he seemed to have been in Ferrier's living presence, under
conditions very unlike those of an ordinary dream. He could only remind
himself how easily the brain plays tricks upon a man in his state.

* * * * *

After breakfast, Sir James Chide was admitted. But Oliver was now in the
state of obsession, when the whole being, already conscious of a certain
degree of pain, dreads the approach of a much intenser form--hears it
as the footfall of a beast of prey, drawing nearer room by room, and
can think of nothing else but the suffering it foresees, and the
narcotic which those about him deal out to him so grudgingly, rousing in
him, the while, a secret and silent fury. He answered Sir James in
monosyllables, lying, dressed, upon his sofa, the neuralgic portion of
the spine packed and cushioned from any possible friction, his forehead
drawn and frowning.

Sir James shrank from asking him about himself. But it was useless to
talk of politics; Oliver made no response, and was evidently no longer
abreast even of the newspapers.

"Does your man read you the _Times_?" asked Sir James, noticing that it
lay unopened beside him.

Oliver nodded. "There was a dreadful being my mother found a fortnight
ago. I got rid of him."

He had evidently not strength to be more explicit. But Sir James had
heard from Lady Lucy of the failure of her secretarial attempt.

"I hear they talk of moving you for the winter."

"They talk of it. I shall oppose it."

"I hope not!--for Lady Lucy's sake. She is so hopeful about it, and she
is not fit herself to spend the winter in England."

"My mother must go," said Oliver, closing his eyes.

"She will never leave you."

Marsham made no reply; then, without closing his eyes again, he said,
between his teeth: "What is the use of going from one hell to another
hell--through a third--which is the worst of all?"

"You dread the journey?" said Sir James, gently. "But there are ways and
means."

"No!" Oliver's voice was sudden and loud. "There are none!--that make
any difference."

Sir James was left perplexed, cudgelling his brains as to what to
attempt next. It was Marsham, however, who broke the silence. With his
dimmed sight he looked, at last, intently, at his companion.

"Is--is Miss Mallory still at Beechcote?"

Sir James moved involuntarily.

"Yes, certainly."

"You see a great deal of her?"

"I do--I--" Sir James cleared his throat a little--I look