He said he had not been sick. He maintained that he was quite well
physically. And on his finger was the ring of which the girl had
spoken. Its value must have been incalculable. Wherever he moved
his hand its blue flame cut a path through the darkness. But he
said nothing about it. I waited and wondered and was afraid. It
was not until our walk under the elm trees that it was mentioned.

It was a full moon; a wonderful, mellow moon of summer. He stopped
suddenly and gazed up at the orb above us. It seemed to me that
his mind was wandering, he held me closely--tenderly. He was not
at all like Harry. There was a missing of self, of individuality;
he spoke in abstractions.

"The maiden of the moonbeams?" he said. "What can it mean?"

And then I asked him. He has already told of our conversation. It
was the ring of which the Nervina had told me. It had to do with
the Blind Spot--the great secret that had taken Dr. Holcomb. He
would not give it to me. I worked hard, for even then I was not
afraid of it. Something told me--I must do it to save him. It was
weird, and something I could not understand--but I must do it for
Harry.

I failed. Though he was broken in every visible way there was one
thing as strong as ever--his honour. He was not afraid; he had
been the same in his boyhood. When we parted that night he kissed
me. I shall never forget how long he looked into my eyes, nor his
sadness. That is all. The next morning he left for San Francisco.