From the first Brandon had had a great curiosity as to what that task could be. Believing implicitly in the full mental and moral responsibility of his friend, he would not permit a doubt of his capacity. And yet it was only too likely that the conditions in which his life was now passed would paralyze a wonderful mind. Brandon had done all that lay in his power to lighten its lot; he had not spared money to provide reasonable comfort, reasonable amenity of surroundings; books and papers had gone to Wellwood from time to time; all that could be done by a friend’s devotion had been done to sustain John Smith and keep his soul alive. At last the silence was broken. Brandon received a letter from Wellwood, expressing deep gratitude for this solicitude. But it also expressed far more. It disclosed a penetration of thought, a power of vision, above all a real nobility of temper whose only parallel in the mind of Brandon was that of Socrates in similar but less degrading circumstances. Somehow Brandon was comforted. The transcendent qualities he had long perceived in this man were here in their fullness. Amid the Stygian glooms of a world ever groping in darkness, a great light shone. In Brandon’s opinion it was better to be immured with John Smith in Wellwood Sanatorium than to enjoy the sanctions of human freedom. In the course of a full letter, which Brandon read again and again, John Smith referred to a work upon which he was engaged. He was going forward with his task, and with the help of others it was nearing fulfillment. He did not disclose what the task was, nor did he refer to “the others” specifically. Weeks passed. Visibly helped by John Smith’s letter, Brandon, to the joy of his friends, regained much of his mental poise. The dark clouds of a few months back were slowly dispersed, but in body he remained inert, and now without hope of cure. And then one morning at the beginning of December there came a second letter from Wellwood. It merely contained these words: “Come soon. I need you.” Such authoritative brevity was for Brandon a command which he felt he must obey. But he was at once aware that he could only get to Wellwood in the teeth of a junta. Wife, doctor, nurse, all had very strong reasons to urge against a journey of nearly twenty miles in the middle of winter to such a place on such a pretext. To them the summons itself was the caprice of an unsound mind, the wish to obey it the whim of a sick man. But in this, as they were to learn, they underrated the forces now at work. Fully set on obeying the summons, Brandon would brook no refusal. In vain Millicent dissuaded, in vain Joliffe and the nurse issued a ukase. Come what might he must see John Smith; if the heavens fell he must go to Wellwood.