lip through his cigarette smoke as if expecting a reply,
but Philip only wet his lips, and remained silent.

"I got six months' leave of absence," he resumed, "and set out to see
the results of my experiments. First I went to Rio, and from there to
the place where the first couple had gone. As a consequence, five weeks
passed between the date of the last letters of my experimenters and
the day I joined them. Heavens, man! When I made it known that I wanted
them, where do you think they took me?"

He dropped his half-burned cigarette and his voice was husky as he
turned on Philip. "Where--where do you think they took me?" he demanded.

"God knows!" exclaimed Philip, tremulously. "Where?"

"To two freshly made graves just outside the village," groaned the
doctor. "I learned their story after a little. The girl, finding herself
useless there, had begun to teach the little children. I'm--I'm--going
to skip quickly over this." His voice broke to a whisper. "She was an
angel. The poor half-naked women told me that through my interpreter.
The children cried for her when she died. The men had brought flowering
trees from miles away to shade her grave--and the other. They had met,
as I had planned--the man and the girl, but it didn't turn out--my way.
It was a beautiful love, I believe, as pure and sweet as any in the
whole world. They say that they made the whole village happy, and that
each Sunday the girl and the man would sing to them beautiful songs
which they could not understand, but which made even the sick smile with
happiness. It was a low, villainous place for a village, half encircled
by a swampy river, and the terrible heat of the summer sun brought with
it a strange sickness. It was a deadly, fatal sickness, and many died,
and always there were the man and the girl, working and singing and
striving to do good through all the hours of day and night. What need
is there of saying more?" the doctor cried, his voice choking him. "What
need to say more--except that the man went first, and that the girl died
a week later, and that they were buried side by side under the mangum
trees? What need--unless it is to say that I am their murderer?"

"There have been many mistakes made in the name of science," said
Philip, clearing his throat. "This was one. Your theory was wrong."

"Yes, it was wrong," said the doctor, more gently. "I saved myself by
killing them. My theory died with them, and as fast as I could travel I
hur