Good-bye--I shall hardly see you again to-day, I fancy." "I cannot tell," answered the young man absently.

"But let me thank you," he added, with a sudden consciousness of obligation, "for your pleasant company, and for making me go with you.

I daresay it has done me good, though I feel unaccountably tired--I feel almost old." His tired eyes and haggard face showed that this at least was no illusion.

The fancied journey had added ten years to his age in thirty days, and those who knew him best would have found it hard to recognise the brilliantly vital personality of Israel Kafka in the pale and exhausted youth who painfully climbed the stairs with unsteady steps, panting for breath and clutching at the hand-rail for support.
"He will not die this time," remarked Keyork Arabian to himself, as he sent the carriage away and began to walk towards his own home.

"Not this time.