to say that St. Paul's on a certain night
struck thirteen, which it never did before. Andrew Gordon, the miser,
drew a prize of twenty thousand pounds for the number 2001, which he
dreamed of the night previous he bought the ticket. A shepherd was the
discoverer of the Australian diggings, by having taken up a piece of
what he considered quartz to throw at his dog called Goldy. Human
history is full of such things; but, marvellous as they are, they are
not more so than the ways by which man manufactures mysteries, and gets
them believed as the work of Heaven. As to that illuminated figure I saw
in the wood"----

My speech was interrupted by a strange sound from the other end of the
house. Graeme started to his feet. It was not one of pain coming from a
sick-room, but rather one of surprise, and there seemed a bustle among
the servants. The door opened, and a woman's face, with two wild staring
eyes, looked in. "Come here, sir," she cried, and disappeared upon the
instant.

"Something more," ejaculated Graeme, as he hurried away. I was allowed
no time for an absurd monologue. Graeme was not absent many minutes,
when he hurried in as he had hurried out, but his face was not that
which he took with him, braced up into surprise and fear, as that was.
He was now as pale as death's pale horse, and nearly as furious. His eye
beamed an unnatural light--his breathing was quick and snatchy, as if
every inspiration and expiration pained the lungs. He seemed to wish
some one to bind him with ropes, that he might escape the vibrations of
his muscles, and be steadied to be able to speak.

"Be calm," said I, taking him by the shoulders; "what new discovery is
this? Nothing wrong with Mrs. Graeme, I hope?"

"The child," he cried; but he could get no further.

"The child is"--

"Is what?" said I.

"Is marked on the back with the figure of the ten of diamonds."

"Pity it was not marked where it will wear its pockets," said I; "but
it will assuredly be a very fortunate child, nevertheless, and shall
bear a load of diamonds on his back like the Arabian Alcansar."

"Are you mad?" he cried.

"Yes, with reason," I replied. "You know, nothing appears so
outrageously insane to a madman, as that same God's gift called reason.
They say, those who are bitten by the tarantula, and get dancing mad,
think the wondering crowd about them raving maniacs. And there was the
weeping philanthropist in the asylum of Montrose, in Scotland, who we