reciate."

"I will come with pleasure," Burton replied. "This afternoon, if you
could spare a few minutes?" the auctioneer suggested. "We might go
around and look at that Romney which has just been unearthed. I have
been to Christie's three times already to see it, but I should like to
take you. There's something about the face which I don't quite
understand. There is a landscape there, too, just sent up from some
country house, which I think would interest you."

Burton shook his head and moved feverishly towards his desk.

"I am going to work," he declared. "You have frightened me a little. I
must economize time. I shall write a novel, a novel of real life. I
must write it while I can still see the perfect truth."

CHAPTER XIII

PROOF POSITIVE

Burton did not get very far with his novel. About nine o'clock on the
same evening, Mr. Waddington, who was spending a quiet hour or two with
his books, was disturbed by a hasty knock at the door of his rooms. He
rose with some reluctance from his chair to answer the summons.

"Burton!" he exclaimed.

Burton came quickly in. He was paler, even, than usual, and there were
black shadows under his eyes. There was a change in his face,
indescribable but very apparent. His eyes had lost their dreamy look,
he glanced furtively about him, he had the air of a man who has
committed a crime and fears detection. His dress was not nearly so neat
as usual. Mr. Waddington, whose bachelor evening clothes--a loose
dinner-jacket and carefully tied black tie--were exactly as they should
be, glanced disparagingly at his visitor.

"My dear Burton," he gasped, "whatever is the matter with you? You seem
all knocked over."

Burton had thrown himself into a chair. He was contemplating the little
silver box which he had drawn from his pocket.

"I've got to take one of these," he muttered, "that's all. When I have
eaten it, there will be three left. I took the last one exactly two
months and four days ago. At the same rate, in just eight months and
sixteen days I shall be back again in bondage."

Mr. Waddington was very much interested. He was also a little
distressed.

"Are you quite sure," he asked, "of your symptoms?"

"Absolutely certain," Burton declared sadly. "I found myself this
evening trying to kiss my landlady's daughter, who is not in the least
good-looking. I was attracted by the programme of a music hall and had
hard work to keep from going there. A man asked me the w