“I think we may climb here, Master Dee, with little risk;—­there seems a fair gap beside its trunk.”

They scrambled up a high bank, thrusting themselves, with some difficulty, through the opening.  The Doctor now, looking round, began to recite his instructions:—­“’Nine with twice seven northerly, and ACER, shall disappear.  The mystical number added to the number enfolding itself.  This shall be added to its own, towards the rising of the sun.  Then turn half-round, and note well thy right foot;—­what thou seest gather, and it shall lead thee on to perfection.’  Good; but from what point shall we begin to count?” said the divine, in great perplexity.

“I know not,” said Bartholomew, “unless it be from the sycamore tree at the opposite corner yonder by the old wall.”

“Thou knowest the ground hereabout?” said the Doctor hastily.

“Peradventure I may,” replied the other.  “Being told aforetime of treasure that was hidden, I have wandered often, at odd times, round the garden.”

“Lead the way, then; it may be this same Acer is the tree of which thou speakest.  Time passes, and I would not miss this lucky hour for all my hopes of preferment.”

Preceded by his guide, the Doctor soon came within range of a noble sycamore that threw out its huge branches in all the pride of a long and undisturbed occupation.

“‘Nine with twice seven northerly, and Acer shall disappear.’  Shall I stride the ground so many steps, or is there a mystic and hidden signification couched in these numbers?”

“I know not,” said Bartholomew; “but we had best make the trial.”

The Doctor, with great earnestness, began to stride out the number northerly, but the sycamore did not disappear; its long bare boughs were still seen throwing out their leafless and haggard extremities against the lowering sky.

They now took counsel, when Bartholomew suggested that, as numbers were often used symbolically, they must look elsewhere for a solution.  It might be the exact number of trees lying between the great sycamore and the place signified.  “And there they be,” said the seer, pointing to a goodly row of small twigs newly planted.  “Now count them northerly, beginning as at first.”

This being done, the Doctor was greatly comforted on finding himself fairly soused up to the knees in a deep ditch or drain, from whence all appearance of the sycamore was effectually excluded.

“Now,” said the adept, still standing as before, “the mystical number, which is three, added to the most excellent number, which I take to be three times three, or the number enfolding itself, will make twelve; but there be no trees eastward, or towards the rising sun.”

“Then try the steps once more,” said Bartholomew, “and take heed they are of the right length,—­proper easy-going steps.  Stay, I will count them myself.”

Leaving his companion in the ditch, the seer counted forth his number with due care, halting at the last step.