It seemed a long five minutes
“Give me five minutes,” and with closed eyes and head slightly inclined, the young man remained leaning against the mantel without changing his position. It seemed a long five minutes. Outside, the tempest beat viciously against the windows, then with mocking shrieks whirled away into the night. To Molly’s excited fancy the echoing chimney was alive with the mutterings of unearthly voices. Although in her father’s judgment she placed a perfect trust, there still remained a lingering faith in this supernatural power, whatever it was; but she knew it to be a faith her reason might not support. As for Amos, he was certainly an interesting figure as he stood before them, and nothing could be easier at such a moment than for an imaginative girl to invest him with mystic attributes. Although outwardly American so far as raiment, the cut of his hair, and his own efforts could produce that impression, he remained, nevertheless, distinctly Oriental. The dark skin, the long, black, clearly marked eyebrows, the singular beauty of his features, almost feminine in their refinement, betrayed a race whose origin and traditions were far removed from his present surroundings. She was struck by the little scar upon his forehead, which seemed, of a sudden, to glow and be alive, as if catching some reflection from the firelight. While her eyes were upon it, the fire blazed up in a dying effort, and went out; but the little scar remained a luminous spot with a faint light of its own. She drew her hand across her brow to brush away the illusion, and as she again looked toward him he opened his eyes and raised his head. Then he said to her father, slowly, as if from a desire to make no mistake:
“To-morrow you will be standing in front of the Unitarian Church, looking up at the clock on the steeple as it strikes twelve. Then you will walk along by the Common until you are opposite Caleb Farnum’s, cross the street, and knock at his door. Mrs. Farnum will open it. She will show you into the parlor, the room on the right, where you will sit down in a rocking-chair and wait. I left you there, but can tell you the rest if you choose to give the time.”
Molly glanced at her father and was surprised by his expression. Bending forward, his eyes fixed upon Amos with a look of the deepest interest, he made no effort to conceal his astonishment. He leaned back in the chair, however, and resuming his old attitude, said, quietly:
“That is precisely what I intended to do to-morrow, and at twelve o’clock, as I knew he would be at home for his dinner. Is it possible that a wholesome, out-of-doors young chap like you can be something of a mind-reader and not know it?”
“No, sir. I have no such talent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure. It happens that you already intended to do the thing mentioned, but that was merely a coincidence.”
For a moment or two there was a silence, during which Mr. Cabot seemed more interested in the appearance of his cigar than in the previous conversation. At last he said:
“I understand you to say these scenes, or prophecies, or whatever you call them, have never failed of coming true. Now, if I wilfully refrain from calling on Mr. Farnum to-morrow it will have a tendency to prove, will it not, that your system is fallible?”