'Do you believe in him? Your wife mentioned him. Is he clever?'

'Oh, he's new,' said Lawford; 'old James was our doctor. He--he
killed my father.' He laughed out shamefacedly.

'A sound, lovable man,' said Mr Bethany, 'one of the kindest men
I ever knew; and a very old friend of mine.'

And suddenly the dark face turned with a shudder from the fire,
and spoke in a low trembling voice. 'Only one thing--only one
thing--my sanity, my sanity. If once I forget, who will believe
me?' He thrust his long lean fingers beneath his coat. 'And mad,'
he added; 'I would sooner die.'

Mr Bethany deliberately adjusted his spectacles. 'May I, may I
experiment?' he said boldly. There came a tap on the door.

'Bless me,' said the vicar, taking out his watch, 'it is a
quarter to twelve. 'Yes, yes, Mrs Lawford,' he trotted round to
the door. 'We are beginning to see light--a ray!'

'But I--I can see in the dark,' whispered Lawford, as if at a
cue, turning with an inscrutable smile to the fire.

The vicar came again, wrapped up in a little tight grey
great-coat, and a white silk muffler. He looked up unflinching
into Lawford's face, and tears stood in his eyes. 'Patience,
patience, my dear fellow,' he repeated gravely, squeezing his
hand. 'And rest, complete rest, is imperative. Just till the