Lady Poole was there also, motionless and silent, while Lord Malvin and the doctor, who had been hastily summoned from Baker Street, watched by the head of the couch. The doctor looked at Lord Malvin and nodded his head. "He will be all right," he whispered. "Those devils have not killed him yet. He will live and be as strong as ever." The tears were rolling down Lord Malvin's face and he could not speak, but he nodded back to the doctor. And then they saw the face of Guy Rathbone, who lay there so broken and destroyed, begin to change. The gashes, which supreme and long-continued agony had cut into it, had not indeed passed away. The ashen visage remained ashen still, but a new light came flickering into the tired eyes, and in an indescribable way youth was returning. Youth was returning, youth! It came back, summoned out of the past by a supreme magic--the supreme magic of love. The girl who loved him was kissing him, he was with her at last, and all was well. * * * * * (2) "It is a grave thing and much considered to be," said Herr Schmoulder. It was late at night. They had taken Wilson Guest to the hospital, where the doctors were holding him down, as he shrieked and laughed, and died in delirium tremens. Lord Malvin, Sir Harold Oliver, and the other scientists were gathered together in the laboratory, that recent theatre of such terrible events. "It is a very grave thing indeed, Herr Schmoulder," Lord Malvin answered; "but I have not ventured to propose it without a consultation in the highest quarters. Decies will be here at any moment, and then upon his decision we shall act. He has been to see the King." The distinguished men waited there silent and uneasy. All round them stood the marvellous instruments by which the late Sir William Gouldesbrough had obtained a triumph unknown before in the history of the world. The yellow radiance of the electric light poured down upon the gleaming mahogany, brass, vulcanite and steel. On the opposite wall was the great white screen--just an ordinary stretch of prepared canvas upon steel rollers, a dead, senseless thing, and no more than that. Yet as the least imaginative of them there chanced to turn his head and see that great white sheet, he shuddered to think of the long agony it had pictured while the two monsters had sat and taken their amusement from it, as a man takes a glass of wine. There was a rap upon the principal door of the laboratory. Lord Malvin strode to it and opened it. The butler, a portly man on the morning of this day, but now seeming to have shrunk into his clothes, and to have lost much of his vitality, stood there. Beside him was a gentleman in evening dress, with a keen clean-shaven face and grey hair which curled. The gentleman stepped quickly into the laboratory. It was the Home Secretary. He shook Lord Malvin by the hand, and his face was very troubled.