acters. 'If they
are not impostors,' I say, 'then their right place is the lunatic
asylum.' 'Oh but, Canon Vernade, you don't understand; it is only our
Western ignorance which makes such things seem astonishing! Far more
marvellous things are going on, and have been going on for centuries, in
the East; for instance, in the Brotherhoods of--I forget--some
unpronounceable name.' 'And how do you know they have?' I ask. 'Oh, by
their traditions, which have been handed on for generations.' 'That is
very reliable information indeed,' I say. 'Pray, have you ever played a
game of Russian scandal?' 'Well; but, then, there are the sacred books.
There can be no mistake about them, for they have been translated by
learned European professors, who say the religious sentiments are
perfectly beautiful.' 'Very possibly,' I say. 'But it does not follow
that the historical statements are correct.'"

"I gave my ladies' Bible-class a serious lecture about it all the other
day. I said: 'Do, my dear ladies, get rid of these childish notions,
these uncivilised hankerings after marvels and magic, which make you the
dupe of one charlatan after another. Take up science, for a change;
study natural philosophy; try and acquire accurate notions of the system
under which we live; realise that we are not moving on the stage of a
Christmas pantomime, but in a universe governed by fixed laws, in which
the miraculous performances you describe to me never can, and never
could, have taken place. And be sure of this, that any book and any
teacher, however admirable their moral teaching, who tell you that two
and two make anything but four, are not inspired, so far as arithmetic
and common sense are concerned.'"

"Hear, hear!" cried Atherley heartily.

The Canon's brow contracted a little.

"I need hardly explain," he said, "that what I said did not apply to
revealed truth. Jane, my dear, as I must leave by an early train
to-morrow, I think I shall say good-night."

I fell asleep that night early, and dreamt that I was sitting with
Gladys in the frescoed dining-room of an old Italian palace. It was
night, and through the open window came one long shaft of moonlight,
that vanished in the aureole of the shaded lamp standing with wine and
fruit upon the table between us. And I said in my dream--

"Oh, Gladys, will it be always like this, or must we part again?"

And she, smiling her slow soft smile, said: "You may stay with me till
the knock comes."