The Land of Mist Chapter 10 - De Profundis

**George Banfield** (0:01)
Chapter 10 of The Land of Mist. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org.
Read by George Banfield. Recorded in Somerset, England, October 2023
The Land of Mist by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Chapter 10, De Profundis.
They were still having tea when Mr. Charles Mason was ushered in. Nothing draws people together into such intimate, soul-to-soul relationship as psychic quest, and thus it was that Roxton and Malone, who had only known him in the one episode, felt more near to this man than to others with whom they had associated for years.
This close, vital comradeship is one of the outstanding features of such communion.
When his loosely-built, straggling, lean, clerical figure appeared, with that gaunt, worn face illuminated by its human grin and dignified by its earnest eyes, through the doorway, they both felt as if an old friend had entered. His own greeting was equally cordial. Still exploring, he cried, as he shook them by the hand, we will hope your new experiences will not be so nerve-wracking as our last. By Jove, Padre, said Roxton, I've worn out the brim of my hat taking it off to you since then. Why, what did he do? asked Mrs. Mailey. No, no, cried Mason. I tried in my poor way to guide a darkened soul. Let us leave it at that. But that is exactly what we're here for now, and what these dear people do every week of their lives. It was from Mr. Mailey here that I learned how to attempt it.
Well, certainly we have plenty of practice, said Mailey. You have seen enough of it, Mason, to know that. But I can't get the focus of this at all, cried Malone. Could you clear my mind a little on the point? I accept for the moment your hypothesis that we are surrounded by material earthbound spirits who find themselves under strange conditions which they don't understand, and who want counsel and guidance. That more or less expresses it, does it not?
The Maileys both nodded their agreement. Well, their dead friends and relatives are presumably on the other side, and cognisant of their benighted condition. They know the truth. Could they not minister to the wants of these afflicted ones far better than we can? It is a most natural question, Maileys answered. Of course, we put that objection to them, and we can only accept their answer. They appear to be actually anchored to the surface of this earth, too heavy and gross to rise. The others are presumably on a spiritual level and far separated from them. They explain that they are much nearer to us, and that they are cognizant of us, but not of anything higher. Therefore, it is we who can reach them best. There was one poor, dear, dark soul. My wife loves everybody and everything, Mailey explained. She is capable of talking of the poor, dear devil.
Well, surely they are to be pitied and loved, cried the lady. This poor fellow was nursed along by us, week by week. He had really come from the depths. Then one day he cried in rapture, My mother has come. My mother is here. We naturally said, But why did she not come before? How could she? said he. When I was in so dark a place that she could not see me.
That's very well, said Malone. But so far as I can follow your methods, it is some guide or control, or higher spirit who regulates the whole matter and brings the sufferer to you. If he can be cognisant, one would think other, higher spirits could also be. No, for it is his particular mission, said Maly, to show how marked the divisions are. I can remember one occasion when we had a dark soul here. Our own people came through and did not know he was here until we called their attention to it. When we said to the dark soul, Don't you see our friends beside you? He answered, I can see a light, but nothing else.
At this point, the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. John Turbane from Victoria Station, where his mundane duties lay. He was dressed now in civil garb and appeared as a pale, sad-faced, clean-shaven, plump-featured man with dreamy, thoughtful eyes, but no other indication of the remarkable uses to which he was put.
Have you my record? Was his first question.
Mrs. Mayley, smiling, handed him an envelope. We kept it all ready for you, but you can read it at home. You see, she explained, poor Mr. Turbane is in trance and knows nothing of the wonderful work of which he is the instrument. So after each sitting, my husband and I drew up an account for him. Very much astonished I am when I read it, said Turbane, and very proud I should think, added Mason. Well, I don't know about that, Turbane answered humbly. I don't see that the tool need be proud because the worker happens to use it, yet it is a privilege, of course. Good old Turbane, said Maily, laying his hand affectionately on the railwayman's shoulder. The better the medium, the more unselfish. That is my experience. The whole conception of a medium is one who gives himself up for the use of others, and that is incompatible with selfishness. Well, I suppose we had better get to work, or Mr. Chang will scold us.