igure
of futility he is--a fine figure for a big epic, it seems to me. By the
way, what was the date that this religion was laughed away. I can remember
perfectly the downfall of the Homeric deities--how many years there were
when the common people believed in the divine origin of the Odyssey, while
the educated classes were more or less discreetly heretical, until at last
the whole Olympian outfit became poetic myths. But strangely enough I do
not recall just the date when _we_ began to demand a god of dignity and
morality."

The old man had been loath to leave the sufferer. He still stood by the
open door to call to the first passer-by. Now, shudderingly wishful to
stem the torrent of blasphemies, innocent though they were, he ventured
cautiously:

"There was Sinai--you forget the tables--the moral law--the ten
commandments."

"Sinai, to be sure. Christians used to regard that as an occasion of
considerable dignity, didn't they? The time when he gave directions about
slavery and divorce and polygamy--he was beautifully broad-minded in all
those matters, and to kill witches and to stone an ox that gored any one,
and how to disembowel the lambs used for sacrifice, and what colours to
use in the tabernacle."

But the horrified old man had fled. Half an hour later he returned with
Dr. Merritt, relieving Clytie, who had watched outside the door and who
reported that there had been no signs of violence within.

Again they found a normal pulse and temperature, and an appetite
clamouring for delicacies of strong meat. Young Dr. Merritt was greatly
puzzled.

"I understand the case perfectly," he said to the old man; "he needs rest
and plenty of good nursing--and quiet. We often have these cases. Your
head feels all right, doesn't it?" he asked Bernal.

"Fine, Doctor!"

"I thought so." He looked shrewdly at the old man. "Your grandfather had
an idea you might be--perhaps a bit excited."

"No--not a bit. We've had a fine morning chatting over some of the
primitive religions, haven't we, old man?" and he smiled affectionately up
to his grandfather. "Hello, Nance, come and sit by me."

The girl had paused in the doorway while he spoke, and came now to take
his hand, after a look of inquiry at the two men. The latter withdrew, the
eyes of the old man sadly beseeching the eyes of the physician for some
definite sign of hope.

Inside, the sufferer lay holding a hand of Nancy between his cheek and the
pillow--with inter