She replied by asking a simple but utterly confounding question. "What," she said, "would you wish me to do?" "What would I wish you to do?" he stammered. "What? I--I hardly know." And after regarding her helplessly a little longer, he turned about and left the room. CHAPTER XL. "LOOK OUT!" The next morning Ffrench rather surprised Murdoch by walking into his cell with the evident intention of paying him a somewhat prolonged visit. It was not, however, the fact of his appearing there which was unusual enough to excite wonder, but a certain degree of mingled constraint and effusiveness in his manner. It was as if he was troubled with some mental compunctions which he was desirous of setting at rest. At times he talked very fast and in a comparatively light and jocular vein, and again he was silent for some minutes, invariably rousing himself from his abstraction with a sudden effort. Several times Murdoch found that he was regarding him with a disturbed air of anxiety. Before going away he made an erratic and indecisive tour of the little room, glancing at drawings and picking up first one thing and then another. "You have a good many things here," he said, "of one kind and another." "Yes," Murdoch answered, absently. Ffrench glanced around at the jumble of mechanical odds and ends, the plans and models in various stages of neglect or completion. "It's a queer place," he commented, "and it has an air of significance. It's crammed with ideas--of one kind and another." "Yes," Murdoch answered, as before. Ffrench approached him and laid his hand weakly on his shoulder. "You are a fellow of ideas," he said, "and you have a good deal before you. Whatever disappointments you might meet with, you would always have a great deal before you. You have ideas. I," with apparent inconsequence, "I haven't, you know." Murdoch looked somewhat puzzled, but he did not contradict him, so he repeated his statement. "I haven't, you know. I wish I had." Then he dropped his hand and looked indefinite again. "I should like you to always remember that I am your friend," he said. "I wish I could have been of more service to you. You are a fine fellow, Murdoch. I have admired you--I have liked you. Don't forget it." And he went away carrying the burden of his indecision and embarrassment and good intention with much amiable awkwardness.