While we spied upon them in the last six months, he always struck me as curiously un-English, with that sleek exterior and those flashing eyes of his.

But in the chapel to-night he was almost aggressively alien.

When he touched my arm I could literally feel him bristle." The other nodded.
"You've said it!" he cried.

"Horatio bristles! His whole queer soul is in this business--every fibre of it.

He attempts no division of allegiance--except, perhaps, in the matter of the heart--" The Prophet glanced up and smiled.
"The heart?
Do my faithful Watchers permit themselves hearts?
The Scitsym makes no provision for such frail organs." The Precursor laughed again.
"Oh, we Elect are by no means free from little saving weaknesses! That's where we become dramatic.