LITMIR.BIZ

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will tell you what you have forgotten, and you will then remember it. You will remember even after you are awakened!"

      "I will obey. I will remember what you tell me!"

      "You left your office this afternoon to follow Dr. Medjora?"

      "Yes! I followed Dr. Medjora!"

      "He took a car, and you took another?"

      "He took a car, and I took another!"

      "He left the car, and you followed him to a house and saw him enter?"

      "I saw him enter a house!"

      "Then there was a fire and you watched the house burning?"

      "I saw the house burning!"

      "Then you rushed forward and fell into this well?"

      "I rushed forward and fell into the well!"

      "You will remember all this?"

      "Yes, I will remember!"

      "Everything else you have forgotten? Nothing else occurred?"

      "Nothing else occurred!"

      "Now sleep!" The Doctor passed his hands over the eyes and the deep sleep was resumed. The Doctor pressed his lips near the sleeper's ears, and said:

      "You will awaken completely in two hours, climb out of this place, and return to your home!"

      To this there was no reply, but the Doctor had no doubt that the injunction would be followed. He laid Barnes down upon the bottom of the cistern so that his opening eyes would gaze directly at the orifice above, and then, climbing upon a lot of loose rubbish, he easily reached the edge of the hole, and clutching it with his strong hands drew himself out.

      Exactly two hours later, Barnes opened his eyes and slowly awakened to a sense of stiffness and pain in his limbs. He staggered up, and soon was sufficiently aroused to see that he must climb out of the place where he was. This he did with some difficulty, and after wandering about for nearly an hour he found his way to the bridge and crossed the river. Thence he went home, threw himself on his bed, and was soon wrapped in deep, but natural slumber.

      In the morning he wondered why he had slept in his clothing. His head ached, and his limbs felt bruised. Slowly he seemed to recall his following Dr. Medjora, his tracking him across the bridge, the house afire, and his tumble into a well, from which he had climbed out late at night. In fact nothing remained in his recollection except what had been suggested by Dr. Medjora whilst he had been hypnotized. Still in a vague way he half doubted, until at breakfast he found seeming corroboration in the newspaper account, which told that the suspected man had been burned to death. How could he reject so good an authority as his morning paper?

      CHAPTER IV.

      DR. MEDJORA SURRENDERS

      Madam Cora Corona watched the destruction of the old mansion in which she had last seen her lover, with mingled feelings of horror and of hope. At one moment it seems impossible that the Doctor could find a means of escaping from the flames, whilst at the next she could but remember the manner of man that he was, and that having told her of his intention to surrender to the police, he would scarcely have chosen so horrible a death whilst immediate safety was attainable by simply opening the door of the passageway before the flames enveloped the whole building. Besides, how did the fire occur? He must have started it himself, and, if so, with what object, except to cover up his escape? But love, such as she bore this man, could never be entirely free from its anxiety, until the most probable reasoning should become assured facts. So, with a dull pain of dread gnawing at her heart, she drove her horses home, holding the reins herself, and lashing the animals into a swift gait, which made their chains clank as they strained every nerve to obey their mistress's behest.

      Reaching her sumptuous home on Madison Avenue, she hurried to her own room, passing servants, who moved out of her way awed by her appearance, for those who dwelt with her had learned to recognize the signs which portended storm, and were wise enough to avoid the violence of her anger.

      Tossing aside her bonnet and mantle, regardless of where they fell, Madam Corona dropped into a large, well-cushioned arm-chair, and gazed into vacancy, with a hopeless despair depicted on her features. The death of Dr. Medjora would mean much to this woman, and as the minutes sped by, the conviction that he must have perished, slowly burned itself into her brain.

      She was the widow of a wealthy Central American. Her husband had been shot as a traitor, having been captured in one of those ever-recurring revolutions, whose leaders are killed if defeated, but made governors if they succeed; rulers until such time when another revolutionary party may become strong enough to depose the last victors. Thus the chance of a battle makes men heroes, or criminals.

      She had never loved her husband, and, with a sensual, passionate temperament, which had never been satisfied by her marriage, she welcomed her freedom and her husband's wealth as a possible step towards that love for which she longed. Exiled from her own country, because of the politics of her dead husband, she had come to the United States, the home of all aliens. Her estates had not been confiscated, for fear that the fires of the revolution, smothered but not quenched, might have been again stirred by a seeming warring against the woman. But the President had said to his council:

      "Madam Corona is too rich, and she talks too much." So the hint had been given to her to depart, and she had acquiesced, glad enough to retain her fortune.

      In New York she had been welcomed amidst the Spanish-Americans, and with a different temperament might readily have endeared to herself a host of true friends. But her selfish desire for a despotic sway over all who came near, and her extreme jealousy of attentions to others, imbued those who made her acquaintance with an aversion which was scarcely concealed by the thin veneer of the polite formalities of social life. So she knew that in the new, as in the old home, she had no friends.

      One day she was taken ill, and sent for Dr. Medjora, of whom she had heard, though she had not met him. His skill brought about her rapid recovery, and, being attracted by his fine appearance, she invited him to visit her as a friend. He availed himself of this opportunity to become intimate with a wealthy patron, and called often. Very soon she became aware of the fact that here was a man over whom she could never hope to dominate, and so, as she could not make him her slave, she became his. Her whole fiery nature went out to him, and she courted him with a wealth of passion which should have melted ice, but which from the Doctor earned but little more than a warm hand-clasp at parting. Finally, to her utter amazement, as she was about to despair of ever attracting him, he came to her and asked her to marry him. She consented joyously, and for twenty-four hours lived in rapture.

      Then her morning paper told of the death of Mabel Sloane, and connected the Doctor with the tragedy. She hurried to his office and heaped upon him vituperation and reproach, such as only could emanate from a heart capable of the deepest jealousy. He met the storm unflinchingly, and turned it away from himself by reminding her that he would probably be tried for murder, and that thus she would be rid of him. At once she changed her threats to entreaties. She begged him to fly with her. Her wealth would suffice, and in some other clime they could be safe, and she would forget, forgive, and love him.

      He appeared to yield, and bade her be ready to come to him at his bidding. She returned home, only to write him a long urgent letter, containing money; the letter to which the Doctor had alluded during the conversation overheard by young Barnes. Then she had been summoned and had gone to him. And now? Now the longer she thought, the more certain did it appear to her, as the hours went by, that her lover was dead. And such a death! She shuddered and closed her eyes. But she could not shut out the vision of her beloved Doctor standing bravely, with folded arms, as the flames crept upon him, surrounded him, and destroyed him. She could not shut out the sound of a last despairing cry wrung from his unwilling lips, as with a final upflaring of the flame, the whole structure fell in.

      Maddened by her thoughts, at length she started up and turned towards her basin, intending to lave her fevered brow, when with a cry she sprang back, for there, in her room, with arms folded as in her vision, stood what she could but suppose to be the wraith of the dead. She shrieked, and fell forward in a swoon, to be caught in the arms of Dr. Medjora, who had admitted himself, unknown to the sleeping servants,

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