, counts out
some money to the serving-monk, and leaves the Hermitage, drying
her tears.

The Reader, who must have recognised the squeaking, snuffling,
exiguous voice, knows not perhaps that the Hermit, in certain moments
of _inkhitaf_ (abstraction, levitation) has glimpses into the
spirit-world and can tell while in this otherworldliness how the
Christian souls are faring, and how many masses those in Purgatory
need before they can rejoin the bosom of Father Abraham. And those who
seek consolation and guidance through his occult ministrations are
mostly women. But the money collected for masses, let it here be said,
as well as the income of the vineyard, the Hermit touches not. The
monks are the owners of the occult establishment, and they know better
than he what to do with the revenue. But how far this ancient
religious Medium can go in the spirit-world, and how honest he might
be in his otherworldliness, let those say who have experience in
spookery and table-rapping.

Now, the women having done and gone, the wicket is open, and the
serving-monk ushers us through the dark and stivy corridor to the
rear, where a few boxes marked "Made in America"--petroleum boxes,
these--are offered us as seats. Before the door of the last cell are a
few potsherds in which sweet basil plants are withering from thirst.
Presently, the door squeaks, and one, not drooping like the plants,
comes out to greet us. This is Father Abd'ul-Messiah (Servitor of the
Christ), as the Hermit is called. Here, indeed, is an up-to-date
hermit, not an antique troglodyte. Lean and lathy, he is, but not
hungry-looking; quick of eye and gesture; quick of step, too. He seems
always on the alert, as if surrounded continually with spirits. He is
young, withal, or keeps so, at least, through the grace and
ministration of Allah and the Virgin. His long unkempt hair and beard
are innocent of a single white line. And his health? "Through my five
and twenty years of seclusion," said he, "I have not known any
disease, except, now and then, in the spring season, when the sap
begins to flow, I am visited by Allah with chills and fever.--No; I
eat but one meal a day.--Yes; I am happy, Allah be praised, quite
happy, very happy."

And he lifts his eyes heavenward, and sighs and rubs his hands in
joyful satisfaction. To us, this Servitor of the Christ seemed not to
have passed the climacteric. But truly, as he avowed, he was entering
the fifth lustrum beyond it. Su