the cause of Bagley's sudden illness should not somehow steal into the
knowledge of the servants at least, and it was better that all should be
done as quietly as possible. The day seemed to me a very long one. I had
to spend a certain part of it with Roland, which was a terrible ordeal
for me, for what could I say to the boy? The improvement continued, but
he was still in a very precarious state, and the trembling vehemence with
which he turned to me when his mother left the room filled me with alarm.
"Father?" he said quietly. "Yes, my boy, I am giving my best attention to
it; all is being done that I can do. I have not come to any
conclusion--yet. I am neglecting nothing you said," I cried. What I could
not do was to give his active mind any encouragement to dwell upon the
mystery. It was a hard predicament, for some satisfaction had to be given
him. He looked at me very wistfully, with the great blue eyes which shone
so large and brilliant out of his white and worn face. "You must trust
me," I said. "Yes, father. Father understands," he said to himself, as if
to soothe some inward doubt. I left him as soon as I could. He was about
the most precious thing I had on earth, and his health my first thought;
but yet somehow, in the excitement of this other subject, I put that
aside, and preferred not to dwell upon Roland, which was the most curious
part of it all.

That night at eleven I met Simson at the gate. He had come by train, and
I let him in gently myself. I had been so much absorbed in the coming
experiment that I passed the ruins in going to meet him, almost without
thought, if you can understand that. I had my lantern; and he showed me a
coil of taper which he had ready for use. "There is nothing like light,"
he said, in his scoffing tone. It was a very still night, scarcely a
sound, but not so dark. We could keep the path without difficulty as we
went along. As we approached the spot we could hear a low moaning, broken
occasionally by a bitter cry. "Perhaps that is your voice," said the