'Very well.--Now tell me about yourself. Sometimes it does good to talk about our own troubles. Tell me more about these forgetful fits. Do they trouble you still?' Her eyes and her voice were soft and winning. One must be of granite to resist such a voice and such eyes. 'My dear'--Mr. Dering softened. 'You are good to interest yourself in an old man's ailments. It is Anno Domini that is the matter with me. The forgetful fits are only symptoms--and the disease is incurable. Ask the oak why the leaves are yellow.--It is the hand of winter. That is my complaint. First the hand of winter, then the hand of Death. Meantime, the voice of the grasshopper sings loud and shrill.' In presence of the simple things of age and death, even a hard old lawyer grows poetic. 'Tell me the symptoms, then. Do you still forget things?' 'Constantly. More and more. I forget everything.' 'Where were you yesterday evening, for instance?' 'I don't know. I cannot remember. I have left off even trying to remember. At one time I racked my brain for hours, to find out, and failed. Now I remember nothing. I never know when this forgetfulness may fall upon me. At any hour.--For instance--you ask me about yesterday evening. I ordered dinner at home. My housekeeper this morning reminded me that I did not get home last night till eleven. Where was I? Where did I spend the evening?' 'At the Club?' 'No-- I took a cab this morning and drove there under pretence of asking for letters. I asked if I was there last night. The hall porter stared. But I was not there. I thought that I might have fallen asleep there. I have done so before. Checkley tells me that I went away before him. Where was I?-- Child!'--he leaned forward and whispered, with white cheeks--'I have read of men going about with disordered brains doing what they afterwards forget. Am I one of these unfortunates? Do I go about with my wits wandering? Oh! horrible! I picture to myself an old man--such as myself--of unblemished reputation and blameless life--wandering about the streets demented--without conscience--without dignity--without self-respect--committing follies--things disgraceful--even things which bring men before the law----' He shuddered. He turned pale. 'No--no,' murmured Elsie. 'You could not. You could never----'