ere mixed a few hoots, had
subsided, my chairman asked if any one in the meeting wished to question
the candidate.

"I do," said a voice speaking from beneath the shadow of the gallery far
away. "I wish to ask Dr. Therne whether he believes in vaccination?"

When the meeting understood the meaning of this jester's question, a
titter of laughter swept over it like a ripple over the face of a pond.
The chairman, also rising with a smile, said: "Really, I do not think
it necessary to put that query to my friend here, seeing that for nearly
twenty years he has been recognised throughout England as one of the
champions of the anti-vaccination cause which he helped to lead to
triumph."

"I repeat the question," said the distant voice again, a cold deep voice
with a note in it that to my ears sounded like the knell of approaching
doom.

The chairman looked puzzled, then replied: "If my friend will come up
here instead of hiding down there in the dark I have no doubt that Dr.
Therne will be able to satisfy his curiosity."

There was a little commotion beneath the gallery, and presently a man
was seen forcing his way up the length of the huge and crowded hall.
For some reason or other the audience watched his slow approach without
impatience. A spirit of wonder seemed to have taken possession of them;
it was almost as though by some process of telepathy the thought which
animated the mind of this questioner had taken a hold of their minds,
although they did not quite know what that thought might be. Moreover
the sword of smallpox hung over the city, and therefore the subject was
of supreme interest. When Death is near, whatever they may pretend, men
think of little else.

Now he was at the foot of the platform, and now in the gaunt, powerful
frame I recognised my daughter's suitor, Ernest Merchison, and knew that
something dreadful was at hand, what I could not guess.

There was still time--I might have pretended to be ill, but my brain was
so weary with work and sorrow, and so occupied, what was left of it,
in trying to fathom Merchison's meaning, that I let the precious moment
slip. At length he was standing close by me, and to me his face was
like the face of an avenging angel, and his eyes shone like that angel's
sword.

"I wish to ask you, sir," he said again, "whether or no you believe that
vaccination is a prophylactic against smallpox."

Once more there were opportunities of escape. I might for instance have