e better? Had Phineas Tate also his
place on the board where souls made the stakes? In such a game none is
too low for value, none too high for use. Surely my finger was on the
spring! At least I had confounded Darrell; his enemy, taking my help
readily enough, glared on him in most unchristian exultation, and then,
turning to me, cried in a species of fierce ecstasy,

"Think not that because you are unworthy you shall not serve God. The
work sanctifies the instrument, yea, it makes clean that which is foul.
Verily, at His hour, God may work through a woman of sin." And he fixed
his eyes intently on me.

I read a special meaning in his words; my thoughts flew readily to the
Cock and Pie in Drury Lane.

"Yea, through a woman of sin," he repeated slowly and solemnly; then he
faced round, swift as the wind, on Darrell, and, minding my friend's
sullen scowl not a whit, cried to him, "Repent, repent, vengeance is
near!" and so at last was out of the room before either of us could
hinder him, had we wished, or could question him further. I heard the
house-door shut behind him, and I rose, looking at Darrell with an easy
smile.

"Madness and moonshine, good friend," said I. "Don't let it disturb you.
If Jonah admits the fellow again he shall answer for it."

"Indeed, Mr Dale, when I prayed you to share my lodging, I did not
foresee the nature of your company."

"Fate more than choice makes a man's company," said I. "Now it's you,
now Phineas, now my lord the Secretary, and now his Grace the Duke.
Indeed, seeing how destiny--or, if you will, chance--rules, a man may
well be thought a fool who makes a plan or chooses a companion. For my
own part, I am fate's child and fate shall guide me."

He was still stiff and cold with me, but my friendly air and my evident
determination to have no quarrel won him to civility if to no warmer
demonstration of regard.

"Fate's child?" he asked with a little scorn, but seating himself and
smoothing his brow. "You're fate's child? Isn't that an arrogant speech,
Simon?"

"If it weren't true, most arrogant," I answered. "Come, I'll tell you;
it's too soon for bed and too late to go abroad. Jonah, bring us some
wine, and if it be good, you shall be forgiven for admitting Master
Tate."

Jonah went off and presently returned with a bottle, which we drank,
while I, with the candour I had promised, told my friend of Betty
Nasroth and her prophecy. He heard me with an attention which belied