oward the blue-black vault of heaven. He listened intently. There was
a faint rustling of the few leaves left upon the oaks. The strange
voices that had always haunted him, the murmuring of river waters, or
whispering of maidens, or muttering of women were now clear.

Suddenly two white forms came gliding across the waters. The face of
one was that of a young girl. Golden hair clustered round the face and
over the fair brow. The lips smiled with mournful sweetness. The other
form seemed instinct with life. The face was that of a living,
breathing girl, soulful, passionate, her arms outstretched, her eyes
shining with a strange hopeful light.

Down, down, down he fell and sank through chill depths, falling
slowly, falling softly. The cool waters passed; he floated through
misty, shadowy space. An infinitude of silence enclosed him. Then a
dim and sullen roar of waters came to his ears, borne faintly, then
stronger, on a breeze that was not of earth. Anguish and despair
tinged that sodden wind. Weird and terrible came a cry. Steaming,
boiling, burning, rumbling chaos--a fearful rushing sullen water! Then
a flash of light like a falling star sped out of the dark clouds.

Lane found himself sitting up in bed, wet and shaking. The room was
dark. Some one was pounding on the door.

"Hello, Lane, are you there?" called a man's deep voice.

"Yes. What's wanted?" answered Lane.

The door opened wide, impelled by a powerful arm. Light from the
hallway streamed in over the burly form of a man in a heavy coat. He
stood in the doorway evidently trying to see.

"Sick in bed, hey?" he queried, with gruff kind voice.

"I guess I am. Who're you?"

"I'm Joshua Iden and I've come to pack you out of here," he said.

"No!" protested Lane, faintly.

"Your wife is downstairs in a taxi waiting," went on his strange
visitor.

"My wife!" whispered Lane.

"Yes. Mel Iden, my daughter. You've forgotten maybe, but she hasn't.
She learned to-day from Doctor Bronson how ill you were. And so she's
come to take you home."

Mel Iden! The name seemed a part of the past. This was only another
dream, thought Lane, and slowly fell back upon his bed.

"Say, aren't you able to sit up?" queried this visitor Lane took for
the spectre of a dream. He advanced into the room. He grasped Lane
with firm hand. And then Lane realized this was no nightmare. He began
to shake.

"Sit up?" he echoed, vaguely. "Sure I can.... You're Mel's father?"

"Yes