of old bed posts of Chippendale design.

"Good day, Potts," I said hastily.

"Stop where you are," repeated Potts. "You don't believe me yet, but
when you are as old as I am you will remember my words and believe--more
than I do and see--clearer than I do, because it's in your soul, yes,
the seed is in your soul, though as yet it is choked by the world, the
flesh, and the devil. Wait till your sins have brought you trouble; wait
till the fires of trouble have burned the flesh away; wait till you have
sought Light and found Light and live in Light, then you will believe;
_then_ you will see."

All this he said very solemnly, and standing there in that dusky room
surrounded by the wreck of things that once had been dear to dead men
and women, waving the lantern in his hand and staring--at what was he
staring?--really old Potts looked most impressive. His twisted shape and
ugly countenance became spiritual; he was one who had "found Light and
lived in Light."

"You won't believe me," he went on, "but I pass on to you what a woman
has been telling me. She's a queer sort of woman; I never saw her
like before, a foreigner and dark-hued with strange rich garments and
something on her head. There, that, _that_," and he pointed through the
dirty window-place to the crescent of a young moon which appeared in
the sky. "A fine figure of a woman," he went on, "and oh! heaven, what
eyes--I never saw such eyes before. Big and tender, something like those
of the deer in the park yonder. Proud, too, she is, one who has ruled,
and a lady, though foreign. Well, I never fell in love before, but I
feel like it now, and so would you, young man, if you could see her, and