attack of melancholia in her life."

"Telepathy, induction, but in the reverse order of your solution of
the matter. Your calling her by her grandmother's name was natural
enough in your condition--you have acknowledged that your melancholia
had already taken possession of you. Miss Penrhyn had, for some reason
best known to her sleeping self, got herself up to look like her
grandmother, and, she being young and pretty, her semi-lunatic
observer addressed her as Sionèd instead of heaven knows what
jaw-breaking Welsh title. Then you went ahead and had the vision,
which was quite in keeping with your general lunar condition. I
believe you said there was a moon."

Dartmouth frowned. "I asked you not to chaff," he said. "What is more,
I have had melancholia all my life, but delusion never before. But let
that pass. The impulse to write--what do you say to that?"

"The impulse was due to the genius which you have undoubtedly
inherited from your grandfather. The inability to put your ideas
into verbal form is due to amnesic aphasia. The portion of your brain
through which your genius should find speech is either temporarily
paralyzed or else deficient in composition. You had better go up and
see Jackson. He can cure you if anyone can."

"Do you believe I can be cured?"

"You can certainly make the attempt."

Dartmouth threw back his head and covered his face with his hands. "O
God!" he exclaimed, "if you knew the agony of the longing to feel the