me--that I was the victim of a delusion, as people say. It is no
delusion. In the perfect tranquillity of this place the voice has come
back to me. While we were at table I heard it again--behind me, in the
library. I heard it still, when the door was shut. I ran up here to try
if it would follow me into the open air. It _has_ followed me. We may as
well go down again into the hall. I know now that there is no escaping
from it. My dear old home has become horrible to me. Do you mind
returning to London tomorrow?"

What I felt and feared in this miserable state of things matters little.
The one chance I could see for Romayne was to obtain the best medical
advice. I sincerely encouraged his idea of going back to London the next
day.

We had sat together by the hall fire for about ten minutes, when he took
out his handkerchief, and wiped away the perspiration from his forehead,
drawing a deep breath of relief. "It has gone!" he said faintly.

"When you hear the boy's voice," I asked, "do you hear it continuously?"

"No, at intervals; sometimes longer, sometimes shorter."

"And thus far, it comes to you suddenly, and leaves you suddenly?"

"Yes."

"Do my questions annoy you?"

"I make no complaint," he said sadly. "You can see for yourself--I
patiently suffer the punishment that I have deserved."