n uneasy movement, he said,
in a stronger and irritable voice, which seemed to come from another
region of consciousness:

"It would have been better to have burned the paper. One can't get away
from the thing. It--it disturbs me--"

"What paper?" said Lankester, close to the dreamer's ear.

"The _Herald_," said Marsham, impatiently.

"Where is it?"

"In that cabinet by the fire."

"Shall I burn it?"

"Yes--don't bother me!" Evidently he now thought he was speaking to his
valet, and a moan of pain escaped him. Lankester walked over to the
cabinet and opened the top drawer. He saw a folded newspaper lying
within it. After a moment's hesitation he lifted it, and perceived by
the light of the night-lamp that it was the _Herald_ of August 2--the
famous number issued on the morning of Ferrier's death. All the story of
the communicated article and the "Barrington letter" ran through his
mind. He stood debating with himself, shaken by emotion. Then he
deliberately took the paper to the fire, stirred the coals, and, tearing
up the paper, burned it piece by piece.

After it was done he walked back to Marsham's side. "I have burned the
paper," he said, kneeling down by him.

Marsham, who was breathing lightly with occasional twitchings of the
brow, took no notice. But after a minute he said, in a steady yet
thrilling voice:

"Ferrier!"

Silence.

"Ferrier!" The tone of the repeated word brought the moisture to
Lankester's eyes. He took the dreamer's hand in his, pressing it.
Marsham returned the pressure, first strongly, again more feebly. Then a
wave of narcotic sleep returned upon him, and he seemed to sink into it
profoundly.

* * * * *

Next morning, as Marsham, after his dressing, was lying moody and
exhausted on his pillows, he suddenly said to his servant:

"I want something out of that cabinet by the fire."

"Yes, sir." The man moved toward it obediently.

"Find a newspaper in the top drawer, folded up small--on the right-hand
side."

Richard looked.

"I am sorry, sir, but there is nothing in the drawer at all."

"Nonsense!" said Marsham, angrily. "You've got the wrong drawer!"

The whole cabinet was searched to no purpose. Marsham grew very pale. He
must, of course, have destroyed the paper himself, and his illness had
effaced his memory of the act, as of other things. Yet he could not
shake off an impression of mystery. Twice now, weeks after Ferrier's
death,