"Must you go? Is enjoyment nothing to you?"

"Ah! you have killed all that for me," says she. This parting shaft
she hurls at him--_malice prepense_. It is effectual. By it she
murders sleep as thoroughly as ever did Macbeth. The professor
spends the remainder of the night pacing up and down his rooms.



CHAPTER XIII.



"Through thick and thin, both over bank and bush,
In hopes her to attain by hook or crook."



"You will begin to think me a fixture," says Hardinge, with a
somewhat embarrassed laugh, flinging himself into an armchair.

"You know you are always welcome," says the professor gently, if
somewhat absently.

It is next morning, and he looks decidedly the worse for his
sleeplessness. His face seems really old, his eyes are sunk in his
head. The breakfast lying untouched upon the table tells its own
tale.

"Dissipation doesn't agree with you," says Hardinge with a faint