nd in the silver tray....

Maggie suddenly sprang to her feet, slipped round the table, and
caught him by the arm.

"Laurie, Laurie, wake up.... What's the matter?"

A long shudder passed through him. He sat up, with a bewildered look.

"Eh? What is it?" he said. "Was I asleep?"

He rubbed his hands over his eyes and looked round.

"What is it, Maggie? Was I asleep?"

Was the boy acting? Surely it was good acting! Maggie threw herself
down on her knees by the chair.

"Laurie! Laurie! I beg you not to go to see Mr. Vincent. It's bad for
you.... I do wish you wouldn't."

He still blinked at her a moment.

"I don't understand. What do you mean, Maggie?"

She stood up, ashamed of her impulsiveness.

"Only I wish you wouldn't go and see that man. Laurie, please don't."

He stood up too, stretching. Every sign of nervousness seemed gone.

"Not see Mr. Vincent? Nonsense; of course I shall. You don't
understand, Maggie."

_Chapter VII_

I

"What a relief," sighed Mrs. Stapleton. "I thought we had lost him."

The three were sitting once again in Lady Laura's drawing-room soon
after lunch. Mr. Vincent had just looked in with Laurie's note to give
the news. It was a heavy fog outside, woolly in texture and orange in
color, and the tall windows seemed opaque in the lamplight; the room,
by contrast, appeared a safe and pleasant refuge from the reek and
stinging vapor of the street.

Mrs. Stapleton had been lunching with her friend. The Colonel had
returned for Christmas, so his wife's duties had recalled her for the
present from those spiritual conversations which she had enjoyed in
the autumn. It was such a refreshment, she had said with a patient
smile, to slip away sometimes into the purer atmosphere.

Mr. Vincent folded the letter and restored it to his pocket.

"We must be careful with him," he said. "He is extraordinarily
sensitive. I almost wish he were not so developed. Temperaments like
his are apt to be thrown off their balance."

Lady Laura was silent.

For herself she was not perfectly happy. She had lately come across
one or two rather deplorable cases. A very promising girl, daughter of
a publican in the suburbs, had developed the same kind of powers, and
the end of it all had been rather a dreadful scene in Baker Street.
She was now in an asylum. A friend of her own, too, had lately taken
to lecturing against Christianity in rather painful terms. Lady Laura
wondered why people cou