“Thank you!” gasped the secretary, swept off his feet by this torrent of uncommon and mystical language, and passing a moist hand through his feathery hair.  He was not entirely ignorant, of course, of the alleged use of sound in the various systems of so-called magic that have influenced the minds of imaginative men during the history of the world.  He had heard, more or less vaguely, perhaps, but still with understanding, about “Words of Power”; but hitherto he had merely regarded such things as picturesque superstitions, or half-truths that lie midway between science and imagination.  Here, however, was a man in the twentieth century, the days of radium, flying machines, wireless telegraphy, and other invitations towards materialism, who apparently had practical belief in the effective use of sound and in its psychic and divine possibilities, and who was devoting all of his not inconsiderable powers of heart and mind to their actual demonstration.  It was astonishing.  It was delightful.  It was incredible!  And, but for the currents of a strange and formidable fear that this conception of Skale’s audacious Experiment set stirring in his soul, Spinrobin’s enthusiasm would have been possibly as great as his own.

As it was he went up to the big clergyman and held out his hand, utterly carried away by the strangeness of it all, caught up in a vague splendor he did not quite understand, prepared to abandon himself utterly.

“I gather something of what you mean,” he said earnestly, “if not all; and I hope most sincerely I may prove suitable for your purpose when the time comes.  As a boy, you know, curiously enough, I always believed in the efficacy of names and the importance of naming true.  I think,” he added somewhat diffidently, looking up straight into the luminous eyes above him, “if you will allow me to say so, I would follow you anywhere, Mr. Skale—­anywhere you cared to lead.”

“‘Upon him that overcometh,’” said the clergyman in that gentle voice he sometimes used, soft as the voice of woman, “’will I write my new name....’”

He gazed down very searchingly into the other’s eyes for a minute or two, then shook the proffered hand without another word.  And so they separated and went to bed, for it was long past midnight.

Chapter III

I

In his bedroom, though excitement banished sleep in spite of the lateness of the hour, he was too exhausted to make any effective attempt to reduce the confusion of his mind to order.  For the first time in his life the diary-page for the day remained blank.  For a long time he sat before it with his pencil—­then sighed and put it away.  A volume he might have written, but not a page, much less a line or two.  And though it was but eight hours since he had made the acquaintance of the Rev. Philip Skale, it seemed to him more like eight days.