d to stand by the open window. He never
touched me, though. He rented the whole house. Nothing would induce him
to leave it."

"Did he occupy--these very rooms?"

"No. He had the little room on the top floor, the square one just under
the roof. He preferred it because it was dark. These rooms were too near
the ground, and he was afraid people might see him through the windows.
A crowd had been known to follow him up to the very door, and then stand
below the windows in the hope of catching a glimpse of his face."

"But there were hospitals."

"He wouldn't go near one, and they didn't like to force him. You know,
they say it's _not_ contagious, so there was nothing to prevent his
staying here if he wanted to. He spent all his time reading medical
books, about drugs and so on. His head and face were something
appalling, just like a lion's."

I held up my hand to arrest further description.

"He was a burden to the world, and he knew it. One night I suppose he
realized it too keenly to wish to live. He had the free use of
drugs--and in the morning he was found dead on the floor. Two years ago,
that was, and they said then he had still several years to live."

"Then, in Heaven's name!" I cried, unable to bear the suspense any
longer, "tell me what it was he had, and be quick about it."

"I thought you knew!" he exclaimed, with genuine surprise. "I thought
you knew!"

He leaned forward and our eyes met. In a scarcely audible whisper I
caught the words his lip seemed almost afraid to utter:

"He was a leper!"

[A] Courtesy of Laurence J. Gomme.

II

NUMBER 13

MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES

Among the towns of Jutland, Viborg justly holds a high place. It is the
seat of a bishopric; it has a handsome but almost entirely new
cathedral, a charming garden, a lake of great beauty, and many storks.
Near it is Hald, accounted one of the prettiest things in Denmark, and
hard by is Finderup, where Marsk Stig murdered King Erik Glipping on St.
Cecilia's Day, in the year 1286. Fifty-six blows of square-headed iron
maces were traced on Erik's skull when his tomb was opened in the
seventeenth century. But I am not writing a guide-book.

There are good hotels in Viborg--Preisler's and the Phoenix are all that
can be desired. But my cousin whose experiences I have to tell you now,
went to the Golden Lion the first time that he visited Viborg. He has
not been there since, and the following pages will perhaps explain the