By this time it was clear to me that Eric Lindon was quite unconscious of my presence. Even the Professor and the children seemed to have lost sight of me: and I stood in the midst of the group, as unconcernedly as a ghost, seeing but unseen. “How perfectly isochronous!” the Professor exclaimed with enthusiasm. He had his watch in his hand, and was carefully counting Bruno's oscillations. “He measures time quite as accurately as a pendulum!” {Image...'How perfectly isochronous!'} “Yet even pendulums,” the good-natured young soldier observed, as he carefully released his hand from Bruno's grasp, “are not a joy for ever! Come, that's enough for one bout, little man!' Next time we meet, you shall have another. Meanwhile you'd better take this old gentleman to Queer Street, Number--” “We'll find it!” cried Bruno eagerly, as they dragged the Professor away. “We are much indebted to you!” the Professor said, looking over his shoulder. “Don't mention it!” replied the officer, raising his hat as a parting salute. “What number did you say!” the Professor called from the distance. The officer made a trumpet of his two hands. “Forty!” he shouted in stentorian tones. “And not piano, by any means!” he added to himself. “It's a mad world, my masters, a mad world!” He lit another cigar, and strolled on towards his hotel. “What a lovely evening!” I said, joining him as he passed me. “Lovely indeed,” he said. “Where did you come from? Dropped from the clouds?” “I'm strolling your way,” I said; and no further explanation seemed necessary. “Have a cigar?” “Thanks: I'm not a smoker.” “Is there a Lunatic Asylum near here?” “Not that I know of.” “Thought there might be. Met a lunatic just now. Queer old fish as ever I saw!” And so, in friendly chat, we took our homeward ways, and wished each other 'good-night' at the door of his hotel. Left to myself, I felt the 'eerie' feeling rush over me again, and saw, standing at the door of Number Forty, the three figures I knew so well. “Then it's the wrong house?” Bruno was saying. “No, no! It's the right house,” the Professor cheerfully replied: “but it's the wrong street. That's where we've made our mistake! Our best plan, now, will be to--” It was over. The street was empty, Commonplace life was around me, and the 'eerie' feeling had fled. CHAPTER 19. HOW TO MAKE A PHLIZZ. The week passed without any further communication with the 'Hall,' as Arthur was evidently fearful that we might 'wear out our welcome'; but when, on Sunday morning, we were setting out for church, I gladly agreed to his proposal to go round and enquire after the Earl, who was said to be unwell. Eric, who was strolling in the garden, gave us a good report of the invalid, who was still in bed, with Lady Muriel in attendance. “Are you coming with us to church?” I enquired.