later, and wondered at the boldness of
the stranger's assumption, no less than at the keenness of his wit. Poor
Claudius! anybody might see he was in love.

"There; I think that will draw sparks," said Mr. Bellingham, as he
folded the last of his letters and put them all in a great square
envelope. "Put those in your pocket and keep your powder dry."

"I am really very grateful to you," said Claudius. Uncle Horace began to
tramp round the room again, emitting smoky ejaculations of satisfaction.
Presently he stopped in front of his guest and turned his eyes up to
Claudius's face without raising his head. It gave him a peculiar
expression.

"It is a very strange thing," he said, "but I knew at once that you had
a destiny, the first time I saw you. I am very superstitious; I believe
in destiny."

"So would I if I thought one could know anything about it. I mean in a
general way," answered Claudius, smiling.

"Is generalisation everything?" asked Mr. Bellingham sharply, still
looking at the young man. "Is experience to be dismissed as empiricism,
with a sneer, because the wider rule is lacking?"

"No. But so long as only a few occupy themselves in reducing empiric
knowledge to a scientific shape they will not succeed, at least in this
department. To begin with, they have not enough experience among them to
make rules from."

"But they contribute. One man will come who will find the rule. Was
Tycho Brahe a nonentity because he was not Kepler? Was Van Helmont
nothing because he was not Lavoisier? Yet Tycho Brahe was an empiric--he
was the last of the observers of the concrete, if you will allow me the
phrase. He was scientifically the father of Kepler."

"That is very well put," said Claudius. "But we were talking of destiny.
You are an observer."

"I have very fine senses," replied Mr. Bellingham. "I always know when
anybody I meet is going to do something out of the common run. You are."

"I hope so," said Claudius, laughing. "Indeed I think I am beginning
already."

"Well, good luck to you," said Mr. Bellingham, remembering that he had
missed one engagement, and was on the point of missing another. He
suddenly felt that he must send Claudius away, and he held out his hand.
There was nothing rough in his abruptness. He would have liked to talk
with Claudius for an hour longer had his time permitted. Claudius
understood perfectly. He put the letters in his pocket, and with a
parting shake of the hand he bade Mr