'No, not just at this moment, please,' said Lake, drawing away,
disgusted, from the maniacal leer and titter of the gigantic old man.

'Aye, aye--another time--some night there's aurora borealis in the sky.
You know this goes under ground all the way to Vallambrosa?'

'Thank you; I was not aware: that's very convenient. Had you not better
go down and speak to your friend in the water?'

'Young man, I bless you for remembering,' said Uncle Lorne, solemnly.
'What was Mark Wylder's religion, that I may speak to him comfortably?'

'An Anabaptist, I conjecture, from his present situation,' replied Lake.

'No, that's in the lake of fire, where the wicked seraphim and cherubim
baptise, and anabaptise, and hold them under, with a great stone laid
across their breasts. I only know two of their clergy--the African vicar,
quite a gentleman, and speaks through his nose; and the archbishop with
wings; his face is so burnt, he's all eyes and mouth, and on one hand has
only one finger, and he tickles me with it till I almost give up the
ghost. The ghost of Miss Baily is a lie, he said, by my soul; and he
likes you--he loves you. Shall I write it all in a book, and give it you?
I meet Mark Wylder in three places sometimes. Don't move, till I go down;
he's as easily frightened as a fish.'

And Uncle Lorne crept down the bank, tacking, and dodging, and all the
time laughing softly to himself; and sometimes winking with a horrid,
wily grimace at Stanley, who fervently wished him at the bottom of the
tarn.