y to you which I think you ought to know."

We took our departure at once. Mrs. Eyrecourt (leaving some of the color
of her nose among the flowers) patted me encouragingly with her fan, and
told the doctor that he was forgiven, on the understanding that he would
"never do it again." In five minutes more we were in Dr. Wybrow's study.

My watch tells me that I cannot hope to finish this letter by post time.
Accept what I have written thus far--and be assured that the conclusion
of my report shall follow a day later.

II.

The doctor began cautiously. "Winterfield is not a very common name," he
said. "But it may not be amiss, Father Benwell, to discover, if we can,
whether _your_ Winterfield is the man of whom I am in search. Do you
only know him by name? or are you a friend of his?"

I answered, of course, that I was a friend.

Dr. Wybrow went on. "Will you pardon me if I venture on an indiscreet
question? When you are acquainted with the circumstances, I am sure you
will understand and excuse me. Are you aware of any--what shall I call
it?--any romantic incident in Mr. Winterfield's past life?"

This time--feeling myself, in all probability, on the brink of
discovery--I was careful to preserve my composure. I said, quietly:
"Some such incident as you describe has occurred in Mr. Winterfield's
past life." There I stopped discreetly, and looked as if I knew all
about it.

The doctor showed no curiosity to hear more. "My object," he went on,
"was merely to be reasonably sure that I was speaking to the right
person, in speaking to you. I may now tell you that I have no personal
interest in trying to discover Mr. Winterfield; I only act as the
representative of an old friend of mine. He is the proprietor of a
private asylum at Sandsworth--a man whose integrity is beyond dispute,
or he would not be my friend. You understand my motive in saying this?"

Proprietors of private asylums are, in these days, the objects of very
general distrust in England. I understood the doctor's motive perfectly.

He proceeded. "Yesterday evening, my friend called upon me, and said
that he had a remarkable case in his house, which he believed would
interest me. The person to whom he alluded was a French boy, whose
mental powers had been imperfectly developed from his childhood. The
mischief had been aggravated, when he was about thirteen years old, by a
serious fright. When he was placed in my asylum, he was not idiotic, and
not danger