with, and to bring them back to happiness, and to those that love them.  It is much to do, and, oh, but there are rewards in that we can bestow such happiness.  But the young ladies!  He has no wife nor daughter, and the young do not tell themselves to the young, but to the old, like me, who have known so many sorrows and the causes of them.  So, my dear, we will send him away to smoke the cigarette in the garden, whiles you and I have little talk all to ourselves.’  I took the hint, and strolled about, and presently the professor came to the window and called me in.  He looked grave, but said, ’I have made careful examination, but there is no functional cause.  With you I agree that there has been much blood lost, it has been but is not.  But the conditions of her are in no way anemic.  I have asked her to send me her maid, that I may ask just one or two questions, that so I may not chance to miss nothing.  I know well what she will say.  And yet there is cause.  There is always cause for everything.  I must go back home and think.  You must send me the telegram every day, and if there be cause I shall come again.  The disease, for not to be well is a disease, interest me, and the sweet, young dear, she interest me too.  She charm me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come.’

“As I tell you, he would not say a word more, even when we were alone.  And so now, Art, you know all I know.  I shall keep stern watch.  I trust your poor father is rallying.  It must be a terrible thing to you, my dear old fellow, to be placed in such a position between two people who are both so dear to you.  I know your idea of duty to your father, and you are right to stick to it.  But if need be, I shall send you word to come at once to Lucy, so do not be over-anxious unless you hear from me.”

DR. SEWARD’S DIARY

4 September.—­Zoophagous patient still keeps up our interest in him.  He had only one outburst and that was yesterday at an unusual time.  Just before the stroke of noon he began to grow restless.  The attendant knew the symptoms, and at once summoned aid.  Fortunately the men came at a run, and were just in time, for at the stroke of noon he became so violent that it took all their strength to hold him.  In about five minutes, however, he began to get more quiet, and finally sank into a sort of melancholy, in which state he has remained up to now.  The attendant tells me that his screams whilst in the paroxysm were really appalling.  I found my hands full when I got in, attending to some of the other patients who were frightened by him.  Indeed, I can quite understand the effect, for the sounds disturbed even me, though I was some distance away.  It is now after the dinner hour of the asylum, and as yet my patient sits in a corner brooding, with a dull, sullen, woe-begone look in his face, which seems rather to indicate than to show something directly.  I cannot quite understand it.