“Louise,” he said, and suddenly his voice,--scarcely more than a whisper,--sounded strange and unnatural to her, “it's a horrible thing to say, but the--the trouble is right here in this house. You heard what the Admiral said? I can't explain how it all happened, but suddenly I had a--well, a revelation. A great, flaring light seemed to flash in my face. I give you my word, it was actually blinding. I thought my heart would never beat again. I saw through everything. It is all as plain as day to me. God help us all, dearest,--it's--it's unspeakable. I've just got to tell you,--so that you may be on your guard. Tomorrow--or as soon as possible, at any rate,--you must make an excuse to get away from here,--for a visit, or anything you can think of. But get away you must!” “Do you know what you are saying, Derrolf” she whispered, clutching his arm. She was trembling like a leaf, and swayed. An expression of the utmost dread and horror filled her eyes. “Yes,--yes, I do. It is terrible,--but, by heaven, it's true,--as true as we live and breathe.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Derrol,--I felt it too,--tonight. What are we to do? What can be done?” “Hush! Here is the elevator. I can't say anything more tonight. I don't have to go back to Camp till tomorrow night. Tomorrow morning,--I'll call up. I must see you alone--and not here.” “I go out every morning for a walk,--about eleven,” she breathed. The elevator door slid open. “Good night,” said he. She clasped his hand in silence. Then she went back into the apartment, and, as one drugged, passed the drawingroom door and staggered down the hall toward her bedroom. Mrs. Carstairs, alone in the drawing-room, saw the girl pass, and stepped quickly to the door. “Louise, dear,--are you ill!” she called out. “No,--Aunt Frieda. I--I'm all right. Good night.” “Good night, dear. Sleep late.” The door down the long hall closed softly, and Frieda Carstairs turned back into the drawingroom with a sigh. Her husband was looking over the night mail that had been piled on his desk in the study. She went in to him. “I wonder if poor, dear Alfred is struggling with that abominable nightmare of his,” she said. “Really, Davenport, the boy is wearing himself out. I don't see why physics should be so difficult for him.” “They were difficult for me, my dear,” said he, looking up. Their eyes met, and she smiled gently, lovingly. He took her firm, steady hand and pressed it to his cheek.. “I think I'll run in and shoo him off to bed. If only he wouldn't smoke that dreadful pipe while he studies. He breathes nothing but smoke.” “Doesn't hurt him a bit,” said he. “They've got sheet-iron lungs, you see,--these sophomores.” She left him and went down to her son's room. Carstairs was staring fixedly, intently into space when she returned,--he knew not how long afterwards. He came out of his reverie with a start when she spoke to him from the door.