trange and startling as any
that has happened to living man, for what I had seen and heard opened
up a hundred theories, each more remarkable and tragic than the other,
until I stood utterly dumfounded and aghast.

CHAPTER XIX.

JEVONS GROWS MYSTERIOUS.

On coming down to breakfast on the following morning I found Mrs.
Mivart awaiting me alone. The old lady apologised for Mary's
non-appearance, saying that it was her habit to have her tea in her
room, but that she sent me a message of farewell.

Had it been at all possible I would have left by a later train, for I
was extremely anxious to watch her demeanour after last night's
clandestine meeting, but with such a crowd of patients awaiting me it
was imperative to leave by the first train. Even that would not bring
me to King's Cross before nearly eleven o'clock.

"Well now, doctor," Mrs. Mivart commenced rather anxiously when we
were seated, and she had handed me my coffee. "You saw Mary last
night, and had an opportunity of speaking with her. What is your
opinion? Don't hesitate to tell me frankly, for I consider that it is
my duty to face the worst."

"Really!" I exclaimed, looking straight at her after a moment's
reflection. "To speak candidly I failed to detect anything radically
wrong in your daughter's demeanour."

"But didn't you notice, doctor, how extremely nervous she is; how in
her eyes there is a haunting, suspicious look, and how blank is her
mind upon every other subject but the great calamity that has
befallen her?"

"I must really confess that these things were not apparent to me," I
answered. "I watched her carefully, but beyond the facts that she is
greatly unnerved by the sad affair and that she is mourning deeply for
her dead husband, I can discover nothing abnormal."

"You are not of opinion, then, that her mind is growing unbalanced by
the strain?"

"Not in the least," I reassured her. "The symptoms she betrays are but
natural in a woman of her nervous, highly-strung temperament."

"But she unfortunately grieves too much," remarked the old lady with a
sigh. "His name is upon her lips at every hour. I've tried to distract
her and urged her to accompany me abroad for a time, but all to no
purpose. She won't hear of it."

I alone knew the reason of her refusal. In conspiracy with her "dead"
husband it was impossible to be apart from him for long together. The
undue accentuation of her daughter's feigned grief had alarmed the ol