This important preliminary being arranged, the night was anxiously awaited, and though more than usually tardy in its approach, twilight at length threw her mantle of grey over the world’s cares and perplexities, and night, that universal coverlet of all things, whether good or evil, did wrap them gently about.

And a night of more loveliness and lustre never was unveiled to the eye of mortals.

The stars were walking in brightness—­so clear and sparkling that each seemed a ray or an emblem of that ineffably glorious Beam whose uncreated splendour no eye can see and live.  Those bright clusters that we now behold have been the same through all generations, and they have seen “all things that are done under the sun.”  Fixed as the everlasting hills, their bounds and their habitation have been unchanged.  The same lights were in the heavens when Abraham looked up from the plains of Mamre, as now when the Arab and the Ishmaelite are in the desert.  The bands of Orion are not loosed, nor the sweet influences of the Pleiades unbound.  The same glittering groups which the patriarch beheld beam nightly on our tabernacles.  They have shone upon the world’s heroes and the world’s demigods—­bright links in the oblivion of ages.  And the numerous hosts we gaze upon will present the same glowing and immutable forms to cheer and gladden the eyes and hearts of coming generations.

Some feeling of this nature was probably rising in the Doctor’s bosom as they once more took the open path to Aldport, and he looked on the wide hemisphere about him—­the heavens, with their glowing constellations, all spread out without an obscurity or an obstruction.  He felt for one moment the folly and futility of earthly things, and his heart seemed to wither in the immensity into which it was plunged.

It was like a faint glimpse of eternity, and he shrunk back from the abyss, all his own vast world of thought, feeling, and desire, lost in that immeasurable space.  But the dazzling dream of ambition again passed before him.  The portals of universal empire and immortality were thrown open.  He drove back the unwelcome intruder, but the phantom he pursued again fluttered from his grasp.

They had marked the spot on their former visit, and Dee, with the fifty gold pieces in his purse, Bartholomew Hickman acting as chief workman, began his unholy proceedings:  not, however, without some fear of the demon whom these moneys were to propitiate.  Bartholomew laboured with great diligence, but the earth was much easier to remove than before, and the old stump soon gave way, making but a slight resistance.  This was attributed to some charm wrought by the treasure they carried, and was looked upon as a favourable omen—­an unloosing of the fetters which guarded the deposit.  Every spadeful of earth was carefully examined, and the probe thrust down anxiously and with great caution.  About a yard in depth had been taken away when the spade struck upon something hard.  The strokes were redoubled, and a narrow flag appeared.  Raising this obstacle they beheld a wooden coffer.  Dee sung out a Latin prayer as usual; for he failed not to pour out his thanks with great fervour for any selfish indulgence that fell in his way, or, as he imagined, was granted to him by the special favour of Heaven.