on. I see a most important change of
residence at about this time, which in conjunction with this," pointing
to a small cross at the root of the fourth finger, "will be certainly to
your advantage."

"How strange!" said Alick. "One scarcely knows whether to laugh at it
all as old wives' fables or to believe in the mysterious forewarnings of
fate, the foremarkings of the future."

"There are more things in heaven and earth--" said Mr. Gryce. "And we
know so little we may well believe a trifle more."

The fact was, all this was founded on these circumstances: He had at
this moment a letter in his pocket from his sister Keziah telling him
that old Priest Wilson had been found dead in his bed last night; the
bishop's chaplain was a friend of his, both having been at the same
station in India; and the perpetual curacy of Monk Grange was one which,
if offices went according to their ratio of unpleasantness, a man should
have been paid a large income to take. Hence there was no chance of a
rush for the preferment, and the bishop would be grateful for any
intimation of a willing martyr. Through all of which chinks whereby to
discover the future Mr. Gryce founded his prophecy; and through them,
too, it came about that he proved a true prophet. In three days' time
from this the post brought a letter to Alick Corfield from the bishop
offering him the perpetual curacy of Monk Grange, income seventy pounds
a year and a house.

Before speaking even to his mother, Alick rushed off with this letter to
Mr. Gryce. The old leaven of superstition which works more or less in
all of us--even those few who think proof a desirable basis for belief,
and who require an examination conducted on scientific principles before
they accept supernaturalism as "only another law coming in to modify
those already known"--that superstition which belongs to most men, and
to Alick with the rest, made this letter a matter of tremendous
excitement to him. He saw in it the hand of God and the finger of Fate.
It was impossible that Mr. Gryce, living at North Aston, should know
anything of a small country incumbency in the North. It was all that
study made of his poor parched and knuckly hand. And what had been seen
there was manifestly the thing ruled for him by Providence and destiny.

"How could you possibly tell?" he cried, looking at his own hand as if
he could read it as his clever friend had done.

"That is my secret," said Emmanuel, smiling at the c