life. Poetry expresses the inmost soul of man, and science can never
take its place. Religion apart, what does the present age of science
need more than poetry? What would benefit a hard-headed, matter-of-fact
man of science like Professor Gazen if not the arts of the sublime and
beautiful--if not a poetical companion--such as Miss Carmichael?

* * * * *

Thus, after a long rambling meditation, I had come back to my bachelor
friend and the fair American.

"Yes," thought I, rather uneasily, I must confess, for I could not
disguise from myself the fact that I was taken with her, "Gazen and she
are not an ill-matched pair by any means. They are alike in many
respects, and a contrast in others. They have common ground in their
love and aptitude for science; yet each has something which the other
lacks. She has poetry and sentiment for instance, but he--well, I'm
afraid that if he ever had any it has all evaporated by this time. On
the other hand, she"--but it puzzled me to think of any good quality
that Miss Carmichael did not possess, and I began to consider that she
would be throwing herself away upon him. "They seem to get on well
together, however--monstrously well. I wonder what star he is picking to
pieces now?"

I listened for the sound of their voices, but not a murmur passed
through the curtain which I had drawn across the entrance to the smoking
cabin. Only a peculiar tremor from the mysterious engines broke the
utter stillness. Was I growing deaf? I snapped my fingers to reassure
myself, and the sound startled me like the crack of a pistol. Evidently
my sense of hearing had become abnormally acute. My mind, too, was