It was not until his sister and aunt had left London that Alec Lindsay began to feel the effect of his imprisonment and of the anxiety he had suffered. His natural energy had vanished. He was content to hang all day over the fire, and began to have a morbid shrinking from intercourse with strangers. He fancied that the shadow of the accusation yet clung to him. His cough had never left him; and he felt more and more indisposed for exertion of any kind. He lived quite alone, often spending whole days without exchanging a word with any human being. The arrangement with Messrs. Hatchett, Small, and Hatchett had been tacitly abandoned; and he had not been able to decide on taking any fresh step. There was little wonder that, living as he did, he became gloomy and melancholy, tired of his life and of everything around him. One afternoon he was surprised by a visit from Hubert Blake. ‘My dear fellow, what is the matter with you?’ were Blake’s first words. ‘Nothing, so far as I know.’ ‘You look like a ghost.’ ‘Nonsense.’ ‘You may call it nonsense if you like, but it is true. What are you doing with yourself now?’ ‘Nothing in particular. A prolonged fit of laziness.’ ‘I doubt if it is laziness. Do you live here all alone, without any regular occupation?’ ‘I go to the British Museum and read sometimes.’ There was a pause of a minute or two, and then Blake said gravely: ‘You are not yourself, Alec. You used to be full of energy and spirits. What has happened to you?’ ‘Nothing whatever. Please don’t go on like that.’ ‘I’m afraid you were harder hit two months ago than we supposed. A man can’t come through an experience of that kind without paying for it.’ Alec’s thin face flushed painfully. Blake saw that his friend wished to be let alone; but he could not help thinking that anything was better for him than the melancholy into which he seemed to be sinking. ‘You should not live so much alone,’ he began again. ‘There are very few men I would care to live with. I don’t see what else I can do.’ ‘I should take a change--go into the country.’ ‘That would not mend matters.’ ‘Or travel.’ ‘Too much bother.’ ‘But you can’t go on like this.’ ‘Why not? Blake, you are very good, but you may as well let me alone. To tell the truth, I don’t care much what happens. I feel as if my life were ended. I don’t consider,’ he went on, speaking rapidly, as if he were anxious to finish what he had to say, ‘that my name can ever be cleared of the taint of the Old Bailey. I fancy men look askance at me. I have no desire to begin life again. My ambitions are dead, and I don’t want them to come to life again. What does it matter?’ ‘All this simply means that you are run down, out of sorts,’ said Blake, rising to his feet. ‘You should take a long voyage.’ Alec shook his head. ‘At least, come and dine with us at Highgate to-morrow. I have something to tell you.’ ‘Much obliged, Blake; but I’d rather not.’