a little on the pillow; his eyelids were wide open. Changed as to
position and as to one of the features, the face was otherwise fearfully
and wonderfully unaltered. The dead paleness and the dead quiet were on
it still.

One glance showed Arthur this--one glance before he flew breathlessly to
the door and alarmed the house.

The man whom the landlord called "Ben" was the first to appear on the
stairs. In three words Arthur told him what had happened, and sent him
for the nearest doctor.

I, who tell you this story, was then staying with a medical friend of
mine, in practice at Doncaster, taking care of his patients for him
during his absence in London; and I, for the time being, was the nearest
doctor. They had sent for me from the inn when the stranger was taken
ill in the afternoon, but I was not at home, and medical assistance
was sought for elsewhere. When the man from The Two Robins rang the
night-bell, I was just thinking of going to bed. Naturally enough, I did
not believe a word of his story about "a dead man who had come to life
again." However, I put on my hat, armed myself with one or two bottles
of restorative medicine, and ran to the inn, expecting to find nothing
more remarkable, when I got there, than a patient in a fit.

My surprise at finding that the man had spoken the literal truth was
almost, if not quite, equaled by my astonishment at finding myself face
to face with Arthur Holliday as soon as I entered the bedroom. It was
no time then for giving or seeking explanations. We just shook hands
amazedly, and then I ordered everybody but Arthur out of the room, and
hurried to the man on the bed.

The kitchen fire had not been long out. There was plenty of hot water
in the boiler, and plenty of flannel to be had. With these, with my
medicines, and with such help as Arthur could render under my direction,
I dragged the man literally out of the jaws of death. In less than an
hour from the time when I had been called in, he was alive and talking
in the bed on which he had been laid out to wait for the coroner's
inquest.

You will naturally ask me what had been the matter with him, and I might
treat you, in reply, to a long theory, plentifully sprinkled with what
the children call hard words. I prefer telling you that, in this case,
cause and effect could not be satisfactorily joined together by any
theory whatever. There are mysteries in life and the conditions of it
which human science has not fath