ed Mary. "Then you will write to Professor Fish,
father?"

"Yes," said the Doctor; "He ought to know. I'll write to-night."

"I think I would," agreed Mary thoughtfully, and rose to get him
writing materials. But some inward function of her was uneasy; she
felt as though she had failed the little man whose reliance was in
her. "You know I'm your friend," she had said to him, and this
reference to the Professor had not the flavor of full friendship. The
same compunction remained with her next morning, and made her
specially gentle with Smith. He had fallen back to his usual
condition of vacuity and inertia; she had to rouse him to eat and
drink when he sat at table with a face as void of life as a death-
mask, and eyes empty and unseeing. Dr. Pond had given up his attempts
to make conversation with him, and saw him with a slight exasperation
which he was sedulous to conceal, so that he was altogether dependent
on Mary's unfailing patience.

Professor Fish was not slow to reply to the letter. A telegram from
him arrived at lunch time, stating that he would come down next day,
and asking that his train might be met.

"That means you'll have to go again, Mary," said Dr. Pond. "I've an
appointment at that very hour."

Mary nodded, not displeased at having an opportunity of sounding the
Professor before anybody else. She saw that Smith had looked up at
the mention of Fish's name with some quickening of interest. She
smiled to him and helped him to salad.

The morning of the next day came in squally and wild, with starts of
rain, a sharp interruption to the summer's tranquillity. Mary was
rather troubled to dispose of Smith during her absence, but ensconced
him at last in the room which was known as "the study," an upper
chamber where Dr. Pond kept his books and those other possessions
which were not in frequent use. Here was a window giving a view over
the rain-blurred hedgerows, clear to the swell of the downs, and an
arm-chair in which Smith could sit in peace and wear undisturbed his
semblance of a man in a trance. With some notion of leaving nothing
undone, Mary routed out for him a bundle of old illustrated
magazines, and left them on the unused writing-table at his side; he
did not glance at them.

"Now," she said, when all was done, "I must go. I shall be back soon.
Shake hands with me and say thank you."

She smiled down into his face, as he looked slowly up at her, huddled
like a lay figure between the arm