en cells
of his memory came a glimmering recollection--a word or two read at
random, an impression, only half understood, yet the germ of which had
survived. Ibsen! A prophet of truth, surely! He looked eagerly down
the placard for the announcements and the prices of admission. And then
a sudden cold douche of memory descended upon his new enthusiasms.
There was Ellen!

CHAPTER III

MR. ALFRED BURTON'S FAMILY

There certainly was Ellen! Like a man on his way to prison, Alfred
Burton took his place in a third-class carriage in his customary train
to Garden Green. Ned Miles, who travelled in the oil trade, came up and
smote him upon the shoulder.

"Say, cocky, what have you been doing to yourself?" he demanded in
amazement. "Have you robbed a bank and going about in disguise, eh?
Why, the missis won't know you!"

Burton shrank a little back in his place. His eyes seemed filled with
some nameless distaste as he returned the other's gaze.

"I have taken a dislike to my former style of dress," he replied simply,
"also to my moustache."

"Taken a dislike--Lord love a duck!" his quondam friend exclaimed.
"Strike me blind if I should have known you! Taken a dislike to
the--here, Alf, is this a game?"

"Not at all," Burton answered quietly. "It is the truth. It is one of
those matters, I suppose," he continued, "which principally concern
oneself."

"No need to get jumpy about it," Mr. Miles remarked, still a little
dazed. "Come in and have some farthing nap with the boys. They won't
recognize you in that get-up. We'll have a lark with them."

Burton shook his head. Again he was unable to keep the distaste from
his eyes or tone.

"Not to-night, thank you."

The train was just moving, so Miles was obliged to hurry off, but at
Garden Green, Burton was compelled to run the gauntlet of their cheers
and mockery as he passed down the platform. Good sports and excellent
fellows he had thought them yesterday. To-day he had no words for them.
He simply knew that they grated upon every nerve in his body and that he
loathed them. For the first time he began to be frightened. What was
this thing that had happened to him? How was it possible for him to
continue his daily life?

As soon as he was out of the station, his troubles began again. A veil
seemed to have been torn from before his eyes. Just as in London every
face into which he had looked, every building which he had passed, had
seemed to him unfamiliar, appeali