Temple wrote that Jocelyn had left the Villa de Angelis that day and taken up his abode with the Carthusians of San Martino.

No reason for such an extraordinary change was given; but there was a hint that Jocelyn had professed himself shocked at something that had happened.

The entry concluded with a few bitter remarks: _"So farewell to my holy anchoret; and if I cannot speed him with a leprosie as one Elisha did his servant, yet at least he went out from my presence with a face as white as snow."_ I had read this sentence more than once before without its attracting other than a passing attention.

The curious expression, that Jocelyn had gone out from his presence with a face as white as snow, had hitherto seemed to me to mean nothing more than that the two men had parted in violent anger, and that Temple had abused or bullied his companion.

But as I sat alone that night in the library the words seemed to assume an entirely new force, and a strange suspicion began to creep over me.
I have said that one of the most remarkable features of Sir John's illness was his deadly pallor.