"I never properly understood," said Isbister, "what it was brought this
on. He told me something about overstudy. I've often been curious."

"He was a man of considerable gifts, but spasmodic, emotional. He
had grave domestic troubles, divorced his wife, in fact, and it was
as a relief from that, I think, that he took up politics of the
rabid sort. He was a fanatical Radical--a Socialist--or typical
Liberal, as they used to call themselves, of the advanced school.
Energetic--flighty--undisciplined. Overwork upon a controversy did this
for him. I remember the pamphlet he wrote--a curious production. Wild,
whirling stuff. There were one or two prophecies. Some of them are
already exploded, some of them are established facts. But for the most
part to read such a thesis is to realise how full the world is of
unanticipated things. He will have much to learn, much to unlearn, when
he wakes. If ever a waking comes."

"I'd give anything to be there," said Isbister, "just to hear what he
would say to it all."

"So would I," said Warming. "Aye! so would I," with an old man's sudden
turn to self pity. "But I shall never see him wake."

He stood looking thoughtfully at the waxen figure. "He will never awake,"
he said at last. He sighed. "He will never awake again."




CHAPTER III