“But,” said Hugh, “I do not quite see how this is to help me, as to the count’s object in securing the ring; for certainly, however deficient he may be in such knowledge, he is not likely to have committed the theft for the sake of instruction in the doctrines of the sects.” “No. But such a crystal might be put to other, not to say better, uses. Besides, Lady Blessington’s crystal might be a pious crystal; and the other which belonged to Lady—” “Lady Euphrasia.” “To Lady Euphrasia, might be a worldly crystal altogether. This might reveal demons and their counsels, while that was haunted by theological angels and evangelical ghosts.” “Ah! I see. I should have thought, however, that the count had been too much of a man of the world to believe such things.” “He might find his account in it, notwithstanding. But no amount of world-wisdom can set a man above the inroads of superstition. In fact, there is but one thing that can free a man from superstition, and that is belief. All history proves it. The most sceptical have ever been the most credulous. This is one of the best arguments for the existence of something to believe.” “You remind me of a passage in my story which I omitted, as irrelevant to the matter in hand.” “Do let me have it. It cannot fail to interest me.” Hugh gave a complete account of the experiments they had made with the careering plate. Now the writing of the name of David Elginbrod was the most remarkable phenomenon of the whole, and Hugh was compelled, in responding to the natural interest of Falconer, to give a description of David. This led to a sketch of his own sojourn at Turriepuffit; in which the character of David came out far more plainly than it could have come out in any description. When he had finished, Falconer broke out, as if he had been hitherto restraining his wrath with difficulty: “And that was the man the creatures dared to personate! I hate the whole thing, Sutherland. It is full of impudence and irreverence. Perhaps the wretched beings may want another thousand years’ damnation, because of the injury done to their character by the homage of men who ought to know better.” “I do not quite understand you.” “I mean, that you ought to believe as easily that such a man as you describe is laughing with the devil and his angels, as that he wrote a copy at the order of a charlatan, or worse.” “But it could hardly be deception.” “Not deception? A man like him could not get through them without being recognised.” “I don’t understand you. By whom?”