“I am sorry,” said Mr. Taxater, after a minute or two’s silence, “that I spoke rather crossly to you just now. The truth is, the man’s reference to that Italian girl made me feel ashamed of myself. I have not your excuse of being ignorant of what was going on. I have, in fact, been meaning to talk to you about it for some weeks; but I hesitated, wishing to be quite sure of my ground first. “Even now, you must remember, we have no certain authority to go upon. But I’m afraid--I’m very much afraid--what Andersen says is true. It is evidently his own certain knowledge of it that has upset his brain. And I’m inclined to take his word for it. I fear the girl must have told him herself; and it was the shock of hearing it from her that had this effect. “There’s no doubt he’s seriously ill. But if I know anything of these things, it’s rather a case of extreme nervous agitation than actual insanity. In any event, it’s a relief to remember that this kind of mania is, of all forms of brain-trouble, the easiest cured.” Vennie made an imperious little gesture. “We _must_ cure him!” she cried. “We must! We must! And the only way to do it, as far as I can see, is to stop this abominable marriage. Lacrima can’t be doing it willingly. No girl would marry a man like that, of her own accord.” Mr. Taxater shook his head. “I’m afraid there are few people,” he remarked, “that some girl or other wouldn’t marry if the motive were strong enough! The question is, What is the motive in this instance?” “What can Mr. Quincunx be thinking of?” said Vennie. “He hasn’t been up to see mother lately. In fact, I don’t think he has been in our house since he began working in Yeoborough. That’s another abominable shame! It seems to me more and more clear that there’s an evil destiny hanging over this place, driving people on to do wicked things!” “I’m afraid we shall get small assistance from Mr. Quincunx,” said the theologian. “The relations between him and Lacrima are altogether beyond my power of unravelling. But I cannot imagine his taking any sort of initiative in any kind of difficulty.” “Then what are we to do?” pleaded Vennie, looking anxiously into the diplomatist’s face. Mr. Taxater rested his chin upon the handle of his cane and made no reply. At this moment the gate clicked behind them, and Luke Andersen appeared. He glanced hastily towards the porch; but his brother was absorbed in his work and apparently had heard nothing. Stepping softly along the edge of the path he approached the two friends. He looked very anxious and troubled. Raising his hat to Vennie, he made a gesture with his hand in his brother’s direction. “Have you seen him?” he enquired. “Has he talked to you?” The theologian nodded. “Oh, I think all this is dreadful!” whispered Vennie. “I’m more distressed than I can tell you. I’m afraid he’s very, very ill. And he keeps talking about Miss Traffio. Surely something can be done, Mr. Andersen, to stop that marriage before it’s too late?”