poisoned by a toxin and treated by the anti-toxin.  What in the world could be expected but that he should rave in the most fantastic way, and utter every mad conception and idea that his subjective self contained.  As for that absurd fancy of the doctor himself, as well as of his servant that there was “something queer” in the room—­the more he thought of it, the less he valued it.  Obviously it was the result of a peculiar combination of psychological conditions, just as psychological conditions were themselves the result of an obscure combination of toxin—­or anti-toxin—­forces.

Yet for all that, argue as one may, the fact remained that this dry and rather misanthropic scientist was affected in an astonishing manner by Frank’s personality. (It will appear later on in Frank’s history that the effect was more or less permanent.)

Still more remarkable to my mind was the very strong affection that Frank conceived for the doctor. (There is no mystery coming:  the doctor will not ultimately turn out to be Frank’s father in disguise; Lord Talgarth still retains that distinction.) But it is plainly revealed by Frank’s diary that he was drawn to this elderly man by very much the same kind of feelings as a son might have.  And yet it is hardly possible to conceive two characters with less in common.  The doctor was a dogmatic materialist—­and remains so still—­Frank was a Catholic.  The doctor was scientific to his finger-tips—­Frank romantic to the same extremities; the doctor was old and a confirmed stay-at-home—­Frank was young, and an incorrigible gipsy.  Yet so the matter was.  I have certain ideas of my own, but there is no use in stating them, beyond saying perhaps that each recognized in the other—­sub-consciously only, since each professed himself utterly unable to sympathize in the smallest degree with the views of the other—­a certain fixity of devotion that was the driving-force in each life.  Certainly, on the surface, there are not two theories less unlike than the one which finds the solution of all things in Toxin, and the other which finds it in God.  But perhaps there is a reconciliation somewhere.

* * * * *

The Major and Gertie were waiting in the stable-yard when the two other men emerged.  The Major had a large bag of apples—­given him by Thomas at the doctor’s orders—­which he was proceeding to add to Gertie’s load at the very moment when the two others came out.  Frank took them, without a word, and slung them over his own back.

The doctor stood blinking a moment in the strong sunshine.

“Well, good-by, my boy,” he said.  “Good luck!  Remember that if ever you come this way again—­”

“Good-by, sir,” said Frank.

He held out his disengaged hand.

Then an astonishing thing happened.  The doctor took the hand, then dropped it; threw his arms round the boy’s neck, kissed him on both cheeks, and hurried back through the garden gate, slamming it behind him.  And I imagine he ran upstairs at once to see how the mice were.