at once ascended to his own apartment. It was on the fourth floor.
There were many other rooms on this floor, and for a moment he could not
remember which was his own door. At last, however, he felt sure it was
the third one from the stairs, and, going to it, gave a short knock in
case of mistake, and, hearing no reply, opened it and went in.

The first glance assured him that his recollection had played him false,
and that he was in the wrong room. The second, that he was in that of
Mr. Mansell. The sight of the small model of a delicate and intricate
machine that stood in full view on a table before him would have been
sufficient assurance of this fact, even if the inventor himself had been
absent. But he was there. Seated at a table, with his back to the door,
and his head bowed forward on his arms, he presented such a picture of
misery or despair, that Mr. Byrd felt his sympathies touched in spite of
himself, and hastily stumbling backward, was about to confusedly
withdraw, when a doubt struck him as to the condition of the deathly,
still, and somewhat pallid figure before him, and, stepping hurriedly
forward, he spoke the young man's name, and, failing to elicit a
response, laid his hand on his shoulder, with an apology for disturbing
him, and an inquiry as to how he felt.

The touch acted where the voice had failed. Leaping from his partly
recumbent position, Craik Mansell faced the intruder with indignant
inquiry written in every line of his white and determined face.

"To what do I owe this intrusion?" he cried, his nostrils expanding and
contracting with an anger that proved the violence of his nature when
aroused.

"First, to my carelessness," responded Mr. Byrd; "and, secondly----" But
there he paused, for the first time in his life, perhaps, absolutely
robbed of speech. His eye had fallen upon a picture that the other held
clutched in his vigorous right hand. It was a photograph of Imogene
Dare, and it was made conspicuous by two heavy black lines which had
been relentlessy drawn across the face in the form of a cross.
"Secondly," he went on, after a moment, resolutely tearing his gaze away
from this startling and suggestive object, "to my fears. I thought you
looked ill, and could not forbear making an effort to reassure myself
that all was right."

"Thank you," ejaculated the other, in a heavy weariful tone. "I am
perfectly well." And with a short bow he partially turned his back, with
a distinct int