e sensation, almost of fear; and in the silence that followed
he heard higher up the table the end of a tale told that seemed to him
to be both evil and shameful, and the laugh that followed it brought a
blush from his heart to his cheek. "Yes," said Dion, gravely, as
though answering a question, "you are right to hate that story, and
you feel, I do not doubt, as if it would be well for you to rise and
fly such contact. But it would not be well; we must be in the world,
but not of it; and if a man can but be sure of keeping his heart clear
and bright, he does better to mix with the world; we need not forget
that the Master Himself was accused of loving the company of publicans
and sinners more than that of the scrupulous Pharisees." These words
gave Linus a kind of courage and filled him with wonder, and he looked
up at Dion, who was regarding him with dark eyes.

"Yes," went on Dion, "the only thing is that a man should not be
deceived by these shows, but should be able to look through and behind
them. This room seems bright and solid enough to us; the laughter is
loud; it is all very real and true to us; but I think that you have
the power to see further; look in my eyes for a moment and tell me
what you see."

Linus looked at Dion's eyes, and all at once he seemed to stand in a
lonely and misty place; it seemed like a hill swept with clouds; it
was but for a moment, and then the bright room and the table came
back; but it swam before his eyes.

"This is very strange," said Linus. "I do not think that I ever felt
this before."

Then Dion said, "Look at the wall there opposite to us, between the
arches, and tell me what you see."

The wall between the arches was a plain wall of stone that gave, Linus
knew, upon the street; he looked for a moment at the wall and the
joints of the masonry. "I see nothing," he said, "but the wall and the
jointed stones."

"Look again," said Dion.

Linus looked again, and suddenly the wall became blurred, as though a
smoke passed over it; then the stones seemed to him to melt into a
kind of mist, which moved this way and that; all at once the mists
drew up, rolling off in ragged fringes, and showed him a dark room
within, plainly furnished with tall presses; in the centre of the room
was a table at which a man sat writing in a book, a large volume,
writing busily, his hand moving swiftly and noiselessly over the
paper. At the far end of the room was an archway which seemed to lead