'You are more in his confidence than we are,' said Lake.
'Don't be frightened—but he's alive; I think they'll make him mad. It is a frightful plight. Two angels buried him alive in Vallombrosa by night; I saw it, standing among the lotus and hemlock. A negro came to me, a black clergyman with white eyes, and remained beside me; and the angels imprisoned Mark; they put him on duty forty days and forty nights, with his ear to the river listening for voices; and when it was over we blessed them; and the clergyman walked with me a long while, to-and-fro, to-and-fro upon the earth, telling me the wonders of the abyss.'
'And is it from the abyss, Sir, he writes his letters?' enquired the Town
Clerk, with a wink at Lake.
'Yes, yes, very diligent; it behoves him; and his hair is always standing straight on his head for fear. But he'll be sent up again, at last, a thousand, a hundred, ten and one, black marble steps, and then it will be the other one's turn. So it was prophesied by the black magician.'
'I thought, Sir, you mentioned just now he was a clergyman,' suggested
Mr. Wealdon, who evidently enjoyed this wonderful yarn.
'Clergyman and magician both, and the chief of the lying prophets with thick lips. He'll come here some night and see you,' said Uncle Lorne, looking with a cadaverous apathy on Lake, who was gazing at him in return, with a sinister smile.
'Maybe it was a vision, Sir,' suggested the Town Clerk.
'Yes, Sir; a vision, maybe,' echoed the cavernous tones of the old man; 'but in the flesh or out of the flesh, I saw it.'
'You have had revelations, Sir, I've heard,' said Stanley's mocking voice.
'Many,' said the seer; 'but a prophet is never honoured. We live in solitude and privations—the world hates us—they stone us—they cut us asunder, even when we are dead. Feel me—I'm cold and white all over—I died too soon—I'd have had wings now only for that pistol. I'm as white as Gehazi, except on my head, when that blood comes.'