wife had died. It
was said that she had killed herself. This set Hadria speculating.

The visitor reminded his companions of various absurd incidents of the
past, sending Mr. Fullerton into paroxysms of laughter that made the
whole party laugh in sympathy. Mrs. Fullerton too was already wiping her
streaming eyes as the Professor talked on in his old vein, with just
that particular little humourous manner of his that won its way so
surely to the hearts of his listeners. For a moment, in the midst of the
bright talk and the mirth that he had created, the Professor lost the
thread, and his face, as he stared into the glowing centre of the fire,
had a desolate look; but it was so quick to pass away that one might
have thought oneself the victim of a fancy. His was the next chuckle,
and "Do you remember that day when----?" and so forth, Mr. Fullerton's
healthy roar following, avalanche-like, upon the reminiscence.

"We thought him a good and kind magician when we were children," was
Hadria's thought, "and now one is grown up, there is no disillusion. He
is a good and kind magician still."

He seemed indeed to have the power to conjure forth from their
hiding-places, the finer qualities of mind and temperament, which had
lain dormant, perhaps for years, buried beneath daily accumulations of
little cares and little habits. The creature that had once looked forth
on the world, fresh and vital, was summoned again, to his own surprise,
with all his ancient laughter and his tears.

"This man," Hadria said to herself, drawing a long, relieved breath, "is
the best and the most generous human being I have ever met."

She went to sleep, that night, with a sweet sense of rest and security,
and an undefined new hope. If such natures were in existence, then there
must be a great source of goodness and tenderness somewhere in heaven or
earth, and the battle of life must be worth the fighting.

CHAPTER IX.

The Professor's presence in the house had a profound influence on the
inmates, one and all. The effect upon his hostess was startling. He drew
forth her intellect, her sense of humour, her starved poetic sense; he
probed down among the dust and rust of years, and rescued triumphantly
the real woman, who was being stifled to death, with her own connivance.

Hadria was amazed to see how the new-comer might express any idea he
pleased, however heterodox, and her mother only applauded.

His manner to her was exquisitely co