"Shall we stay here? Mr. Aikens has come, and they have been testing the machine for some time, I find. Go? Certainly, but--You're a little nervous, Mr. Starke, and--Wouldn't it be better if you were not present? They would be freer in deciding, and--suppose you and I stay here?" "Eh? How? At it for some time?" hurrying out. "At it?" as the Doctor tried to keep pace with him. "Why, God bless my soul, Sir, what can _they_ do? Nobody understands the valves but myself. A set of ignoramuses, Sir. I saw that at a glance. But it's my last chance,"--panting and wheezing before he reached the back lobby, and holding his hand to his side. Dr. Bowdler stopped outside. "What are you waiting here for, Mary?" "I want to hear. What chance has it? I think I'd give something off my own life, if that man had succeeded in doing a great thing." "Not much of a chance, Aikens says. The theory is good, but they are afraid the expense will make it of no practical use. However, they have not decided. It is well it is his last chance, though, as he says. I never saw a man who had dragged himself so near to insanity in pursuit of a hobby. Nothing but a great reaction can save him." "Success, you mean? I think that man's life is worth a thousand aimless ones, Sir. If it fails, where's your 'justice on earth'? I"-- She pushed her curls back hotly. The Doctor did not answer. The trial lasted until late in the afternoon. One or two of the gentlemen came out at odd times to luncheon, which was spread in the adjoining room. They looked grave, and talked earnestly in low tones: the man had infected them with his own feeling in a measure. "I don't know when I was more concerned for the success of anything not my own," said Mr. Aikens to Miss Defourchet, as he rose to go back to the lobby, putting down his glass. "It is such a daring innovation; it would be worth thousands per annum to me, if I could make it practicable. And then that poor devil himself,--I feel as if we were trying him for his life to-day. It's pitiful." She went in herself once, when the door was open, and saw Starke: he was in his shirt-sleeves, driving in a wedge that had come out; his face was parched, looked contracted, his eyes glazed. She spoke to him, but he made no answer, went from side to side of the engine, working with it, glancing furtively at the men, who stood gravely talking. The girl was nervous, and felt she should cry, if she stayed there. She called the dog, but he would not come; he was crouched with his head on his fore-paws, watching Starke. "It is curious how the dog follows him," she said, after she had gone out, to Andy, who was in the back porch, watching the rain come up. "I've noticed animals did it to him. My Jerry knows him as well as me. What chances has he, Miss?" "I cannot tell." There was a pause. "You heard Dr. Bowdler say he was married. Do you know his wife?" she asked.