And he continued at great length and in glowing language to describe the
species of vivid dream that had come to him at intervals since earliest
childhood, showing in detail how he discovered these very Tablets of the
Gods, and proclaimed their splendid contents--whose precise nature was
always, however, withheld from him in the vision--to a patient and
suffering humanity. "The _Scrutator_, sir, well described 'Pilgrim' as the Apostle of
Hope," said the young doctor gently, when he had finished; "and now, if
that reviewer could hear you speak and realize from what strange depths
comes your simple faith--"

The professor held up his hand, and the smile of a little child broke
over his face like sunshine in the morning. "Half the good my books do would be instantly destroyed," he said sadly;
"they would say that I wrote with my tongue in my cheek. But wait," he
added significantly; "wait till I find these Tablets of the Gods! Wait
till I hold the solutions of the old world-problems in my hands! Wait
till the light of this new revelation breaks upon confused humanity, and
it wakes to find its bravest hopes justified! Ah, then, my dear
Laidlaw--"

He broke off suddenly; but the doctor, cleverly guessing the thought in
his mind, caught him up immediately. "Perhaps this very summer," he said, trying hard to make the suggestion
keep pace with honesty; "in your explorations in Assyria--your digging
in the remote civilization of what was once Chaldea, you may find--what
you dream of--"

The professor held up his hand, and the smile of a fine old face. "Perhaps," he murmured softly, "perhaps!" And the young doctor, thanking the gods of science that his leader's
aberrations were of so harmless a character, went home strong in the
certitude of his knowledge of externals, proud that he was able to refer
his visions to self-suggestion, and wondering complaisantly whether in
his old age he might not after all suffer himself from visitations of
the very kind that afflicted his respected chief. And as he got into bed and thought again of his master's rugged face,
and finely shaped head, and the deep lines traced by years of work and
self-discipline, he turned over on his pillow and fell asleep with a
sigh that was half of wonder, half of regret. 2


It was in February, nine months later, when Dr. Laidlaw made his way to
Charing Cross to meet his chief after his long absence of travel and
exploration. The vision about the so-called Tablets of the Gods had
meanwhile passed almost entirely from his memory. There were few people in the train, for the stream of traffic was now
running the other way, and he had no difficulty in finding the man he
had come to meet. The shock of white hair beneath the low-crowned felt
hat was alone enough to distinguish him by easily. "Here I am at last!" exclaimed the professor, somewhat wearily, clasping
his friend's hand as he listened to the young doctor's warm greetings
and questions. "Here I am--a little older, and _much_ dirtier than when
you last saw me!" He glanced down laughingly at his travel-stained
garments. "And _much_ wiser," said Laidlaw, with a smile, as he bustled about the
platform for porters and gave his chief the latest scientific news. At last they came down to practical considerations. "And your luggage--where is that? You must have tons of it, I suppose?" said Laidlaw. "Hardly anything," Professor Ebor answered. "Nothing, in fact, but what
you see." "Nothing but this hand-bag?" laughed the other, thinking he was joking. "And a small portmanteau in the van," was the quiet reply. "I have no
other luggage." "You have no other luggage?" repeated Laidlaw, turning sharply to see if
he were in earnest. "Why should I need more?" the professor added simply. Something in the man's face, or voice, or manner--the doctor hardly knew
which--suddenly struck him as strange. There was a change in him, a
change so profound--so little on the surface, that is--that at first he
had not become aware of it. For a moment it was as though an utterly
alien personality stood before him in that noisy, bustling throng. Here,
in all the homely, friendly turmoil of a Charing Cross crowd, a curious
feeling of cold passed over his heart, touching his life with icy
finger, so that he actually trembled and felt afraid. He looked up quickly at his friend, his mind working with startled and
unwelcome thoughts. "Only this?" he repeated, indicating the bag. "But where's all the stuff
you went away with? And--have you brought nothing home--no treasures?" "This is all I have," the other said briefly. The pale smile that went
with the words caused the doctor a second indescribable sensation of
uneasiness. Something was very wrong, something was very queer; he
wondered now that he had not noticed it sooner. "The rest follows, of course, by slow freight," he added tactfully, and
as naturally as possible. "But come, sir, you must be tired and in want
of food after your long journey. I'll get a taxi at once, and we can see
about the other luggage afterwards." It seemed to him he hardly knew quite what he was saying; the change in
his friend had come upon him so suddenly and now grew upon him more and
more distressingly. Yet he could not make out exactly in what it
consisted. A terrible suspicion began to take shape in his mind,
troubling him dreadfully. "I am neither very tired, nor in need of food, thank you," the professor
said quietly. "And this is all I have. There is no luggage to follow. I
have brought home nothing--nothing but what you see." His words conveyed finality. They got into a taxi, tipped the porter,
who had been staring in amazement at the venerable figure of the
scientist, and were conveyed slowly and noisily to the house in the
north of London where the laboratory was, the scene of their labours of
years. And the whole way Professor Ebor uttered no word, nor did Dr. Laidlaw
find the courage to ask a single question. It was only late that night, before he took his departure, as the two
men were standing before the fire in the study--that study where they
had discussed so many problems of vital and absorbing interest--that
Dr. Laidlaw at last found strength to come to the point with direct
questions. The professor had been giving him a superficial and desultory
account of his travels, of his journeys by camel, of his encampments
among the mountains and in the desert, and of his explorations among the
buried temples, and, deeper, into the waste of the pre-historic sands,
when suddenly the doctor came to the desired point with a kind of
nervous rush, almost like a frightened boy. "And you found--" he began stammering, looking hard at the other's
dreadfully altered face, from which every line of hope and cheerfulness
seemed to have been obliterated as a sponge wipes markings from a
slate--"you found--"

"I found," replied the other, in a solemn voice, and it was the voice of
the mystic rather than the man of science--"I found what I went to seek.