pipe in a bit," he said, and restored the tobacco-jar.

Mr. Maydig had followed all these later changes in a sort of ejaculatory
silence. He stared at Mr. Fotheringay and, in a very gingerly manner,
picked up the tobacco-jar, examined it, replaced it on the table.
"_Well!_" was the only expression of his feelings.

"Now, after that it's easier to explain what I came about," said Mr.
Fotheringay; and proceeded to a lengthy and involved narrative of his
strange experiences, beginning with the affair of the lamp in the Long
Dragon and complicated by persistent allusions to Winch. As he went on,
the transient pride Mr. Maydig's consternation had caused passed away;
he became the very ordinary Mr. Fotheringay of everyday intercourse
again. Mr. Maydig listened intently, the tobacco-jar in his hand, and
his bearing changed also with the course of the narrative. Presently,
while Mr. Fotheringay was dealing with the miracle of the third egg, the
minister interrupted with a fluttering extended hand--

"It is possible," he said. "It is credible. It is amazing, of course,
but it reconciles a number of amazing difficulties. The power to work
miracles is a gift--a peculiar quality like genius or second
sight--hitherto it has come very rarely and to exceptional people. But
in this case ... I have always wondered at the miracles of Mahomet, and
at Yogi's miracles, and the miracles of Madame Blavatsky. But, of
course! Yes, it is simply a gift! It carries out so beautifully the
arguments of that great thinker"--Mr. Maydig's voice sank--"his Grace
the Duke of Argyll. Here we plumb some profounder law--deeper than the
ordinary laws of nature. Yes--yes. Go on. Go on!"

Mr. Fotheringay proceeded to tell of his misadventure with Winch, and
Mr. Maydig, no longer overawed or scared, began to jerk his limbs about
and interject astonishment. "It's this what troubled me most," proceeded
Mr. Fotheringay; "it's this I'm most mijitly in want of advice for; of
course he's at San Francisco--wherever San Francisco may be--but of
course it's awkward for both of us, as you'll see, Mr. Maydig. I don't
see how he can understand what has happened, and I daresay he's scared
and exasperated something tremendous, and trying to get at me. I daresay
he keeps on starting off to come here. I send him back, by a miracle,
every few hours, when I think of it. And of course, that's a thing he
won't be able to understand, and it's bound to annoy him; and, of
course,