Dudley Venner returned his friendly grasp, without answering a word in articulate speech.

Silas remained dumb and aghast for a brief space.  Coming to himself a little, he thought there might have been some mistake about the items,—­would like to have Miss Darley’s bill returned,—­would make it all right,—­had no idee that Squire Venner had a special int’rest in Miss Darley,—­was sorry he had given offence,—­if he might take that bill and look it over—­

“No, Mr. Peckham,” said Mr. Dudley Venner; “there will be a full meeting of the Board next week, and the bill, and such evidence with reference to the management of the Institution and the treatment of its instructors as Mr. Langdon sees fit to bring forward, will be laid before them.”

Miss Helen Darley became that very day the guest of Miss Arabella Thornton, the Judge’s daughter.  Mr. Bernard made his appearance a week or two later at the Lectures, where the Professor first introduced him to the reader.

He stayed after the class had left the room.

“Ah, Mr. Langdon! how do you do?  Very glad to see you back again.  How have you been since our correspondence on Fascination and other curious scientific questions?”

It was the Professor who spoke,—­whom the reader will recognize as myself, the teller of this story.

“I have been well,” Mr. Bernard answered, with a serious look which invited a further question.

“I hope you have had none of those painful or dangerous experiences you seemed to be thinking of when you wrote; at any rate, you have escaped having your obituary written.”

“I have seen some things worth remembering.  Shall I call on you this evening and tell you about them?”

“I shall be most happy to see you.”

* * * * *

This was the way in which I, the Professor, became acquainted with some of the leading events of this story.  They interested me sufficiently to lead me to avail myself of all those other extraordinary methods of obtaining information well known to writers of narrative.

Mr. Langdon seemed to me to have gained in seriousness and strength of character by his late experiences.  He threw his whole energies into his studies with an effect which distanced all his previous efforts.  Remembering my former hint, he employed his spare hours in writing for the annual prizes, both of which he took by a unanimous vote of the judges.  Those who heard him read his Thesis at the Medical Commencement will not soon forget the impression made by his fine personal appearance and manners, nor the universal interest excited in the audience, as he read, with his beautiful enunciation, that striking paper entitled “Unresolved Nebulas in Vital Science.”  It was a general remark of the Faculty,—­and old Doctor Kittredge, who had come down on purpose to hear Mr. Langdon, heartily agreed to it,—­that there had never been a diploma filled up, since the institution which conferred upon him the degree of Doctor Medicinae was founded, which carried with it more of promise to the profession than that which bore the name of