eyes widen as she laid her pencil on a sequence; saw Malcourt’s quick nod of surprised comprehension when she checked off a word, then another, another, another; and suddenly her face turned white to the lips, and she caught at her brother’s arm, terrified.

“Will you keep quiet?” he whispered fiercely, snatching the sheet from the pad and crumpling it into his palm.

Sister and brother faced each other; in his eyes leaped a flame infernal which seemed to hold her paralyzed for a moment; then, with a gesture, she swept him aside, and covering her eyes with her hands, sank into a chair.

“What a fool you are!” he said furiously, bending down beside her.  “It’s in us both; you’ll do it, too, when you are ready—­if you have any sporting blood in you!”

And, straightening up impatiently, his eyes fell on Shiela, and he shrugged his shoulders and smiled resignedly.

“It’s nothing.  My sister’s nerves are a bit upset....  After all, this parlour magic is a stupid mistake, because there’s always somebody who takes it seriously.  It’s only humbug, anyway; you know that, don’t you, Shiela?”

He untwisted the paper in his hand and held it in the candle flame until it burned to cinders.

“What was there on that paper?” asked Shiela, managing to control her voice.

“Why, merely a suggestion that I travel,” he said coolly.  “I can’t see why my sister should make a fool of herself over the idea of my going on a journey.  I’ve meant to, for years—­to rest myself.  I’ve told you that often, haven’t I, Shiela?”