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 anything that had happened. A cruel fate had fallen upon her, and she had been as powerless as in the old tales Phaedra, the daughter of Minos, or Myrrha of the beautiful hair. The hours passed, and still Arthur did not return. Susie thought now only of him, and she was frightfully anxious.

But at last he came in. The night was far advanced. He put down his hat and sat down. For a long while he looked silently at Dr. Porhoët.

“What is it, my friend?” asked the good doctor at length.

“Do you remember that you told us once of an experiment you made in Alexandria?” he said, after some hesitation.

He spoke in a curious voice.

“You told us that you took a boy, and when he looked in a magic mirror, he saw things which he could not possibly have known.”

“I remember very well,” said the doctor.

“I was much inclined to laugh at you at the time. I was convinced that the boy was a knave who deceived you.”

“Yes?”

“Of late I’ve thought of that story often. Some hidden recess of my memory has been opened, and I seem to remember strange things. Was I the boy who looked in the ink?”

“Yes,” said the doctor quietly.

Arthur did not say anything. A profound silence fell upon them, while Susie and the doctor watched him intently. They wondered what was in his mind.

“There is a side of my character which I did