relaxed his face, as he replied, "Exactly; not a
word more, my dear sir. We understand each
other."

"To-morrow afternoon I exhibit some experiments
to our leading people here. Will you dine
with me at four o'clock to-morrow, and
afterwards witness them?"

"You have anticipated my dearest wish; but
I did not dare to intrude such a request."

"A most gentlemanlike man, and of great
attainments," said the dean to his daughter,
as the stranger bowed himself out.

"Well, I don't like him, papa," said Bertha,
making a face of dislike; "his look reminds me
of the look a cat gives to a bird it is just going
to pounce on." .

"Don't be prejudiced, dear. Evidently a
keen, clever, hard-headed man, and a great
mathematician, I warrant."

As the stranger passed through the gateway
of the close, he broke suddenly into a mechanical,
hard laugh, and said aloud, "The fox got the
cheese by praising the blackbird's voice. Fool
and cheat, he has taken me behind the scenes.
Let him beware."

That same night, in the deep dark, towards
midnight, and all in the cold drifting rain, that
hard mysterious man was standing in the close
opposite the dean's house, watching the window
of the laboratory. There was no moon and no
stars, and the wind howled round the corners of
the cathedral as if all the dead abbots were
hurrying to some ghostly conclave. The only
light in the whole four sides of the close came
from the dean's window, the blind of which was
golden and semi-transparent with the inner
lamp-light that shone through it.

Suddenly a dark shadow was visible upon the
blind; it held up a crimson bottle to the light.
Then the light faded out, and all was dark and
still.

The stranger strode away to his inn. Ordering
the landlord to call him before five, he bit at a
crust and tossed off two glasses of wine. Then,
having first made a note in his pocket-book, he
threw himself without undressing on the bed, and
fell asleep in his grave imperturbable way.

The next morning, just before daybreak, in
the cold, comfortless, curdling light, the stranger
was at the gate of the dean's house. The verger
was on the door-steps talking in a low voice to
Bessy, who looked frightened and troubled.

Presently the verger returned to the stranger
and said, "Bessy won't do it, sir; she can't do
it. The key is in the dean's room, by his
bedside. She is afraid you want it for no good."

"Ha!" said the stranger, in his usual quiet
bitter way; "the girl's a fool; give her this
guinea. Tell her it is mere curiosity; five
minutes will do. As for the key, she can go
into the room as if to get the dean's clothes to
brush. Five guineas for five minutes not bad
pay!"

"And Bessy's guinea included?"

"Not included."

That last guinea turned the scale, still more
the assurance that Bessy might be present while
the stranger walked round the laboratory and
merely saw and handled the dean's chemical
apparatus.

On tiptoe the stranger went, not thievishly or
timidly, but still with a cold Satanic malice and
heedfulness. Yet all he got for his five guineas,
Bessy told her father, was that he felt inside six
crucibles, examined six pieces of charcoal that
lay on the dean's desk, smelt a bottle containing
a red powder, and looked carefully at a pestle
and mortar, and a small iron rod that stood near
the furnace. All the reply the verger made was,
that

"A fool and his money, Bessy, are soon
parted."

Five hours later, the close, usually so quiet,
was alive with carriages. Two peers, a magistrate,
and five clergymen had arrived to witness
the experiments. They only now waited for the
stranger, who had been so silent and grave at the
dinner the day before.

At last there came a knock, and in a moment
after he was ushered in by Bessy. He appeared
firm, calm, and precise as ever. He shook the
dean warmly by the hand, and apologised for
being so late. He had had an important letter
to despatch by the post.

The dean ushered his guests into his
laboratory; the fires burnt clear and bright, the
crucibles, the charcoal, all was ready. A shorthand
writer was present to note the proceedings.
The company having taking their seats with
mutual looks of expectation and delight, the
dean addressed them. He said that a chance
study of the works of Paracelsus had led him to
curious chemical experiments; but what he had
to show were facts about which he would not
theorise. It had been foolishly said that only
chemists could judge of such things, but surely
the senses of touch and sight were not confined
to chemists. To prejudice, avarice, and illiberality
no answer would seem satisfactory; but he
might ask what trick could prevent mercury
boiling at a red heat, or what substance could
be found to instantly check it when boiling?
How could he introduce gold into a crucible
before twelve intelligent and watchful
spectators, or what could induce him to seek such
modes of acquiring a sinister fame? He was
too well aware of the virulence of envy and the
strength of prejudice to expect to obtain
universal credit; but the curiosity of the public
had been so strongly excited, and his character
so rigorously examined, that in justice to
himself and the approbation of his sovereign (here
the dean drew himself erect), he felt proud to
make a final series of experiments before
spectators of rank and discernment, of liberality,
learning, and candour, not from vanity, but from
a sincere desire to place his scientific and moral
character beyond the limits at least of vulgar
curiosity.

The stranger smiled approval, the peers took
snuff, and the experiments commenced.

I will recapitulate the chief of them.

The dean first took two ounces of mercury
from a cistern full of quicksilver, rubbed it with