the level of the man's, then? It is a lesson!

Dudley said he was waiting for Dr. Themison to come forth. He could not
tear himself from sight of the house.

The door opened to Dr. Themison departing, Colney Durance and Simeon
Fenellan bare-headed. Colney showed a face with stains of the lashing of
tears.

Dr. Themison gave his final counsels. 'Her father must not see her. For
him, it may have to be a specialist. We will hope the best. Mr. Dartrey
Fenellan stays beside him:--good. As to the ceremony he calls for, a form
of it might soothe:--any soothing possible! No music. I will return in a
few hours.'

He went on foot.

Mr. Barmby begged advice from Colney and Simeon concerning the message he
had received--the ceremony requiring his official presidency. Neither of
them replied. They breathed the morning air, they gave out long-drawn
sighs of relief, looking on the trees of the park.

A man came along the pavement, working slow legs hurriedly. Simeon ran
down to him.

'Humour, as much as you can,' Colney said to Mr. Barmby. 'Let him
imagine.'

'Miss Radnor?'

'Not to speak of her.'

'The daughter he so loves?'

Mr. Barmby's tender inquisitiveness was unanswered. Were they inducing
him to mollify a madman? But was it possible to associate the idea of
madness with Mr. Radnor?

Simeon ran back. 'Jarniman,' he remarked. 'It's over!'

'Now!' Colney's shoulders expressed the comment. 'Well, now, Mr. Barmby,
you can do the part desired. Come in. It's morning!' He stared at the
sky.

All except Dudley passed in.

Mr. Barmby wanted more advice, his dilemma being acute. It was moderated,
though not more than moderated, when he was informed of the death of Mrs.
Burman Radnor; an event that occurred, according to Jarniman's report,
forty-five minutes after Skepsey had a second time called for information
of it at the house in Regent's Park--five hours and a half, as Colney
made his calculation, after the death of Nataly. He was urged by some
spur of senseless irony to verify the calculation and correct it in the
minutes.

Dudley crossed the road. No sign of the awful interior was on any of the
windows of the house either to deepen awe or relieve. They were blank as
eyeballs of the mindless. He shivered. Death is our common cloak; but
Calamity individualizes, to set the unwounded speculating whether indeed
a stricken man, who has become the cause of woeful trouble, may not be
pointing a moral. Pacing on the