“Yes, a magic one,” he replied sneeringly.

“I know of no more magical lantern than a man’s head,” I replied, a little disconcerted by his sneer.  “Chemists say there’s more phosphorus in the brain than anywhere else; and so I sometimes think.”

He made no reply, but, seizing me by the coat, dragged me after him as he hurried out of the room, and making for a back door, led me out, bareheaded as I was, into the wood.  The darkness had waxed to pitchiness, and the noises were hushed.  The crows had gone to roost; and had it not been for some too-hoos of the jolly owl, sounding his horn as he rejoiced that the hated sun had gone to annoy other owls in the west, the silence would have been complete.  But, in truth, I hate silence as well as darkness, and have no more sympathy with the followers of Pythagoras than I have with the triumph of the blind Roman who silenced the covey of pretty women, in the heat of their condolences for his blindness, by reminding them that they forgot he could feel in the dark.  I thought more of the fire inside, and the bottle of Burgundy, on which I had made as yet only a small impression.

“If I want darkness, I can as well shut my eyes,” said I peevishly, “and I would even have the advantage of some phosphorescent touches of the fancy.”

“Will you see that with your eyes shut?” he exclaimed triumphantly, as he bent his body forward to an angle of forty-five, and pointed with his finger to an object clearly illumined, and exhibiting distinctly a large card, with ten red diamonds sharply traced upon it.  The advantage he had got over me was lost in the rapture of his gaze; and he seemed to be charmed by the apparition, for he began to move slowly forward, still pointing his finger, and without apparently drawing a breath.  Though a little taken by surprise for the instant, it was not easy for me to give up my practical wisdom, which, as a matter of course, pointed to a trick.

“You do see it, then?” said he.

“Surely,” said I.  “There is no mistake it is the figure of the ten of diamonds, probably stuck upon a turnip lantern.”

“I did not ask you for a banter,” he replied angrily.  “I can draw my own conclusions.  All I wanted was to satisfy myself that I was free from a monomaniacal illusion.  We cannot both be mad; besides, you’re a sceptic, and the testimony of a sceptic’s eyes is better than the sneer of his tongue.”

Still he proceeded, I following, and the apparition retreating.  “I told you to remember what Edith said,” he continued, as he still pointed his finger; “and I fancy you can never forget that before you.  The two things are wide apart.”

“And so are the two ends of a rope with which a man hangs himself,” said I.

“It is gone!” cried my friend, without noticing my remark.  “It has receded into that infinite from whence it was commissioned to earth to strike its lightning upon the eye of a falling, erring, miserable mortal.”