e active; capable of enjoying their liberty and finding shelter for
themselves. Where had the maimed creature found a refuge, on that bitter
night? Again, and again, and again, the question forced its way into his
mind. He could endure it no longer. Cautiously and quickly--in dread
of his extraordinary conduct being perhaps discovered by the women--he
dressed himself, and opened the house door to look for the dog.

Out of the darkness on the step, there rose something dark. He put out
his hand. A persuasive tongue, gently licking it, pleaded for a word of
welcome. The crippled animal could only have got to the door in one way;
the gate which protected the house-enclosure must have been left open.
First giving the dog a refuge in the kitchen, the footman--rigidly
performing his last duties--went to close the gate.

At his first step into the enclosure he stopped panic-stricken.

The starlit sky over the laboratory was veiled in murky red. Roaring
flame, and spouting showers of sparks, poured through the broken
skylight. Voices from the farm raised the first cry--"Fire! fire!"

At the inquest, the evidence suggested suspicion of incendiarism
and suicide. The papers, the books, the oil betrayed themselves as
combustible materials, carried into the place for a purpose. The
medicine chest was known (by its use in cases of illness among the
servants) to contain opium. Adjourned inquiry elicited that the
laboratory was not insured, and that the deceased was in comfortable
circumstances. Where were the motives? One intelligent man, who had
drifted into the jury, was satisfied with the evidence. He held that the
desperate wretch had some reason of his own for first poisoning himself,
and then setting fire to the scene of his labours. Having a majority of
eleven against him, the wise juryman consented to a merciful verdict
of death by misadventure. The hideous remains of what had once been
Benjulia, found Christian burial. His brethren of the torture-table,
attended the funeral in large numbers. Vivisection had been beaten on
its own field of discovery. They honoured the martyr who had fallen in
their cause.

CHAPTER LXIII.

The life of the New Year was still only numbered by weeks, when a modest
little marriage was celebrated--without the knowledge of the neighbours,
without a crowd in the church, and even without a wedding-breakfast.

Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the bride)
drew Ovid into a