"You mistake,"--he answered--"There's no madness, though there is
certainly genius. He's of the same mind as he was when I knew him at
college. There never was a saner or more brilliant scholar."

"It's curious you should meet him again like this,"--said Catherine-
-"But surely, father, he's not as old as you are?"

"He's about three and a half years younger--that's all."

Dr. Brayle laughed.

"I don't believe it for a moment!" he said--"I think he's playing a
part. He's probably not the man you knew at Oxford at all."

We were then going to our cabins for the night, and Mr. Harland
paused as these words were said and faced us.

"He IS the man!"--he said, emphatically--"I had my doubts of him at
first, but I was wrong. As for 'playing a part,' that would be
impossible to him. He is absolutely truthful--almost to the verge of
cruelty!" A curious expression came into his eyes, as of hidden
fear. "In one way I am glad to have met him again--in another I am
sorry. For he is a disturber of the comfortable peace of
conventions. You"--here he regarded me suddenly, as if he had almost
forgotten my presence--"will like him. You have many ideas in common
and will be sure to get on well together. As for me, I am his direct
opposite,--the two poles are not wider apart than we are in our
feelings, sentiments and beliefs." He paused, seeming to be troubled
by the passing cloud of some painful thought--then he went on--
"There is one thing I should perhaps explain, especially to you,