g a little back and half
concealed by a darkness of drooping curtains.

"It is I--Evelyn Malling," said Malling.

The form at the window started.

"Mr. Malling!" the words came uncertainly. "What is it? Has--has anything
happened to--why do you want me at such an hour?"

"I chanced to be in your street and saw your light. I thought I would
give you a hail."

"Do you mean that you want to come in?"

After a short pause Malling answered, "Yes."

"I cannot let you in!" the voice above cried out lamentably.

Then the window was shut very softly.

* * * * *

Three days later Malling saw in the papers the news of the complete
breakdown of Marcus Harding. "Nervous prostration," was the name given by
the doctors to his malady, and it was announced that he had been ordered
to take a sea voyage, and was preparing to start for Australia with a
nurse.

Soon afterward Malling was walking in the afternoon down Pall Mall,
wondering deeply what would happen, whether the rector would ever start
on that voyage, when he came upon Professor Stepton sidling out of the
Athenaeum.

"Heard about Harding?" jerked out the professor.

"Yes. Has he sailed for Australia?"

"Dead. Died at half-past three o'clock this morning."

Malling turned cold.

"Poor fellow!" he said. "Poor fellow!"

The professor was drawing his plaid shawl round his shoulders. When it
was properly adjusted, he began to walk on. Malling kept almost
mechanically beside him.

"Did you expect this?" Malling asked.

"Well, I knew he was failing."

"And Chichester? Have you seen Chichester since his death?"

"No. Would you like to see him for me?"

Malling was deep in thought and did not answer.

"Do you think?" said the professor, "that Henry Chichester will be
greatly affected by this death?"

"Affected? Do you mean by grief?"

"Yes."

"I should suppose that to be highly improbable."

The professor shot a very sharp glance at Malling.

"I'm not sure that I agree with you," he observed dryly.

"Have you seen him lately?" asked Malling.

"Not quite recently. But if I had seen him, say, yesterday, I don't think
that would greatly affect my present dubiety. I should, however, like to
set that dubiety at rest. Are you busy to-day?"

"No."

"I am. Will you make a little investigation for me? Will you go and pay a
visit of condolence to Chichester on the death of his rector, and then
come round to the White House