rd before. "Be brave, my boy: I pledge you my word
as a gentleman that you shall succeed. Come to this light." Then he
seemed to be brushing my hair back with a few soft finger-touches, and I
remembered no more until I found myself on the rostrum listening to a
perfect din of applause that covered the close of my speech. If there
were any fire-eaters in the audience, they were Carolina aristocrats an
knew how to be polite, even to a fault.

I could not understand my success: I had vague inward inclination that
it was not mine alone. My identity seemed to have departed for the time.
I felt that some wonderful change had been wrought in me, and, youngster
though I was, I was amazed to think what might be the possibilities
of the mind.

* * * * *

For some time after this incident I tried to avoid Doctor Khayme, but as
he had charge of our rhetoric and French, as well as oratory, it was
impossible that we should not meet. In class he was reserved and
confined himself strictly to his duties, never by tone or look varying
his prescribed relation to the class; yet, though his outward gravity
and seeming indifference, I sometimes felt that he influenced me by a
power which no other man exerted over me.

One afternoon, returning from school to my quarters, I had just crossed
Meeting Street when I felt a light hand on my shoulder, and, turning, I
saw Doctor Khayme.

"Allow me to walk with you?" he asked.

He did not wait for an answer, but continued at once: "I have from your
father a letter in relation to your health. He says that he is uneasy
about you."

"I was never better in my life, sir," said I; "he has no reason to be
worried."

"I shall be glad to be able to relieve his mind," said the Doctor.

Now, I had wit enough to observe that the Doctor had not said "I am
glad," but "I shall be glad," and I asked, "Do _you_ think I am wrong
in health?"

"Not seriously," he replied; "but I think it will be well for you to see
the letter, and if you will be so good as to accompany me to my lodging,
I will show it to you."

Dr. Khayme's "lodging" proved to be a small cottage on one of the side
streets. There was a miniature garden in front: vines clambered over the
porch and were trained so that they almost hid the windows. An old
woman, who seemed to be housekeeper, cook, and everything that a general
servant may be, opened to his knock.

"I never carry a key," said the Doctor, seemingl