could I do for her? She loved him, he had rejected her. Words were not necessary to convey to a mind so open to impression as hers the true state of Maurice De Veber’s heart.
Silently the Doctor and I stood contemplating him until at length the hands were removed.
I started back in amazement. What I saw the Doctor saw also; he uttered a quick exclamation of astonishment.
The whole appearance of Maurice’s face had changed.
It was Maurice and it was not Maurice.
Every feature was altered; every line had softened; there was an indescribable beauty about the countenance of my friend which was wholly unnatural. Even his voice was different; it was no longer the deep voice of Maurice, but pitched in a higher key.
“George Wylde!” he said almost stiffly; “I want to feel that you mean to stand by me whatever happens. I have passed through a wonderful experience, I am passing through the most wonderful part of it now, and I need all your help and sympathy.”
“And you shall have it, Maurice—you have it already, my dear boy.”
“And you, Doctor, are not to question me. Hear me, my friends: I do not know how long a time has elapsed since I parted from you, but of all that has happened during that time I have nothing to tell—absolutely nothing. Do you understand?”
His voice rose almost to a shriek as he spoke these last words. His whole frame trembled with emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes.
The Doctor behaved splendidly.
“There there! Don’t disturb yourself! No one is going to question you,” he answered. “Are you hungry? Would you not like something to eat?”
“I—I suppose so. I do not know. The thought of food nauseates me, and yet I suppose I had better take it. How long is it, George?”
“A month,” I answered gloomily.
“Only a month! It seems years! And you got back safely. I did not see you, old fellow, but Mirrikh did. A wonderful man that! Oh God, to come back to this dreary world again after the life I have been leading! It is horrible! Horrible! But that is not the worst.”
