After a pause, . .

"Forgive me!" he said in a low tone, and speaking with some
effort.. "forgive me and have patience with my laggard
comprehension, . . I am perplexed at heart and slow of thought; wilt
thou assure me faithfully, that this God-Man thou speakest of is
not yet born on earth?"

The faintest shadow of a wondering smile flickered over the old
man's wrinkled countenance, like the reflection of a passing
taper-flame on a faded picture.

"My son, my son!" he murmured with compassionate tolerance--"Have
I not told thee that five thousand years and more must pass away
ere the prediction be accomplished? ... I marvel that so plain a
truth should thus disquiet thee! Now, by my soul, thou lookest
pallid as the dead! ... Come, let us hasten on more rapidly,--thy
fainting spirits will revive in fresher air."

He hurried his pace as he spoke, and glided along with such a
curious, stealthy noiselessness that by and by Theos began
dubiously to wonder whether after all he were a real personage or
a phantom? He noticed that his own figure seemed to possess much
more substantiality and distinctness of outline than that of this
mysterious Zuriel, whose very garments resembled floating cloud
rather than actual, woven fabric. Was his companion then a fitting
Spectre? ...

He smiled at the absurdity of the idea, and to change the drift of
his own foolish fancies he asked suddenly,--"Concerning this