saturated a cloth with amyl nitrate, placed it over his open mouth and tried artificial respiration. A whole hour had passed already, but I refused to give in. It was well. In another twenty minutes my efforts were rewarded with a sigh. I kept on and the man began to breathe. When it seemed safe to leave off, I disposed him easily and watched events. First his normal colouring returned. Then his mouth closed. Finally his eyes revolved. The lids closed and opened several times, then rested closed. His pulse beat feverishly, but in spite of that he slept. I walked to the door. Miss Ottley--whom I had completely forgotten--still lay insensible where she had fallen. I picked her up and brought her into the cavern. She awoke to consciousness in transit. I forced her to drink a stiff nobbler of brandy, and very soon she was in her old, cold, bright, proud, self-reliant state--armed cap-a-pie with insolence and egotism. "Is your father subject to fits?" I asked. "He has never had, till this, a day's illness in his life," she responded--with a touch of indignation. I nodded. "Well, his period of disease indemnity has passed. While you swooned he had a fit. I use the expression colloquially. You would probably have so described his condition had you seen him. As for me I don't know. The symptoms were unique. I restored him by treating him as a drowned man. He was in a sort of trance. From this moment he must never be left, even for a second." "He was insensible?" "He was inanimate." "That perfume!" she cried. I shrugged my shoulders. "No doubt." We glanced at the sarcophagus, then at each other. "Was there need?" she asked, colouring. Then her eyes sparkled. "Oh, for such strength!" she cried. "It took six Arabs to lift that coffin lid. You must be a Samson." "Fortunately," I observed. Her brows drew together and her lips. "You treat me in a way that I resent," she said. "I am as reasonable a being as yourself." I retired to a corner and stretched myself upon the floor without replying. "When do you wish to be aroused?" she asked. "An hour before sunset. We must eat--that is I. You appear to thrive on air." She bit her lips and I stared at the ceiling. I was dog-tired, but could not sleep. I counted a thousand and then glanced at Miss Ottley. Her gaze was fixed on me. "You are overtired," she said, and her tone was pure womanly. It irritated and amused me to find she could so unaffectedly assume it. I smiled. She interpreted the smile aloud. "What sound reason have you for despising me?" she asked. "You pretend to be a scientist. Answer me as such, rejecting bias." "I don't," said I. "Then you dislike me; why?" "I don't." Her lip curled. "Oh, indeed." She arose and brought me a cushion. I took it and our hands touched. "I must conclude, then, that you like me?" She drew her hand swiftly away and returned to her seat. I smiled again. "Undoubtedly, Miss Ottley." "Thank you." The tone was instinct with sarcasm.