dy on his return
journey. I believe Mrs. Temple herself felt as I did in the matter,
though she said nothing.

When he returned we were all at Royston, whither Mrs. Temple had taken
Constance to be under Dr. Dobie's care. We found John's physical
appearance changed for the worse. His pallor was as remarkable as
before, but he was visibly thinner; and his strange mental abstraction
and moodiness seemed little if any abated. At first, indeed, he greeted
Constance kindly or even affectionately. She had been in a terrible
state of anxiety as to the attitude he would assume towards her, and
this mental strain affected prejudicially her very delicate bodily
condition. His kindness, of an ordinary enough nature indeed, seemed
to her yearning heart a miracle of condescending love, and she was
transported with the idea that his affection to her, once so sincere,
was indeed returning. But I grieve to say that his manner thawed only
for a very short time, and ere long he relapsed into an attitude of
complete indifference. It was as if his real, true, honest, and loving
character had made one more vigorous effort to assert itself,--as
though it had for a moment broken through the hard and selfish crust
that was forming around him; but the blighting influence which was at
work proved seemingly too strong for him to struggle against, and
riveted its chains again upon him with a weight heavier than before.
That there was some malefic influence, mental or physical, thus working
on him, no one who had known him before could for a moment doubt. But
while Mrs. Temple and I readily admitted this much, we were entirely
unable even to form a conjecture as to its nature. It is true that
Mrs. Temple's fancy suggested that Constance had some rival in his
affections; but we rejected such a theory almost before it was proposed,
feeling that it was inherently improbable, and that, had it been true,
we could not have remained entirely unaware of the circumstances which
had conduced to such a state of things. It was this inexplicable nature
of my brother's affliction that added immeasurably to our grief. If we
could only have ascertained its cause we might have combated it; but
as it was, we were fighting in the dark, as against some enemy who was
assaulting us from an obscurity so thick that we could not see his form.
Of any mental trouble we thus knew nothing, nor could we say that my
brother was suffering from any definite physical ailment, excep