ed the end of his speech.

"Professor," he said softly, turning to his host, "there is one thing
which I desire so greatly that I would give my life itself for it. I
would give even what you have asked for to-night and be content to leave
the world in so much shorter time. But that one thing I may not ask of
you, for in those days of which I have told you, before the wonderful
adventure came, I was married. My wife lives now in Garden Green. I
have also a little boy. You will forgive me."

He passed through the open French windows and neither of them made any
further attempt to detain him. Their silence was a little unnatural and
from the walk outside he glanced for a moment behind him. The two men
were sitting in exactly the same positions, their faces were turned
towards him, and their eyes seemed to be following his movements. Yet
there was a change. The professor was no longer the absorbed, mildly
benevolent man of science. Mr. Bomford had lost his commonplace
expression. There was a new thing in their faces, something eager,
ominous. Burton felt a sudden depression as he turned away. He looked
with relief at the thin circle of the moon, visible now through the
waving elm trees at the bottom of the garden. He drew in with joy a
long breath of the delicious perfume drawn by the night from the silent
boughs of the cedar tree. Resolutely he hurried away from the sight of
that ugly little framed picture upon which he had gazed through the open
French windows--the two men on either side of the lamp, watching him.

"Edith!" he called softly.

She answered him with a little laugh. She was almost by his side. He
took a quick step forward. She was standing among the deepest shadows,
against the trunk of the cedar tree, her slim body leaning slightly
against it. It seemed to him that her face was whiter, her eyes softer
than ever. He took her hand in his.

She smiled.

"You must not come out to me here," she whispered. "Mr. Bomford will
not like it. It is most improper."

"But it may be our good-bye," he pleaded. "They want me to do
something, Mr. Bomford and your father, something hideous, utterly
grotesque. I have refused and they are very angry."

"What is it that they want you to do?"

"Dear," he answered, "you, I am sure, will understand. They want me to
give them one of my beans. They want to make some wretched drug or
medicine from it, to advertise it all over the world, to amass a great
fortune."

"Are yo