I wrote a note to the detective and left it upon my desk.  After that I packed a suitcase and hurried to the station.  If I was going I would do it at once, I could not trust myself too far.  This visit had been like a breath of air; for the moment I was away from the isolation.  The loneliness and the weariness!  How I dreaded it!  I was only free from it for a few moments.  On the train it came back upon me and in a manner that was startling.

I had purchased my ticket.  When the conductor came through he passed me.  He gathered tickets all about me; but he did not notice me.  At first I paid no attention; but when he had gone through the car several times I held up my ticket.  He did not stop.  It was not until I had touched him that he gave me a bit of attention.

“Where have you been sitting?” he asked.

I pointed to the seat.  He frowned slightly.

“There?” he asked.  “Did you say you were sitting in that seat?  Where did you get on?”

“At Townsend.”

“Queer,” he answered; he punched the ticket.  “Queer.  I passed that seat several times.  It was empty!”

Empty!  It was almost a shock.  Could it be that my isolation was becoming physical as well as mental?  What was this gulf that was widening between myself and my fellows?

It was the beginning of another phase.  I have noticed it many times; on the street, in public places, everywhere.  I thread in and out among men.  Sometimes they see me, sometimes they don’t.  It is strange.  I feel at times as though I might be vanishing out of the world!

It was late when I reached my old home; but the lights were still burning.  My favourite dog, Queen, was on the veranda.  As I came up the steps she growled slightly, but on recognition went into a series of circles about the porch.  My father opened the door.  I stepped inside.  He touched me on the shoulder, his jaw dropped.

“Harry!” he exclaimed.

Was it as bad as that?  How much meaning may be placed in a single intonation!  I was weary to the point of exhaustion.  The ride upon the train had been too much.

My mother came in.  For some moments I was busy protesting my health.  But it was useless; it wasn’t until I had partaken of a few of the old nostrums that I could placate her.

“Work, work, work, my boy,” said my father, “nothing but work.  It really won’t do.  You’re a shadow.  You must take a vacation.  Go to the mountains; forget your practice for a short time.”

I didn’t tell them.  Why should I?  I decided right then it was my own battle.  It was enough for me without casting the worry upon others.  Yet I could not see Charlotte without calling on my parents.