“In a great measure, yes,” responded Gilbert. “I have found—as you have found, too—that there are times when no amount of work does any good; it is entirely unproductive; and then nature suggests to all minds a certain course. If the mind is sufficiently receptive, these ideas are followed and what lay hidden for ages before, perhaps, is now revealed and may appear wonderful; but I see in it merely the working of an unchangeable law, a cycle of sympathy of the mental faculties with material and natural forces.” “Then I wish some cycle of mental sympathy would come my way,” exclaimed Dennis, “for I have the hardest nut in the world, and cannot crack it, so I suppose it must wait till the cycle of fate brings the sympathetic mind to solve the mystery,” and Dennis laughed banteringly. “But there is no such luck, so I expect the nut must stay intact till doomsday.” “Oh! what mystery is that?” asked the others, at once interested. “My vessel, the _Regina_,” replied Dennis, nonchalantly. “What!” ejaculated Ross, spinning round and grasping him on his greeting-band. “Great Bona! and are you the very Dennis Oakland, the present owner of that ship?” “I am, worse luck!” was the rueful answer. “Why didn’t you say so before?” inquired Ross, surprised. “I had no idea that the Dennis Oakland who tied with me in the electrical exam last year was one and the same person as the owner of the famous _Regina_. I thought you lived in London.” “No, only for the time of the exam.” “Had you mentioned Derwent I should have recognised the connection.” “We are more pleased than ever to meet you,” broke in Gilbert, and once more the three grasped arms, and from that moment their lives became full of excitement beyond their wildest dreams, and Ross’s blues were gone never to return. “Let us hear all about it,” said Gilbert, hastily fetching a damp-proof rug, which he spread over the ground for all to sit upon. “There is very little to tell, if anything, that is not known by every one, for the history of the ‘Stolen Planet,’ written by an ancestor of mine, Jervis Meredith, to whom the ship eventually belonged, explains everything. For many generations the blessed Queen has reigned over our family and cost us no end of money. In the natural course of events she has been bequeathed to me, the sole surviving descendant of the first Jervis Meredith, and I have spent some thousands on her till I gave it up; I am tired of spending and working to no purpose, for she became a real nightmare to me, till I got my back up, and I don’t spend another farthing. She may go to Jupiter, or Sirius, or to any other spot in creation for all I care!” and Dennis puffed vigorously at his sterilised cigar.