the garb was that of a scarecrow, and the face was wan with hunger and slightly debased by suffering, a strange refinement was underlying it.
"This is all very mysterious," said the young advocate; and indeed the wretched figure that confronted him appeared to have no credentials to present. "May I ask who and what you are?"
"How race reveals itself!" said the visitor, with a faint air of disappointment. "Even the higher types among us cannot cast their shackles away. When we go down into Hades, we are at once surrounded by the damned souls of our country-*men, clamoring to know who and what we are."
"Well, who are you, at any rate?" said Northcote, oppressed with an acute sense of mystery.
"My name is Iggs," said the scarecrow.
"Well, Mr. Iggs, I am sorry to say that to me your name conveys nothing."
"No?"
"No!"
For an instant the scarecrow peered in a strange and concentrated manner into the face of the advocate. He then sighed deeply and rose from his chair.
"With all the learning we acquire so painfully," he whispered, "we cannot enjoy a perfect immunity from error. Good night, sir. I offer my apologies for having invaded your privacy."
With a bow of grave deference the strange figure proceeded to glide from the room in the noiseless manner in which it had entered it.
By the time his visitor had reached the door, Northcote called after him hastily: "Come back,
