t
might have brought back the dead, but he has done nothing but hop
and dance and kick with a solemn silent face. It looks as if his legs
belonged to some one else or were possessed by devils. He has never
spoken to us from that time to this."

"Where is he now?" I said, getting up in some agitation. "We ought not
to leave him alone."

"Doctor Colman is with him," said Miss Chadd calmly. "They are in the
garden. Doctor Colman thought the air would do him good. And he can
scarcely go into the street."

Basil and I walked rapidly to the window which looked out on the garden.
It was a small and somewhat smug suburban garden; the flower beds a
little too neat and like the pattern of a coloured carpet; but on this
shining and opulent summer day even they had the exuberance of something
natural, I had almost said tropical. In the middle of a bright and
verdant but painfully circular lawn stood two figures. One of them was a
small, sharp-looking man with black whiskers and a very polished hat (I
presume Dr Colman), who was talking very quietly and clearly, yet with
a nervous twitch, as it were, in his face. The other was our old friend,
listening with his old forbearing expression and owlish eyes, the strong
sunlight gleaming on his glasses as the lamplight had gleamed the
night before, when the boisterous Basil had rallied him on his studious
decorum. But for one thing the figure of this morning might have been
the identical figure of last night. That one thing was that while the
face listened reposefully the legs were industriously dancing like the
legs of a marionette. The neat flowers and the sunny glitter of
the garden lent an indescribable sharpness and incredibility to
the prodigy--the prodigy of the head of a hermit and the legs of a
harlequin. For miracles should always happen in broad daylight. The
night makes them credible and therefore commonplace.

The second sister had by this time entered the room and came somewhat
drearily to the window.

"You know, Adelaide," she said, "that Mr Bingham from the Museum is
coming again at three."

"I know," said Adelaide Chadd bitterly. "I suppose we shall have to tell
him about this. I thought that no good fortune would ever come easily to
us."

Grant suddenly turned round. "What do you mean?" he said. "What will you
have to tell Mr Bingham?"

"You know what I shall have to tell him," said the professor's sister,
almost fiercely. "I don't know that we need give it it