s
house--and said so plainly. Carmina used all her powers of persuasion to
induce him to change his mind. Mrs. Gallilee (superior to the influence
of girlish curiosity) felt the importance of obtaining introductions
to Canadian society, and agreed with her niece. "I shall order the
carriage," she said, assuming a playfully despotic tone; "and, if you
don't go to the doctor--Carmina and I will pay him a visit in your
place."

Threatened, if he remained obstinate, with such a result as this, Ovid
had no alternative but to submit.

The one order that could be given to the coachman was to drive to the
village of Hendon, on the north-western side of London, and to trust to
inquiries for the rest of the way. Between Hendon and Willesden, there
are pastoral solitudes within an hour's drive of Oxford Street--wooded
lanes and wild-flowers, farms and cornfields, still unprofaned by the
devastating brickwork of the builder of modern times. Following winding
ways, under shadowing trees, the coachman made his last inquiry at a
roadside public-house. Hearing that Benjulia's place of abode was now
within half a mile of him, Ovid set forth on foot; leaving the driver
and the horses to take their ease at their inn.

He arrived at an iron gate, opening out of a lonely lane.

There, in the middle of a barren little field, he saw Benjulia's
house--a hideous square building of yellow brick, with a slate roof. A
low wall surrounded the place, having another iron gate at the entrance.
The enclosure within was as barren as the field without: not even an
attempt at flower-garden or kitchen-garden was visible. At a distance
of some two hundred yards from the house stood a second and smaller
building, with a skylight in the roof, which Ovid recognised (from
description) as the famous laboratory. Behind it was the hedge which
parted Benjulia's morsel of land from the land of his neighbour.
Here, the trees rose again, and the fields beyond were cultivated. No
dwellings, and no living creatures appeared. So near to London--and yet,
in its loneliness, so far away--there was something unnatural in the
solitude of the place.

Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating into
suspicion, Ovid approached the laboratory, without showing himself in
front of the house. No watch-dog barked; no servant appeared on the
look-out for a visitor. He was ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so
strongly had he been impressed by Carmina's observat