“Yes, the Jews.”

“Oh, I don’t like them at all.”

“But they’re the chosen people.”

“I can’t help that.  I don’t like them.  But then, you know, I never really saw much of them.”

“I refer to their future prospects,” said Tozer—­“to prophecy.  I should like to ask you how you regard them in that light.  Do you believe in a spiritual or a temporal Zion?”

“Spiritual Zion?  Temporal Zion?”

“Yes, ’m.”

“Well, really, I don’t know.  I don’t think I believe any thing at all about it.”

“But you must believe in either one or the other—­you’ve got to,” said Tozer, positively.

“But I don’t, you know; and how can I?”

Tozer threw at her a look of commiseration, and began to think that his companion was not much better than a heathen.  In his own home circle he could have put his hand on little girls of ten who were quite at home on all these subjects.  He was silent for a time, and then began again.

“I’d like to ask you one thing,” said he, “very much.”

“What is it?” asked Ethel.

“Do you believe,” asked Tozer, solemnly, “that we’re living in the Seventh Vial?”

“Vial?  Seventh Vial?” said Ethel, in fresh amazement.

“Yes, the Seventh Vial,” said Tozer, in a sepulchral voice.

“Living in the Seventh Vial?  I really don’t know how one can live in a vial.”

“The Great Tribulation, you know.”

“Great Tribulation?”

“Yes; for instance, now, don’t you believe in the Apocalyptic Beast?”

“I don’t know,” said Ethel, faintly.

“Well, at any rate, you believe in his number—­you must.”

“His number?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, the number six, six, six—­six hundred and sixty-six.”

“I really don’t understand this,” said Ethel.

“Don’t you believe that the Sixth Vial is done?”

“Sixth Vial?  What, another vial?”

“Yes; and the drying of the Euphrates.”

“The Euphrates? drying?” repeated Ethel in a trembling voice.  She began to be alarmed.  She felt sure that this man was insane.  She had never heard such incoherency in her life.  And she was alone with him.  She stole a timid look, and saw his long, sallow face, on which there was now a preoccupied expression, and the look did not reassure her.

But Tozer himself was a little puzzled, and felt sure that his companion must have her own opinions on the subject, so he began again: 

“Now I suppose you’ve read Fleming on the Papacy?”

“No, I haven’t.  I never heard of it.”

“Strange, too.  You’ve heard of Elliot’s ‘Horae Apocalypticae?’, I suppose?”

“No,” said Ethel, timidly.

“Well, it’s all in Cumming—­and you’ve read him, of course?”

“Cumming?  I never heard of him.  Who is he?”