THE PROFESSOR INSISTS Crouched over his writing table, with sheets of manuscript on every side of him, Burton worked like a slave at his novel.

After a week devoted by Mr.Waddington and himself to a fruitless search for the missing plant, they had handed the matter over to a private detective and Burton had settled down to make the most of the time before him.

Day after day of strange joys had dawned and passed away.

He had peopled his room with shadows.

Edith had looked at him out of her wonderful eyes, he had felt the touch of her fingers as she had knelt by his side, the glow which had crept into his heart as he had read to her fragments of his story and listened to her words of praise.