remote from help and from God, as Laocoon and his
sons.

Ages have passed since the sculptor of that marble laid down his chisel
and gazed at his completed work. Little dreamt he that thousands of years
later it would stand as a parable, representing civilization in the form
of the python which he had carved with such loathing yet such loving
care.

Adams, in the grasp of this startling thought, was recalled from reverie
by a sound behind him.

Someone had entered the room. It was Maxine Berselius.

They had seen very little of each other since his return. Adams, indeed,
had purposely avoided her as much as it is possible for one person to
avoid another when both are dwelling in the same house.

The pride of manhood warned him against this woman who was rich and the
daughter of the man from whom he received a salary.

Maxine knew nothing of the pride of manhood; she only knew that he avoided
her.

She was dressed entirely in white with a row of pearls for her only
ornament. She had just returned from some social function, and Adams as he
rose to meet her noticed that she had closed the door.

"Dr. Adams," said the girl, "forgive me for disturbing you at this hour.
For days I have wished to speak to you about my father. I have put it off,
but I feel I must speak--what has happened to him?"

She took a seat in an armchair, and Adams stood before her with his back
to the mantelpiece and his hands behind him.

The big man did not answer for a moment. He stood there like a statue,
looking at his questioner gravely and contemplatively, as a physician
looks at a patient whose case is not quite clear.

Then he said, "You notice a change in your father?"

"No," said Maxine, "it is more than a change. He is quite different--he is
another man."

"When we were hunting out there," said Adams, "Captain Berselius had an
accident. In trying to rescue a servant he was caught by an elephant and
flung some distance; he hurt his head, and when he recovered consciousness
his memory was quite gone. It slowly returned----" He paused, for it was
impossible to give details, then he went on--"I noticed, myself, as the
memory was returning, that he seemed changed; when he had fully recovered
his memory, the fact was obvious. He was, as you say, quite different--in
fact, just as you see him now."

"But can an injury change a person like that?"

"Yes; an injury to the head can change a person completely."

Maxine sighed. She had