Now, that vague, fearful feeling stole into him, that, rail as all atheists will, there is a mysterious, inscrutable divineness in the world--a God--a Being positively present everywhere;--nay, He is now in this room; the air did part when I here sat down. I displaced the Spirit then--condensed it a little off from this spot. He looked apprehensively around him; he felt overjoyed at the sight of the humanness of Delly. While he was thus plunged into this mysteriousness, a knock was heard at the door. Delly hesitatingly rose--"Shall I let any one in, sir?--I think it is Mr. Millthorpe's knock." "Go and see--go and see"--said Pierre, vacantly. The moment the door was opened, Millthorpe--for it was he--catching a glimpse of Pierre's seated form, brushed past Delly, and loudly entered the room. "Ha, ha! well, my boy, how comes on the Inferno? That is it you are writing; one is apt to look black while writing Infernoes; you always loved Dante. My lad! I have finished ten metaphysical treatises; argued five cases before the court; attended all our society's meetings; accompanied our great Professor, Monsieur Volvoon, the lecturer, through his circuit in the philosophical saloons, sharing all the honors of his illustrious triumph; and by the way, let me tell you, Volvoon secretly gives me even more credit than is my due; for 'pon my soul, I did not help write more than one half, at most, of his Lectures; edited--anonymously, though--a learned, scientific work on 'The Precise Cause of the Modifications in the Undulatory Motion in Waves,' a posthumous work of a poor fellow--fine lad he was, too--a friend of mine. Yes, here I have been doing all this, while you still are hammering away at that one poor plaguy Inferno! Oh, there's a secret in dispatching these things; patience! patience! you will yet learn the secret. Time! time! I can't teach it to you, my boy, but Time can: I wish I could, but I can't." There was another knock at the door. "Oh!" cried Millthorpe, suddenly turning round to it, "I forgot, my boy. I came to tell you that there is a porter, with some queer things, inquiring for you. I happened to meet him down stairs in the corridors, and I told him to follow me up--I would show him the road; here he is; let him in, let him in, good Delly, my girl." Thus far, the rattlings of Millthorpe, if producing any effect at all, had but stunned the averted Pierre. But now he started to his feet. A man with his hat on, stood in the door, holding an easel before him. "Is this Mr. Glendinning's room, gentlemen?" "Oh, come in, come in," cried Millthorpe, "all right." "Oh! is that _you_, sir? well, well, then;" and the man set down the easel.