“If it be the evergreen tree at Upsal,” said I, interrupting him, “I hold it to have been a yew—what else? The evergreens of the south, as the old bishop observes, will not grow in the north, and a pine was unfitted for such a locality, being a vulgar tree. What else could it have been but the yew—the sacred yew which our ancestors were in the habit of planting in their churchyards? Moreover, I affirm it to have been the yew for the honour of the tree; for I love the yew, and had I home and land, I would have one growing before my front window.”
“You would do right; the yew is indeed a venerable tree, but it is not about the yew.”
“The star Jupiter, perhaps?”
“Nor the star Jupiter, nor its moons; an observation which escaped you at the inn has made a considerable impression upon me.”
“But I really must take my departure,” said I; “the dark hour is at hand.”
And as I uttered these last words, the stranger touched rapidly something which lay near him I forget what it was. It was the first action of the kind which I had observed on his part since we sat down to table.
“You allude to the evil chance,” said I; “but it is getting both dark and late.”
“I believe we are going to have a storm,” said my friend, “but I really hope that you will give me your company for a day or two; I have, as I said before, much to talk to you about.”
“Well,” said I, “I shall be most happy to be your guest for this night; I am ignorant of the country, and it is not pleasant to travel unknown paths by night—dear me, what a flash of lightning!”
It had become very dark; suddenly a blaze of sheet lightning illumed the room. By the momentary light I distinctly saw my host touch another object upon the table.