Pendlam caught at the word compass. "It is singular;—you must have some spiritual perception;—it was written through my hand nine days ago, Purchase a compass. Here is the writing; I placed it upon the wall as a symbol; and I have intended buying a compass as soon as I could get the means."
"Ah, John Henry," said I, "there is more in your symbols than you suppose.
You want no purchasable compass."
Pendlam rewarded my simplicity with another pitying smile.
"Here," said he, "you who know so much of symbols, explain this. Avoid the shores of Old Spain. I have not yet penetrated its meaning."
"Leave it," I replied, "with the unexplained Pythagorean symbol touching abstinence from beans. Perhaps future events will reveal it."
Pendlam smiled as before. But was I not right? Did not lamentable events in the not far-off future give to the symbol a melancholy significance?
"Come," I said, "leave these abstruse studies; take off that symbolic coat, that tinsel crown; wash, comb your hair, and walk with me."
"I should enjoy a walk," replied Pendlam; "but I am directed to retain these symbols upon my person, and you would hardly wish me to appear in the street with them."
"Directed!—by what authority?"
"By the Spirit. Some beautiful use is to be fulfilled. I see where you are," added Pendlam;—"from your stand-point it must look absurd enough."