The little model answered this by seizing his hand with both of hers. She dropped it again at once, as if guilty of presumption, and stood with her head bent. Hilary, looking down on the little hat which, by his special wish, contained no feathers, felt a lump rise in his throat. “It's funny,” he said; “I don't know your Christian name.” “Ivy,” muttered the little model. “Ivy! Well, I'll write to you. But you must promise me to do exactly as I said.” The girl looked up; her face was almost ugly--like a child's in whom a storm of feeling is repressed. “Promise!” repeated Hilary. With a bitter droop of her lower lip, she nodded, and suddenly put her hand to her heart. That action, of which she was clearly unconscious, so naively, so almost automatically was it done, nearly put an end to Hilary's determination. “Now you must go,” he said. The little model choked, grew very red, and then quite white. “Aren't I even to say good-bye to Mr. Stone?” Hilary shook his head. “He'll miss me,” she said desperately. “He will. I know he will!” “So shall I,” said Hilary. “We can't help that.” The little model drew herself up to her full height; her breast heaved beneath the clothes which had made her Hilary's. She was very like “The Shadow” at that moment, as though whatever Hilary might do there she would be--a little ghost, the spirit of the helpless submerged world, for ever haunting with its dumb appeal the minds of men. “Give me your hand,” said Hilary. The little model put out her not too white, small hand. It was soft, clinging: and as hot as fire. “Good-bye, my dear, and bless you!” The little model gave him a look with who-knows-what of reproach in it, and, faithful to her training, went submissively away. Hilary did not look after her, but, standing by the lofty mantelpiece above the ashes of the fire, rested his forehead on his arm. Not even a fly's buzzing broke the stillness. There was sound for all that-not of distant music, but of blood beating in his ears and temples. CHAPTER XXIII THE “BOOK OF UNIVERSAL BROTHERHOOD” It is fitting that a few words should be said about the writer of the “Book of Universal Brotherhood.” Sylvanus Stone, having graduated very highly at the London University, had been appointed at an early age lecturer to more than one Public Institution. He had soon received the professorial robes due to a man of his profound learning in the natural sciences, and from that time till he was seventy his life had flowed on in one continual round of lectures, addresses, disquisitions, and arguments on the subjects in which he was a specialist. At the age of seventy, long after his wife's death and the marriages of his three children, he had for some time been living by himself, when a very serious illness--the result of liberties taken with an iron constitution by a single mind--prostrated him.