'I shall look up my friend's habitation in the morning,' said the
student, as he went over to collect his books. 'The third picture from
the fireplace; I shall not forget.' He picked up the books one by one,
commenting on them as he lifted them. '_Conic Sections_ he does not
mind, nor _Cycloidal Oscillations_, nor the _Principia_, nor
_Quaternions_, nor _Thermodynamics_. Now for the book that fetched him!'
Malcolmson took it up and looked at it. As he did so he started, and a
sudden pallor overspread his face. He looked round uneasily and shivered
slightly, as he murmured to himself:

'The Bible my mother gave me! What an odd coincidence.' He sat down to
work again, and the rats in the wainscot renewed their gambols. They did
not disturb him, however; somehow their presence gave him a sense of
companionship. But he could not attend to his work, and after striving
to master the subject on which he was engaged gave it up in despair, and
went to bed as the first streak of dawn stole in through the eastern
window.

He slept heavily but uneasily, and dreamed much; and when Mrs. Dempster
woke him late in the morning he seemed ill at ease, and for a few
minutes did not seem to realise exactly where he was. His first request
rather surprised the servant.

'Mrs. Dempster, when I am out to-day I wish you would get the steps and
dust or wash those pictures--specially that one the third from the
fireplace--I want to see what they are.'

Late in the afternoon Malcolmson worked at his books in the shaded walk,
and the cheerfulness of the previous day came back to him as the day