looking out on
to the street, with a further door communicating, it seemed, with
a bedroom beyond. Fortunately they had met no one on the way.

"Here we are," said Father Jervis cheerfully. "Now, Monsignor, do
you know where you are?"

The other shook his head dolorously.

"Come, come; this is your own room. Look at your writing-table,
Monsignor; where you sit every day."

The other looked at it eagerly and yet vaguely. A half-written
letter, certainly in his own handwriting, lay there on the
blotting-pad, but the name of his correspondent meant nothing to
him; nor did the few words which he read. He looked round the
room--at the bookcases, the curtains, the _prie-Dieu_ . . . And
again terror seized him.

"I know nothing, father . . . nothing at all. It's all new! For
God's sake! . . ."

"Quietly then, Monsignor. It's all perfectly right. . . . Now I'm
going to leave you for ten minutes, to arrange about the places
at lunch. You'd better lock your door and admit no one. Just look
round the rooms when I'm gone----Ah!"

Father Jervis broke off suddenly and darted at an arm-chair, where
a book lay face downwards on the seat. He snatched up the book,
glanced at the pages, looked at the title, and laughed aloud.

"I knew it," he said; "I was certain of it. You've got hold of
Manners' History, Look! you're at the very page."

He held it up for the other to see. Monsignor looked at it, still
only half comprehending, and just noticing that the paper had a
peculiar look, and saw that the running dates at the top of the
pages contained the years 1904-1912. The priest shook the book in
gentle triumph. A sheet of paper fell out of it, which he picked
up and glanced at. Then he laughed again.

"See," he said, "you've been making notes of the very period--no
doubt in order to be able to talk to Manners. That's the time he
knows more about than any living soul. He calls it the 'crest of
the wave,' you know. Everything dated from then, in his opinion."

"I don't understand a word----"

"See here, Monsignor," interrupted the priest in mild glee,
"here's a subject to talk about at lunch. Just get Manners on to
it, and you'll have no trouble. He loves lecturing; and he talks
just like a history-book. Tell him you've been reading his
History and want a bird's-eye view."

Monsignor started.

"Why, yes," he said, "and that'll tell me the facts, too."

"Excellent. Now, Monsignor, I must go. Just look round the rooms
wel