Myra's hand pressed the pencil upon the pad with a force which broke the point, and her eyelids fluttered as she opened her blue orbs in surprise at the expression of her mother and the doctor. At the same instant Varney dodged back from his position. He rushed back toward the front entrance of the residence. Myra struggled to her feet. A quizzical smile brightened her face, and brought forth the dimples once more. "What have I been saying?" she asked, and then her glance dropped to her right forearm, which seemed twisted in a muscular tangle. "Oh, doctor, in arm pains me dreadfully. What have I done to it?" "There, there," and Alden began to manipulate the thuscles. "It will be all right in a little bit. Open and close your fingers." Mrs. Maynard was sobbing. "Oh, Ot. Alden, this is wicked! It is against all nature, and I know that you will ruin Myra's health such sinful practices. Amen impatiently held out the piece of paper. Do you call that sinful?" he demanded. "We have already established a communication which may save her life and even yours. Please do not interrupt. Mrs. Maynard, until we have learned the complete message." Myra read the words with avidity. Her face flushed as she puzzled over the meaning. "I don't remember touching the pencil, doctor," she said. "And yet I do recall sitting here, could hear your voice; seemed to see myself sitting in the chair."  The chair, as though I were an entirely different person. Wasn't it strange?" A knock broke in upon the conversation, and Mrs. Maynard breathed a sigh of relief. Any interruption would be a welcome grace. 