seemed to understand. He had pursued his goal with a tireless energy, often working long hours after the younger man had been forced to quit through sheer fatigue. Indeed, there were times when even Alan doubted the scientist's sanity, so ruthlessly had he driven toward the solution of this problem of the Creation.
"Alan?" a voice interrupted his somewhat morbid thoughts, "I thought I would find you here."
"Hello, Mary," Winters spoke quietly, "I'm glad you came."
The sun sank slowly below the western horizon, casting a spot of red rippling over the waters of the lake.
"The Doctor has finished his work, and I am just contemplating the wonders of the Infinite," continued Alan, "It is all beyond my understanding—."
"Alan! Please,—"
"Why? what is it, Mary?"
"Please don't talk about it, Alan. That's the road to madness,—poor Father," her voice ended in a half sob.
"Mary!—You mean?"
"Yes, Alan. Mother and I talked it over today. I am sure Dad's mind is affected. People have been talking all summer about him, but we didn't realize it. He has taken his work so seriously—thinking of nothing else.
"And now he is so sure that he has worked out an answer the leading scientists will accept. To-morrow, he will go to Chicago, and submit his figures to the council. But, Alan, if they don’t accept them, I fear—Oh, Alan, I'm terribly afraid."
"I must confess, Mary," Alan told her, "sometimes, even I have doubted his complete sanity. Perhaps he is right in his hypothesis,—that I cannot say, his figures are beyond me. But even if he is right, he has worked too hard, and too long. I didn't want to tell you before, but now—."
"He appreciates your loyalty, Alan. I am sure he does, and we all do. But there is only a week left until the generator goes into operation. After that,—well, if he is wrong, we will take a long rest, somewhere in the south—."
"Surely, he isn't going down there alone?" asked Alan.
"Yes,—he insists. We can only stay here and wait,—and hope—." her voice trailed off into silence.
Alan's thoughts traveled back to the University, to his last days there, and to the dramatic scene in Dr. Howell's office:
Hurrying through the corridor of Science Hall with the last batch of the spring semester's final examination papers under his arm, Alan had paused the barest fraction of a second to listen before opening the door of Dr. Howell's office. Although custom at the University decreed that he use the Doctor's office for the clerical work which fell to his lot, he had made it a point not to enter unannounced if sounds within indicated that others were present. But a dead silence greeted him, seeming to offer an undisturbed hour for grading and classifying a new crop of victims of an educational system, in which he played a minor part as an assistant instructor.
"Thank Heaven," he thought, "just two more days of this dreary routine, with its petty politics, its wire-pulling, and its professional jealousies; then my first visit to the north woods with Mary—," the door opened noiselessly, and he paused on the threshold in amazement—the room was occupied.
Dr. Howell, his immediate superior, sat at his desk with head bowed on his hands. He looked up quickly at Alan's entrance. Across the desk, fac-
