anyone. Once more, which is it to be?"

Guest had been startled enough before by his friend's acts and ways; his
conduct now indorsed all prior thoughts of his state. For, as he rose
and moved toward the door as if to go, Stratton sprang to him and caught
his arm.

"I give in," he said huskily. "You are right. A little out of order.
Nerves, I suppose. But no doctor. There is no need. I'll--I'll do
everything you wish."

"Then you'll come abroad with me?"

"No. No, I cannot. I will not."

"Very well, then, I'm not going to see you grow worse before my eyes. I
shall do as I said."

"No, no, for Heaven's sake, don't be so mad as to do that. Look here,
Guest. I am ill, and weak, and low. I confess it, but I shall be
better here. It is as you say, overstrain. If you force me to go
somewhere else, I shall be ten times worse. I'll do anything you
advise, yield to you in every way, but I must stay here. The
institution, you know."

"Leave of absence for a sick man."

"I could not ask for it. Besides, my work will do me good. I should
mope and be miserable away."

"Not on the Swiss Alps."

"I tell you I will not go," said Stratton fiercely.

"Very well, I'll be satisfied with what you have promised. So just draw
up that blind and open the window wide."

Stratton hesitated.

"At once, man. Your promise. The air of Benchers' Inn is not
particularly good; but it's better than this mephitic odour of
stuffiness and gas. Why, Mal, old lad, I can smell the methylated
spirits in which you preserve your specimens quite plainly."

A faint ring of white showed round Stratton's eyes; but Guest did not
notice it, for his back was turned as he made for the window and let in
the light and air.

"That's better. Now go to your bedroom, and make yourself look more
like the Malcolm Stratton I know. I'll be off now. I shall be back at
a quarter to seven, and then we'll go out and have a bit of dinner
together."

"No, no; I could not go."

"What! I'm coming, I say, at a quarter to seven, and then we're going
out to dine."

"Very well," said Stratton meekly, and his friend left the chambers.

"Only touched a little," said Guest, as he went across the inn, put his
head in at the lodge, and nodded pleasantly to Mrs Brade, for she was
engaged with someone else.

"Better, Mrs Brade--nothing to mind. He'll soon be all right," he
continued to himself. "Poor old chap. Only wants a strong will over