The banjo twined discordantly, as it fluttered about their heads; the trumpet emitted more blasts than ever. Mrs. Maynard now covered her face with her hands, tearing still more blood-curdling demonstration. Suddenly the racket subsided. Alden and his guests turned their eyes toward the elate, which now appeared floating from the table into the air. There was a slight grating sound! "I heard the pencil wringing inside," exclaimed Myra, excitedly. "Good," said Alden, in a whisper, "but don't disturb it!" He leaned forward to look at the scales again, as best he could in the same luminosity, as he did? And then he stepped forward, snatched the slate and broke the seal. He opened it and held it beneath the dim rays of the covered lamp. He read a startling message: "Varney is a member of the Black Orde Beware! Your Father." With a quick movement, just as Alden faced, he rubbed the message from it and laid it down upon the table with a nervous laugh. "What do you mean by interfering with my work?" cried the chynician, evidently. "It was just silly stuff I want to see it done again," stammered Varney in confusion. Alden sprang toward him, his face clouded. 