At last all was ready, and then silence followed—profound silence—while the brother's eyes swept the heavens, and scanned the surface of that pale, mysterious satellite of our earth, whose familiar face looks down on us month by month, and by whose wax and wane we measure our passing time by a sure and unfailing guide.
Caroline Herschel took no notice of the few bystanders who paused to wonder what the gentleman was doing. She stood waiting for his word to note down in her book the calculation of the height of the particular mountain in the moon to which the telescope was directed.
Presently he exclaimed, "I have it!—write."
And as Caroline turned to enter the figures dictated to her, a gentleman who was passing paused.
"May I be allowed to look into that telescope, madam?" he asked.
Caroline only replied in a low voice:
"Wait, sir; he has not finished. He is in the midst of an abstruse problem."
"I have it—I have it!" was the next exclamation. "Write. It is the highest of the range. There is snow on it—and—yes, I am pretty sure. Now, Caroline, we will mount again, and I will make some observations on the nebulæ—the night is so glorious."
"William, this gentleman asks if he may be allowed to look into the telescope."
"Certainly—certainly, sir. Have you never seen her by the help of a reflector before?"