The spring months of 1888 found me at Brisbane, en route for China, after spending a pleasant month with old friends on a well-known station belonging to the late Sir Arthur Hodgson, named Eton Vale, and situated on the beautiful and healthy Darling Downs of Queensland.

Before returning to Sydney from New Zealand, my female "Dr Livingstone" had reappeared upon the scene in the most unexpected manner. Our "historical meeting" took place in an Auckland hotel, where she suddenly turned up one day, driven back from Samoa by the intense heat. So after some gentle recriminations, she "having supposed the delay on my part might mean an entire change of plan," and I having supposed—from her letters—that Sydney was such a Paradise that she could hardly be dragged from it even by a flaming sword, we agreed to cry "quits," and continue our travels together. So Miss Greenlow spent the month of March in Sydney, whilst I paid my visit to Queensland, and we met once more at Brisbane to take steamer for Thursday Island, Cape Darwin, and eventually Hong Kong. Only one small matter of psychic interest occurred during this voyage.

I have mentioned in a previous chapter the little "swallows," which I first saw in San Francisco in the year 1886. I had been accustomed to seeing them ever since that date, and had been frequently commiserated for incipient eye trouble in consequence, by more than one sceptical friend.

On the very day we went on board the Hong Kong steamer at Brisbane, a new sign appeared: a single bird, holding in its beak a ring with half hoop of five stones, presumably diamonds. I told my friend about this, but neither she nor I could imagine any significance in it. At that time we had not even met any of our fellow-passengers to speak to, for we were all taken up with settling into our cabins and trying to make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit.

For a whole week the same little bird and the same ring were persistently held up before me. Then an inkling of the possible meaning broke upon me suddenly. Within a fortnight of our sailing this suspicion was confirmed, and the little bird's warning or suggestion amply justified. But "that is another story!" Curiously enough, the new "sign in the heavens" was withdrawn as soon as I had grasped its meaning.

I must hasten over our delightful stay in Japan, because amongst much of extreme interest from artistic, social, and various other points of view, nothing occurred which has any special bearing on my present subject.

Leaving Japan eventually by sailing from Yokohama to Vancouver (Washington territory), the old threads were once more put into my hands.

We made the acquaintance on board the old P. & O. Abyssinia of the late Captain MacArthur, a kindly and genial naval man. He was an Australian by birth, but belonged to our English navy, and was just returning home on his promotion as commander.

He became rather interested in my "queer ideas," and ended by suggesting some experiments with "the table," so he persuaded the ship's carpenter to put together a small rough wooden table. The sittings were held, generally after dinner, in either my cabin or that of my "stable companion" Miss Greenlow. So far as I remember, we three were the only sitters, and I am bound to confess the sittings were sometimes very monotonous, even viewed from the indulgent perspective of a sea voyage. In fact, I can now recall only one incident of any real value.

The dear old nurse, spoken of in my opening chapter, had now been for three or four years on the other side of the veil, but had never given me the slightest sign of her presence. But she came several times during this voyage, and always with the same object—namely, to entreat, and finally implore me, to give up a projected tour in Alaska.

Miss Greenlow and I had been prevented from undertaking this, two years earlier, when visiting Victoria (Vancouver), and she was very keen to go there from Washington territory on this occasion. I was not keen for the expedition, but had made no strong objection to it, and it was understood that we should go together.

This was the tour which my old nurse now pleaded so anxiously should be given up, so far as I was concerned.

"It will ruin your health, my darling," she said more than once. "Don't go there; take my advice." And on one occasion, just before landing, she added: "You will find letters awaiting you which will enable you to make other plans."

This proved true—in a certain way. The first letter opened in the budget which fell to my share, told me of the sudden death of our family solicitor, which would have been a good excuse for a hasty return to England had any such pretext been necessary.

But this was not the case, for my companion, although quite determined to go to Alaska herself, was not in the least inclined to over-persuade me to accompany her. She was a very independent woman, quite accustomed to travelling alone, and I knew that neither her enjoyment nor her convenience would be affected by my decision one way or the other. I had no wish to go myself, and, moreover, thought it quite probable that my dear old nurse's warnings might be amply justified. But there were other grave considerations to be taken into account, and I still feel that I adopted the right, although not the pleasanter course, when I allowed my fellow-passengers to depart East, joking me on my want of faith in the warnings from the spirits, and accompanied my friend, very unwillingly, to Alaska.

My nurse's earnest entreaties were only too fully justified on the physical plane, to say nothing of the miserable discomfort of the trip (which in those days had to be made in an overcrowded cargo boat.) I took a chill in those Arctic regions, which later developed into the longest and most serious illness of my life. It took months to make even a partial recovery, and the effects will remain during my life. Yet I have never regretted my decision.

This little episode seems to throw some light upon the way such warnings should be treated. To give no heed to them on the one hand, or to follow them blindly, in spite of every other consideration, on the other; these seem to me the Scylla and Charybdis of our lives. It shows that we must judge for ourselves; we cannot shift the burden of responsibility on any other shoulders. How could we gain the real education of life were it otherwise?

Had I turned my back on Alaska I should have gained enormously, physically speaking, and yet failed in a moral test. But my dear old nurse, who considered only—probably saw only—the physical evils to be avoided, was entirely in the right, from her standpoint. The faithful soul was doing her best to shield her nursling from danger.

A severe illness was entailed by my Alaska experiences. "Livingstone and Stanley" were once more separated. In other words, Miss Greenlow was obliged to return to England alone, leaving me to be nursed through a long and painful illness by kind friends and connections in Toronto. One of my doctors—the brother of my hostess—kindly made time to take me and my nurse to New York, in order that he might put me under the special care of the ship's doctor, and also be able to certify, as required, that I was in a fit condition to undertake the voyage.

It was during the day or two spent in New York before sailing, that I induced this gentleman to accompany me one evening to a sÉance held by Mrs Stoddart Gray, who has been previously mentioned in this narrative.

Dr Theodore Covernton had all the ordinary doctor's prejudices against anything unseen or unknown. He had read my book on America, and considered the chapter on "Spiritualism" a lamentable lapse "from the good sense shown in the rest of the book!" I represented to him that for a physician to deny all possibilities of Hypnotism or Mesmerism, Thought Transmission, etc., meant losing some very valuable aids in his profession, and would probably soon mean being left pretty badly behind in the race.

Knowing of no specially good hypnotist in New York, and as there was no time to find one out, I boldly suggested that he should plunge into still deeper depths of "folly," and accompany me to the house of Mrs Stoddart Gray.

The usual performances went on, but whether owing to Dr Covernton's attitude of mind or other causes, nothing of any special interest to him or to me occurred.

One incident impressed him, I think; certainly he could suggest no possible explanation of it, for it happened in a very fair amount of light and close to our feet. A gentleman and lady were sitting in the circle who had brought with them their little boy, a child of seven years old. I had asked the lady if she considered it wise to bring so young a child into such a milieu, several hours after an English child would have been put to bed, and her answer was cheery and characteristic:

"Well, I guess we shouldn't have much peace at home if we didn't bring Charlie along with us to see his Granny. We took him once, and since then he always insists upon coming. He loves talking to his Granny, and he is not a bit afraid of her."

At this moment a small frail woman stepped out from the cabinet, and came right up towards us, motioning to the little grandson that she wished him to go into the cabinet with her. This he did without a moment's hesitation, and the curtain fell, and concealed them both from view. The interview lasted for some minutes, and when the little boy reappeared, he was holding his Granny by the hand, and was evidently on the best of terms with her. I do not expect my readers to believe me, but this is exactly what happened next:

The child had brought some toys—a little train and some building blocks—"to get Granny to play with him as usual," and the fragile old lady knelt down on the floor, and played with him just as any ordinary Granny might have done, only with far more agility.

In the very midst of their brick building and train starting, a terrible catastrophe occurred, which spoilt the rest of the evening for the poor child. Granny had evidently forgotten that her time was limited, by conditions of which we are still profoundly ignorant.

Quite suddenly, and without a word of warning, she disappeared, not into the cabinet at her back, but right through the carpet under our feet, and well within a yard of the said feet, and this with two or three gas-jets burning over our heads!

There was no mistake about it. Dr Covernton and I were sitting next to the father and mother, whilst the child and his grandmother played at our feet. One moment she was there; the next she had disappeared like a flash into a mere cloud of mist, and even this was quickly withdrawn, apparently through the floor. No trap-door theory could account for this, because the woman had disappeared, and only the wisp of ethereal garments remained, before the latter were also dissipated. We must, moreover, note the difficulty of working a trap door immediately under the feet of a sceptical young physician, who at once investigated the carpet, hoping in vain to find in it some solution of the mystery!

I have already mentioned that the whole incident took place, in light sufficiently good to read a book without straining the eyes.

The poor little boy was terribly upset, and sobbed bitterly. His parents said they had brought him many times before, and such a fiasco had never before taken place. Mrs Stoddart Gray was very indignant about it.

"Too bad! She ought to have known she was staying too long, and risking a fright for the child. If she had only gone back into the cabinet he would not have been frightened. But she stayed too long and had not enough strength to get back."

The child was too thoroughly frightened and upset to admit of any consolation, and the parents were obliged to take him away, still sobbing, and asking why Granny had gone away like that and given him such a fright.

A year later, in London, I took Dr Covernton—by appointment—to see Dr Carl Hansen, who was then giving hypnotic treatment, and also doing some work in demonstrations for the Society for Psychical Research. Dr Hansen tried in vain to put either Dr Theodore Covernton or myself under the influence, so was obliged to have recourse to his wife. Naturally this was considered a "most suspicious circumstance" by my companion; but I noticed that he was very much interested in his conversation with her—from the medical point of view—and he was sufficiently honest to admit that he could not explain what happened in his presence, upon any normal hypothesis.