“From her house to the fiord, no further.”

“Never left this place!” exclaimed Wilfrid.  “Then she must have read immensely.”

“Not a page, not one iota!  I am the only person who possesses any books in Jarvis.  The works of Swedenborg—­the only books that were in the chateau—­you see before you.  She has never looked into a single one of them.”

“Have you tried to talk with her?”

“What good would that do?”

“Does no one live with her in that house?”

“She has no friends but you and Minna, nor any servant except old David.”

“It cannot be that she knows nothing of science nor of art.”

“Who should teach her?” said the pastor.

“But if she can discuss such matters pertinently, as she has often done with me, what do you make of it?”

“The girl may have acquired through years of silence the faculties enjoyed by Apollonius of Tyana and other pretended sorcerers burned by the Inquisition, which did not choose to admit the fact of second-sight.”

“If she can speak Arabic, what would you say to that?”

“The history of medical science gives many authentic instances of girls who have spoken languages entirely unknown to them.”

“What can I do?” exclaimed Wilfrid.  “She knows of secrets in my past life known only to me.”

“I shall be curious if she can tell me thoughts that I have confided to no living person,” said Monsieur Becker.

Minna entered the room.

“Well, my daughter, and how is your familiar spirit?”

“He suffers, father,” she answered, bowing to Wilfrid.  “Human passions, clothed in their false riches, surrounded him all night, and showed him all the glories of the world.  But you think these things mere tales.”

“Tales as beautiful to those who read them in their brains as the ‘Arabian Nights’ to common minds,” said the pastor, smiling.

“Did not Satan carry our Savior to the pinnacle of the Temple, and show him all the kingdoms of the world?” she said.

“The Evangelists,” replied her father, “did not correct their copies very carefully, and several versions are in existence.”

“You believe in the reality of these visions?” said Wilfrid to Minna.

“Who can doubt when he relates them.”

“He?” demanded Wilfrid.  “Who?”

“He who is there,” replied Minna, motioning towards the chateau.

“Are you speaking of Seraphita?” he said.

The young girl bent her head, and looked at him with an expression of gentle mischief.

“You too!” exclaimed Wilfrid, “you take pleasure in confounding me.  Who and what is she?  What do you think of her?”

“What I feel is inexplicable,” said Minna, blushing.

“You are all crazy!” cried the pastor.

“Farewell, until to-morrow evening,” said Wilfrid.

CHAPTER IV