large as a man's hand remained to be seen; stars
shone clear and brilliant; the Great Bear ploughed his untiring way,
and Orion, dipping westward, was closely followed by his faithful
Sirius. All seemed to promise fair weather.

"What do you think of it, Joseph? Is your weatherwise astronomer for
once proving a false prophet?"

"It looks like it," replied Joseph, gazing north and south. "No man is
infallible," philosophically. "But our prophet has never been wrong yet,
and I expect you will find the skies weeping in the morning."

"You are a Job's comforter, and ought to be called Bildad the Shuhite.
Was not he the worst of the three, and would have the last word?"

Joseph shook his head. He was not acquainted with the Book of Job.

"I am jealous for the honour of my prophet," he laughed.

Standing on the bridge, we could see the dark flowing water beneath--a
narrow shallow stream here, which reflected the flashing stars. The
houses were steeped in gloom, all their quaint, old-world aspect hidden
away. The night was growing apace, and it suddenly occurred to us that
we had made a half-engagement with Delormais to hear passages from his
life. Would he hold us to it? Or would reflection have brought a change
of plans and an early pillow?

Surely there is a mental or psychological magnetism about people,
neither realised nor understood, never sufficiently taken into account.
As the thought flashed over us, a tall dark form in long cloak and round
hat, full of dignity and power, turned the corner and approached the
bridge. It was the priest.

"I knew it!" he cried in that sonorous voice which was like a deep and
mellow diapason. "An unseen influence guided me to the bridge. You told
me you were going to the opera. I felt that when it was over you would
come here star-gazing and lose yourselves in this wonderful scene. And
here, had I not sought you out, you would have remained another hour,
forgetting the engagement to which I hold you."

"Nay, at this very moment recollection came to us," we returned. "We
were wondering whether for once you had changed your mind and sought an
early repose."

"My approach influenced you," said Delormais: "work of the magnetic
power constantly passing to and fro between kindred spirits, as real as
it is little estimated. No one believed in it more firmly than Goethe,
who in spite of his contradictory life was in close touch with the
supernatural. And amongst my own people, how ma