first objected, yet she came to see that it was better that her husband should get this weight off his mind, as he felt that he would not fully recover until he had done so. I was glad I had carried my point, and at once began what was to me a most pleasant and interesting task.
It was about two months after I first met Folingsby, that on a fine summer afternoon we were seated under a tree in his pleasant little garden. The air was still to a degree, not a sound could be heard save the humming of a bee, or the chirping of the birds in the trees over our heads. My friend, still weak from his late illness, was lounging in an easy chair, while I was seated beside a garden table with my note book in hand ready to take down his words. Folingsby looked very solemn when he began, saying by way of introduction:—
"This is a strange, a very strange story that I am going to relate to you. Like my dear wife Mary, you may think it all the outcome of my fancy. But I can assure you that its reality is to me too patent, and that it is too
