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We administered the dose, trembling. Sebastian took it like a man and dropped off instantly, for lethodyne is at least as instantaneous in its operation as nitrous oxide.

He lay long asleep. Hilda and I watched him.

After he had lain for some minutes senseless, like a log, on the couch where we had placed him, Hilda stooped over him quietly and lifted up the ends of the grizzled moustache. Then she pointed one accusing finger at his lips. 'I told you so,' she murmured, with a note of demonstration.

'There is certainly something rather stern or even ruthless about the set of the face and the firm ending of the lips,' I admitted, reluctantly.

'That is why God gave men moustaches,' she mused, in a low voice; 'to hide the cruel corners of their mouths.'

'Not always cruel,' I cried.

'Sometimes cruel, sometimes cunning, sometimes sensuous; but nine times out of ten, best masked by moustaches.'

'You have a bad opinion of our sex!' I exclaimed.

'Providence knew best,' she answered. 'It gave you moustaches. That was in order that we women might be spared from always seeing you as you are. Besides, I said 'Nine times out of ten.' There are exceptions—such exceptions!'

On second thought, I did not feel sure that I could quarrel with her estimate.

The experiment was that time once more successful. Sebastian woke up from the comatose state after eight hours, not quite as fresh as Hilda Wade, perhaps, but still tolerably alive, less alert, however, and complaining of dull headache. He was not hungry. Hilda Wade shook her head at that. 'It will be of use only in a very few cases,' she said to me, regretfully; 'and those few will need to be carefully picked