A sudden quiet fell over the company.
Shiela, sitting with her white fingers lightly brushing the smooth mahogany, bent her head, mind wandering; and her thoughts were very far away when, under her sensitive touch, a curious quiver seemed to run through the very grain of the wood.
"What's that!" exclaimed Portlaw.
Deep in the wood, wave after wave of motion seemed to spread until the fibres emitted a faint splintering sound.

Then, suddenly, the heavy table rose slowly, the end on which Shiela's hands rested sinking; and fell back with a solid shock.
"That's--rather--odd!" muttered Tressilvain.

Portlaw's distended eyes were fastened on the table, which was now heaving uneasily like a boat at anchor, creaking, cracking, rocking under their finger-tips.
Tressilvain rose from his chair and tried to see, but as everybody was clear of the table, and their fingers barely touched the top, he could discover no visible reason for what was occurring so violently under his very pointed nose.
"It's like a bally earthquake," he said in amazement.

"God bless my soul! the thing is walking off with us!" Everybody had risen from necessity; chairs were pushed back, skirts drawn aside as the heavy table, staggering, lurching, moved out across the floor; and they all followed, striving to keep their finger-tips on the top.
Portlaw was speechless; Shiela pale, tremulous, bewildered; Tressilvain's beady eyes shone like the eyes of a surprised rat; but his wife and Malcourt took it calmly.
"The game is," said Malcourt, "to ask whether there is a spirit present, and then recite the alphabet.

Shall I ?...