"Take your own time, Mr. Byrne," said Murray. "When the light you seek is ready to come to you, it will come."
"Yes; but I don't know where to look for it," said Byrne.
"It will come of its own accord."
Byrne shook his bead.
"Poor fellow! he's just a bit touched yet," he said to himself.
After a little more conversation, Gerald and Mr. Murray went. It was arranged that Byrne should write and let them know when he was ready to see them again.
It was about a week later when they all met again by appointment.
"Has the light come yet?" was Murray's first question.
"If it has, it is only a tiny ray indeed," said Byrne. "Something like that of a farthing rushlight, liable to be blown out by the first puff of wind."
"In such cases as the one before us," resumed Byrne, when they were all seated, "it often happens that several abortive-attempts have to be made before the proper channel for exploration is discovered. The plan which I am about to propose to you will, in all probability, prove an abortive one, and will result in some other effort in some other direction having ultimately to be made. The plan in question is, however, the only one I can think of at present which seems to possess the least degree of feasibility. Very few words will suffice to lay it before you."