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."

"Who brought the letter?"

"A horseman, who did not wait for any reply."

Glyndon opened the letter, and read as follows:--

"I return a week sooner than I had intended, and you will expect me
to-morrow. You will then enter on the ordeal you desire, but remember
that, in doing so, you must reduce Being as far as possible into Mind.
The senses must be mortified and subdued,--not the whisper of one
passion heard. Thou mayst be master of the Cabala and the Chemistry; but