“ I am dying, Egypt, dying;
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast.”
It was about noon the next day when Maitland called upon me. “See here, Doc,” he began at once, “do you believe in coincidences?” I informed him that his question was not altogether easy to understand. “Wait a moment,” he said, “while I explain. For at least two years prior to my recent return from California the name ‘Cleopatra’ has not entered my mind. You were the first to mention it to me, and from you I learned that Miss Darrow was to have charge of the ‘Antony and Cleopatra’ night. That is all natural enough. But why should I, on every morning since you first mentioned the subject to me, awake with Antony’s words upon my lips? Why should every book or paper I pick up contain some reference to Cleopatra? Why, man, i
