enthusiastic. Her interest in all equipment of our laboratories was
boundless. When I found myself alone with her at the big telescope
adjusting everything with--oh! such exquisite precision--and then
sometimes discovered my hand resting upon hers, or my head touching
those silken brown curves of hair that framed her white brow and
reddening cheeks, the throbbing pleasure was so sweet, so unexpected, so
strange, that I felt a new desire rise in my heart, and the newness of
life lifted me for a moment out of myself, and started those fires of
ambition and hope that only a lovely woman can awaken in the heart of a
man. I mention this circumstance that led to the fatal train of
occurrences that led to my father's death.

I urged my father to go to Christ Church and stay with the Dodans. Mr.
Dodan had frequently invited him, and Miss Dodan's brightness and her
cheerful art at the piano would, I know, cheer him, inured too long to
his lonely life, subject to the periodic returns of that bitter sadness,
which was now only accentuated by his self-imposed exile from the home
and scenes of his former happiness.

He at last consented, and in October, 1891, accompanied by the Dodans,
whom he had summoned from Christ Church, he went down the steep hillside
that slanted from our plateau to the lowlands, and was soon lost from
view in a turn of the road, which also robbed me of the sight of a
waving, small white handkerchief, floating in front of a half-loosened
pile of chestnut hair.

A few days later I received a visit from Miss Dodan. I was then working
at some photographs in the dark room. My assistant told me of her
arrival. I hurried to our little reception room and library, where a few
of my father's "Worthies of Science" decorated the walls, which for the