It was like a "spirit message," such as are delivered at seances of spiritualists for a dollar admission.
"But I am still here, all here," the hand scrawled more slowly and painfully than ever.
The pencil dropped, and we had to replace it in the hand.
"When there is no pain I have perfect peace and quiet.

I have never thought so clearly.

I can ponder life and death like a Hindoo sage." "And immortality ?" Maud queried loudly in the ear.
Three times the hand essayed to write but fumbled hopelessly.

The pencil fell.

In vain we tried to replace it.