y to be very particular.

What has passed between him and Dr. Conrad? What does the latter know
now more than she does herself? She falls back with him, and allows
the other two to go on in front. Obviously the most natural
arrangement.

"What has he told you, Dr. Conrad?" This is not unexpected, and the
answer is a prepared one, preconcerted under pressure between the
doctor and his conscience.

"I am going to ask you, Mrs. Fenwick, to do me a very great
kindness--don't say yes without hearing what it is--to ask you to
allow me to keep back all your husband says to me, and to take for
granted that he repeats to you all he feels certain of himself in
his own recollections."

"He _has_ told you more?"

"Yes, he has. But I am far from certain that anything he has said can
be relied upon--in his present state. Anyway, I should be very sorry
to take upon myself the responsibility of repeating it."

"He wishes you not to do so?"

"I think so. I should say so. Do you mind?"

"I won't press you to repeat anything you wish to keep back. But is
his mind easier? After all, that's the main point."

"That is my impression--much easier." He felt he was quite warranted
in saying this. "And I should say that if he does not himself tell
you again whatever he has been saying to me, it will only show how
uncertain and untrustworthy all his present recollections are. I
cannot tell you how strongly I feel that the best course is to leave
his mind to its own natural development. It may even be that the
partial and distorted images of events such as he has been speaking
of to me...."

"I mustn't ask you what they were?... Yes, go on."

"May again become dim and disappear altogether. If they are to do so,
nothing can be gained by dwelling on them now--still less by trying
to verify them--and least of all by using them as a stimulus to further
recollection."

"You think I had better not ask him questions?"

"Exactly. Leave him to himself. Keep his mind on other matters--healthy
occupations, surrounding life. I am certain of one thing--that the
effort to disinter the past is painful to him in itself, quite
independent of any painful associations in what he is endeavouring to
recall."

"I have seen that, too, in the slight recurrences he has had when
I was there. I quite agree with you about the best course to pursue.
Let us have patience and wait."

Of course, Vereker had not the remotest conception that the less
Fenwick r