vaguely something of his reading of years ago, he turned to the man
beside him, after some more than usually remarkable words, and heard
himself, almost involuntarily it seemed, putting the question: "Then are
you a Rosicrucian, sir, perhaps?" But the stranger had ignored the
words, or possibly not heard them, for he continued with his talk as
though unconscious of any interruption, and Harris became aware that
another somewhat unusual picture had taken possession of his mind, as
they walked there side by side through the cool reaches of the forest,
and that he had found his imagination suddenly charged with the
childhood memory of Jacob wrestling with an angel,--wrestling all night
with a being of superior quality whose strength eventually became his
own.

"It was your abrupt conversation with the priest at supper that first
put me upon the track of this remarkable occurrence," he heard the
man's quiet voice beside him in the darkness, "and it was from him I
learned after you left the story of the devil-worship that became
secretly established in the heart of this simple and devout little
community."

"Devil-worship! Here--!" Harris stammered, aghast.

"Yes--here;--conducted secretly for years by a group of Brothers before
unexplained disappearances in the neighbourhood led to its discovery.
For where could they have found a safer place in the whole wide world
for their ghastly traffic and perverted powers than here, in the very
precincts--under cover of the very shadow of saintliness and holy
living?"

"Awful, awful!" whispered the silk merchant, "and when I tell you the