than a child, and placed him in the same big armchair on
which he had sunk the fatal morning that the fumes from the candles had
overcome him.

Doctor Q drew out the bottle and, telling Zita to bring a glass of
water, measured out a few drops of the antidote, pouring them into the
glass. Then he moved over to Brent and tried to get him to drink it. For
a long time Brent merely clenched his teeth, but, once he was induced to
taste the mixture, he drank it eagerly.

For ages, it seemed to those watching, Brent sat as before, vacantly
gazing straight ahead of him--so long, in fact, that a terrible fear
entered Eva's heart that, perhaps, after all, the antidote would fail
and that her father would remain without reason until the day of his
death.

Then slowly a change was noticeable in his eyes, and all leaned forward
with overpowering intentness. What they were watching was like a
miracle. Slowly, very slowly, they saw the soul creep back into those
poor, mad eyes.

Brent had been staring directly at his daughter as she watched him
anxiously. Now a puzzled look came over his face and, raising a hand, he
rubbed his forehead.

Then a wonderful light seemed to shine from his eyes and he held out his
arms to Eva.

With a sob of excited happiness Eva rushed to embrace him.

As Locke stood behind him, Zita and Doctor Q walked to the other end of
the room, turning sidewise to the group.

Suddenly Brent turned his eyes away from Eva and noticed Doctor Q for
the first time.

"Who is that?" he asked Eva.

"Why, father, that is--"

At the sound of voices Doctor Q had turned around.

"You!" gasped Brent, as he sank back into his chair.

The look on his face was strange, perhaps half fear, half shame.

Doctor Q came no nearer for a moment, while Eva hastened to explain what
had happened. Then unsteadily Brent rose and walked over to the doctor.

"You are alive!" he exclaimed. "You have come again into my life so that
at last I can make restitution. My daughter has explained to me all that
you have suffered. Believe me it was through my own weakness. It seems
incredible that any man could be so infamous, so utterly without moral
scruples, as was Balcom. I believed the villain implicitly. That is, and
can be, my only excuse."

The doctor placed his hand on Brent's shoulder.

"I can understand only too well," he remarked, "for I, too, believed in
Balcom. You were a reticent man and so my dealings were all with him.