the mountain and nigh to the summit, has set his foot upon a rolling stone which plunged him back into the abyss! All these lost Spirits adored her constancy; they stood around her,--a choir without a song,--weeping and whispering, ‘Courage!’ At last she conquered; Desire--let loose upon her in every Shape and every Species--was vanquished. She stood in prayer, and when at last her eyes were lifted she saw the feet of Angels circling in the Heavens.” “She saw the feet of Angels?” repeated Wilfrid. “Yes,” said the old man. “Was it a dream that she told you?” asked Wilfrid. “A dream as real as your life,” answered David; “I was there.” The calm assurance of the old servant affected Wilfrid powerfully. He went away asking himself whether these visions were any less extraordinary than those he had read of in Swedenborg the night before. “If Spirits exist, they must act,” he was saying to himself as he entered the parsonage, where he found Monsieur Becker alone. “Dear pastor,” he said, “Seraphita is connected with us in form only, and even that form is inexplicable. Do not think me a madman or a lover; a profound conviction cannot be argued with. Convert my belief into scientific theories, and let us try to enlighten each other. To-morrow evening we shall both be with her.” “What then?” said Monsieur Becker. “If her eye ignores space,” replied Wilfrid, “if her thought is an intelligent sight which enables her to perceive all things in their essence, and to connect them with the general evolution of the universe, if, in a word, she sees and knows all, let us seat the Pythoness on her tripod, let us force this pitiless eagle by threats to spread its wings! Help me! I breathe a fire which burns my vitals; I must quench it or it will consume me. I have found a prey at last, and it shall be mine!” “The conquest will be difficult,” said the pastor, “because this girl is--” “Is what?” cried Wilfrid. “Mad,” said the old man. “I will not dispute her madness, but neither must you dispute her wonderful powers. Dear Monsieur Becker, she has often confounded me with her learning. Has she travelled?” “From her house to the fiord, no further.” “Never left this place!” exclaimed Wilfrid. “Then she must have read immensely.” “Not a page, not one iota! I am the only person who possesses any books in Jarvis. The works of Swedenborg--the only books that were in the chateau--you see before you. She has never looked into a single one of them.” “Have you tried to talk with her?” “What good would that do?” “Does no one live with her in that house?” “She has no friends but you and Minna, nor any servant except old David.” “It cannot be that she knows nothing of science nor of art.” “Who should teach her?” said the pastor. “But if she can discuss such matters pertinently, as she has often done with me, what do you make of it?”