“To quaff the inner life, is to see the outer life:  to live in defiance of time, is to live in the whole.  He who discovers the elixir discovers what lies in space; for the spirit that vivifies the frame strengthens the senses.  There is attraction in the elementary principle of light.  In the lamps of Rosicrucius the fire is the pure elementary principle.  Kindle the lamps while thou openst the vessel that contains the elixir, and the light attracts towards thee those beings whose life is that light.  Beware of Fear.  Fear is the deadliest enemy to Knowledge.”  Here the ciphers changed their character, and became incomprehensible.  But had he not read enough?  Did not the last sentence suffice?—­“Beware of Fear!” It was as if Mejnour had purposely left the page open,—­as if the trial was, in truth, the reverse of the one pretended; as if the mystic had designed to make experiment of his courage while affecting but that of his forbearance.  Not Boldness, but Fear, was the deadliest enemy to Knowledge.  He moved to the shelves on which the crystal vases were placed; with an untrembling hand he took from one of them the stopper, and a delicious odor suddenly diffused itself through the room.  The air sparkled as if with a diamond-dust.  A sense of unearthly delight,—­of an existence that seemed all spirit, flashed through his whole frame; and a faint, low, but exquisite music crept, thrilling, through the chamber.  At this moment he heard a voice in the corridor calling on his name; and presently there was a knock at the door without.  “Are you there, signor?” said the clear tones of Maestro Paolo.  Glyndon hastily reclosed and replaced the vial, and bidding Paolo await him in his own apartment, tarried till he heard the intruder’s steps depart; he then reluctantly quitted the room.  As he locked the door, he still heard the dying strain of that fairy music; and with a light step and a joyous heart he repaired to Paolo, inly resolving to visit again the chamber at an hour when his experiment would be safe from interruption.

As he crossed his threshold, Paolo started back, and exclaimed, “Why, Excellency!  I scarcely recognise you!  Amusement, I see, is a great beautifier to the young.  Yesterday you looked so pale and haggard; but Fillide’s merry eyes have done more for you than the Philosopher’s Stone (saints forgive me for naming it) ever did for the wizards.”  And Glyndon, glancing at the old Venetian mirror as Paolo spoke, was scarcely less startled than Paolo himself at the change in his own mien and bearing.  His form, before bent with thought, seemed to him taller by half the head, so lithesome and erect rose his slender stature; his eyes glowed, his cheeks bloomed with health and the innate and pervading pleasure.  If the mere fragrance of the elixir was thus potent, well might the alchemists have ascribed life and youth to the draught!

“You must forgive me, Excellency, for disturbing you,” said Paolo, producing a letter from his pouch; “but our Patron has just written to me to say that he will be here to-morrow, and desired me to lose not a moment in giving to yourself this billet, which he enclosed.”