s taken aback by her directness, and passed his fingers through his
hair.

"I don't know," said he.

"The first thing we must do," said Emmy--and her voice sounded in her own
ears like someone else's--"is to get away from here. Zora will be down by
the first train after my absence is discovered. You quite see that Zora
mustn't find me, don't you?"

"Of course," said Septimus, blankly. Then he brightened. "You can go to an
hotel. A Temperance Hotel in Bloomsbury. Wiggleswick was telling me about
one the other day. A friend of his burgled it and got six years. A man
called Barkus."

"But what was the name of the hotel?"

"Ah! that I forget," said Septimus. "It had something to do with Sir Walter
Scott. Let me see. Lockhart--no, Lockhart's is a different place. It was
either the Bride of Lammermoor or--yes," he cried triumphantly, "it was the
Ravenswood, in Southampton Row."

Emmy rose. The switch off onto the trivial piece of paper had braced her
unstrung nerves for a final effort: that, and the terror of meeting Zora.

"You'll take me there. I'll just put some things together."

He opened the door for her to pass out. On the threshold she turned.

"I believe God sent you to Nunsmere Common last night."

She left him, and he went back to the fire and filled and lit his pipe. Her
words touched him. They also struck a chord of memory. His ever-wandering
mind went back to a scene in undergraduate days. It was the Corn Exchange
at Cambridge, where the most famous of all American evangelists was holding
one of a series of revivalist meetings. The great bare hall was packed with
youths, who came, some to scoff and others to pray. The coarse-figured,
bald-headed, brown-bearded man in black on the platform, with his homely
phrase and (to polite undergraduate ears) terrible Yankee twang, was
talking vehemently of the trivial instruments the Almighty used to effect
His purposes. Moses's rod, for instance. "You can imagine Pharaoh," said
he--and the echo of the great voice came to Septimus through the
years--"you can imagine Pharaoh walking down the street one day and seeing
Moses with a great big stick in his hand. 'Hallo, Moses,' says he, 'where
are you going?' 'Where am I going?' says Moses. 'I guess I'm going to
deliver the Children of Israel out of the House of Bondage and conduct them
to a land flowing with milk and honey.' 'And how are you going to do it,
Moses?' '_With this rod, sir, with this rod!_'"

Septimus r