prompted its utterance appalled him.

VI.

No letter came to Father Murchison from the Professor during the next
few days, and this silence reassured him, for it seemed to betoken that
all was well. The day of the lecture dawned, and passed. On the
following morning, the Father eagerly opened the Times, and scanned its
pages to see if there were any report of the great meeting of scientific
men which Guildea had addressed. He glanced up and down the columns with
anxious eyes, then suddenly his hands stiffened as they held the sheets.
He had come upon the following paragraph:

"We regret to announce that Professor Frederic Guildea was suddenly
seized with severe illness yesterday evening while addressing a
scientific meeting in Paris. It was observed that he looked very
pale and nervous when he rose to his feet. Nevertheless, he spoke in
French fluently for about a quarter of an hour. Then he appeared to
become uneasy. He faltered and glanced about like a man
apprehensive, or in severe distress. He even stopped once or twice,
and seemed unable to go on, to remember what he wished to say. But,
pulling himself together with an obvious effort, he continued to
address the audience. Suddenly, however, he paused again, edged
furtively along the platform, as if pursued by something which he
feared, struck out with his hands, uttered a loud, harsh cry and
fainted. The sensation in the hall was indescribable. People rose
from their seats. Women screamed, and, for a moment, there was a
veritable panic. It is feared that the Professor's mind must have
temporarily given way owing to overwork. We understand that he will
return to England as soon as possible, and we sincerely hope that
necessary rest and quiet will soon have the desired effect, and that
he will be completely restored to health and enabled to prosecute
further the investigations which have already so benefited the
world."

The Father dropped the paper, hurried out into Bird Street, sent a wire
of enquiry to Paris, and received the same day the following reply:
"Returning to-morrow. Please call evening. Guildea." On that evening the
Father called in Hyde Park Place, was at once admitted, and found
Guildea sitting by the fire in the library, ghastly pale, with a heavy
rug over his knees. He looked like a man emaciated by a long and severe
illness, and in his wide open eyes there wa