Master Of His Fate

by

J. MACLAREN COBBAN

1890

Contents. 

Chapter

 I. Julius Courtney II. A Mysterious Case III. "M. Dolaro" IV. The Man of the Crowd V. The Remarkable Case of Lady Mary Fane VI. At The Bedside of the Doctor VII. Contains a Love InterludeVIII. Strange Scenes in Curzon Street IX. An Apparition And a Confession

 To Z. Mennell, Esq. 

 My dear Mennell, It has been my fortune to see something of the practice of the art of healing under widely different conditions, and I know none who better represents the most humane and most exacting of all professions than yourself. The good doctor of this story--the born surgeon and healer, the ever young and alert, the self-forgetful, the faithful friend, gifted with "that exquisite charity which can forgive all things"--is studied from you. 

 It is one of the greatest pleasures of my life to inscribe your name on this dedicatory page, and to subscribe myself, Your sincere friend and grateful patient, J. Maclaren Cobban. 

 London, November 1889. 

Chapter I. 

Julius Courtney. 

The Hyacinth Club has the reputation of selecting its members from amongthe freshest and most active spirits in literature, science, and art. That is in a sense true, but activity in one or another of those fieldsis not a condition of membership; for, just as the listening Boswell wasthe necessary complement of the talking Johnson, so in the Hyacinth Clubthere is an indispensable contingent of passive members who find theirliveliest satisfaction in hearing and looking on, rather than inspeaking and doing. Something of the home principle of male and femaleis necessary for the completeness even of a club. 

The Hyacinth Club-house looks upon Piccadilly and the Green Park. Thefavourite place of concourse of its members is the magnificentsmoking-room on the first floor, the bow-windows of which command a viewup and down the fashionable thoroughfare, and over the trees and theundulating sward of the Park to the gates of Buckingham Palace. On aMonday afternoon in the beginning of May, the bow-windows were open, andseveral men sat in leather lounges (while one leaned against awindow-sash), luxuriously smoking, and noting the warm, palpitating lifeof the world without. A storm which had been silently and doubtfullyglooming and gathering the night before had burst and poured in themorning, and it was such a spring afternoon as thrills the heart withnew life and suffuses the soul with expectation--such an afternoon asmakes all women appear beautiful and all men handsome. The south-westwind blew soft and balmy, and all nature rejoiced as the bride in thepresence of the bridegroom. The trees in the Park were full of sap, andtheir lusty buds were eagerly opening to the air and the light. Therobin sang with a note almost as rich and sensuous as that of thethrush; and the shrill and restless sparrows chirped and chattered aboutthe houses and among the horses' feet, and were as full of the joy oflife as the men and women who thronged the pavements or reclined intheir carriages in the sumptuous ease of wealth and beauty. 

Of the men who languidly gazed upon the gay and splendid scene from thewindows of the Club, none seemed so interested as the man who leanedagainst the window-frame. He appeared more than interested--absorbed, indeed--in the world without, and he looked bright and handsome enough, and charged enough with buoyant health, to be the ideal bridegroom ofNature in her springtide. 

He was a dark man, tall and well built, with clear brown eyes. His blackhair (which was not cropped short, as is the fashion) had a lustroussoftness, and at the same time an elastic bushiness, which nothing butthe finest-tempered health can give; and his complexion, though tannedby exposure, had yet much of the smoothness of youth, save where therazor had passed upon his beard. Thus seen, a little way off, heappeared a young man in his rosy twenties; on closer view andacquaintance, however, that superficial impression was contradicted bythe set expression of his mouth and the calm observation andunderstanding of his eye, which spoke of ripe experience rather than ofgreen hope. He bore a very good English name--Courtney; and he wasbelieved to be rich. There was no member of whom the Hyacinth Club wasprouder than of him: though he had done nothing, it was commonlybelieved he could do anything he chose. No other was listened to withsuch attention, and there was nothing on which he could not throw afresh and fascinating light. He was a constant spring of surprise andinterest. While others were striving after income and reputation, hecalmly and modestly, without obtrusion or upbraiding, held on his ownway, with unsurpassable curiosity, to the discovery of all which lifemight have to reveal. It was this, perhaps, as much as the charm of hismanner and conversation, that made him so universal a favourite; for howcould envy or malice touch a man who competed at no point with hisfellows?

His immediate neighbours, as he thus stood by the window, were a pair ofjournalists, several scientific men, and an artist. 

"Have you seen any of the picture-shows, Julius?" asked the painter, Kew. 

Courtney slowly abstracted his gaze from without, and turned on hisshoulder with the lazy, languid grace of a cat. 

"No, " said he, in a half-absent tone; "I have just come up, and I've notthought of looking into picture-galleries yet. "

"Been in the country?" asked Kew. 

"Yes, I've been in the country, " said Courtney, still as if hisattention was elsewhere. 

"It must be looking lovely, " said Kew. 

"It is--exquisite!" said Courtney, waking up at length to a full glow ofinterest. "That's why I don't want to go and stare at pictures. In thespring, to see the fresh, virginal, delicious green of a bush against anold dry brick wall, gives a keener pleasure than the best picture thatever was painted. "

"I thought, " said Kew, "you had a taste for Art; I thought you enjoyedit. "

"So I do, my dear fellow, but not now, --not at this particular present. When I feel the warm sun on my back and breathe the soft air, I want nomore; they are more than Art can give--they are Nature, and, of course, it goes without saying that Art can never compete with Nature increating human pleasure. I mean no disparagement of your work, Kew, orany artist's work; but I can't endure Art except in winter, wheneverything (almost) must be artificial to be endurable. A winter maycome in one's life--I wonder if it will?--when one would rather look atthe picture of a woman than at the woman herself. Meantime I no moreneed pictures than I need fires; I warm both hands and heart at the fireof life. "

"Ah!" said Kew, with a wistful lack of comprehension. 

"That's why I believe, " said Courtney, with a sudden turn of reflection, "there is in warm countries no Art of our small domestic kind. "

"Just so, " said Kew; while Dingley Dell, the Art critic, made a note ofCourtney's words. 

"Look here!" exclaimed Dr. Embro, an old scientific man of Scottishextraction, who, in impatience with such transcendental talk, had takenup 'The St. James's Gazette. ' "What do you make of this queer case atthe Hôtel-Dieu in Paris? I see it's taken from 'The Daily Telegraph;'"and he began to read it. 

"Oh, " said Kew, "we all read that this morning. "

"Dr. Embro, " said Courtney, again looking idly out of window, "is like aFrench journal: full of the news of the day before yesterday. "

"Have you read it yourself, Julius?" asked Embro, amid the laughter ofhis neighbours. 

"No, " said Julius carelessly; "and if it's a hospital case I don't wantto read it. "

"What!" said Embro, with heavy irony. "You say that? You, a pupil of thegreat Dubois and the greater Charbon! But here comes a greater thanCharbon--the celebrated Dr. Lefevre himself. Come now, Lefevre, you tellus what you think of this Paris hospital case. "

"Presently, Embro, " said Lefevre, who had just perceived his friendCourtney. "Ha, Julius!" said he, crossing to him and taking his hand;"you're looking uncommonly well. "

"Yes, " said Julius, "I am well. "

"And where have you been all this while?" asked the doctor. 

"Oh, " said Julius, turning his gaze again out of window, "I have beenrambling everywhere, between Dan and Beersheba. "

"And all is vanity, eh?" said the doctor. 

"Well, " said Julius, looking at him, "that depends--that very muchdepends. But can there be any question of vanity or vexation in thissweet, glorious sunshine?" and he stretched out his hands as if heburgeoned forth to welcome it. 

"Perhaps not, " said Lefevre. "Come and sit down and let us talk. "

They were retiring from the window when Embro's voice again sounded atLefevre's elbow--"Come now, Lefevre; what's the meaning of that Pariscase?"

"What Paris case?"

Embro answered by handing him the paper. He took it, and read asfollows:--

 "About a month ago a strange case of complete mental collapse was received into the Hôtel-Dieu. A fresh healthy girl, of the working class, about twenty years of age, and comfortably dressed, presented herself at a police-station near the Odéon and asked for shelter. As she did not appear to be in full possession of her mental faculties, she was sent to the Hôtel-Dieu, where she remained in a semi-comatose condition. Her memory did not go farther back than the hour of her application at the police-station. She was entirely ignorant of her previous history, and had even forgotten her name. The minds of the medical staff of the Hôtel-Dieu were very much exercised with her condition; but it was not till about a week ago that they succeeded in restoring to any extent her mental consciousness and her memory. She then remembered the events immediately preceding her application to the police. It had come on to rain, she said, and she was hurrying along to escape from it, when a gentleman in a cloak came to her side and politely offered to give her the shelter of his umbrella. She accepted; the gentleman seemed old and ill. He asked her to take his arm. She did so, and very soon she felt as if her strength had gone from her; a cold shiver crept over her; she trembled and tottered; but with all that she did not find her sensations disagreeable exactly or alarming; so little so, indeed, that she never thought of letting go the gentleman's arm. Her head buzzed, and a kind of darkness came over her. Then all seemed to clear, and she found herself alone near the police-station, remembering nothing. Being asked to further describe the gentleman, she said he was tall and dark, with a pleasant voice and wonderful eyes, that made you feel you must do whatever he wished. The police have made inquiries, but after such a lapse of time it is not surprising that no trace of him can be found. "

"Well?" asked Embro, when Lefevre had raised his eyes from the paper. "What do you think of it?"

"Curious, " said Lefevre. "I can't say more, since I know nothing of itbut this. Have you read it, Julius?"

"No, " said Julius; "I hate what people call news; and when I take up apaper, it's only to look at the Weather Forecasts. " Lefevre handed himthe paper, which he took with an unconcealed look of repulsion. "If it'ssome case of disease, " said he, "it will make me ill. "

"Oh no, " said Lefevre; "it's not painful, but it's curious;" and soJulius set himself to read it. 

"But come, " said Embro, posing the question with his forefinger; "do youbelieve that story, Lefevre?"

"Though it's French, and from the 'Telegraph, '" said Lefevre, "I see noreason to disbelieve it. "

"Come, " said Embro, "come--you're shirking the question. "

"I confess, " said Lefevre, "I've no desire to discuss it. You think meprejudiced in favour of anything of the kind; perhaps I think youprejudiced against it: where, then, is the good of discussion?"

"Well, now, " said the unabashed Embro, "I'll tell you what I think. Here's a story"--Julius at that instant handed back the paper tohim--"of a healthy young woman mesmerised, hypnotised, or somnambulised, or whatever you like to call it, in the public street, by some man thatcasually comes up to her, and her brain so affected that her memorygoes! I say it's inconceivable!--impossible!" And he slapped the paperdown on the table. 

The others looked on with grim satisfaction at the prospect of anargument between the two representatives of rival schools; and it wasnoteworthy that, as they looked, they turned a referring glance onCourtney, as if it were a foregone conclusion that he must be the finalarbiter. He, however, sat abstracted, with his eyes on the floor, andwith one hand propping his chin and the other drumming on the arm of hischair. 

"I'm not a scientific man, " said the journalist who was not an Artcritic, "and I am not prejudiced either way about this story; but itseems to me, Embro, that you view the thing through a very ordinaryfallacy, and make a double mistake. You confound the relativelyinconceivable with the absolutely impossible: this story is relativelyinconceivable to you, and therefore you say it is absolutelyimpossible. "

"Is there such a thing as an absolute impossibility?" murmured Julius, who still sat with his chin in his hand, looking as if he considered the"thing" from a long way off as one of a multitude of other things. 

"I do not believe there is, " said the journalist; "but--"

"Don't let us lose ourselves in metaphysics, " broke in Embro. Then, turning to Courtney, whose direct intelligent gaze seemed to disconcerthim, he said, "Now, Julius, you've seen, I daresay, a good many thingswe have not seen, --have you ever seen or known a case like this we'retalking about?"

"I can't say I have, " said Julius. 

"There you are!" quoth Embro, in triumph. 

"But, " continued Julius, "I don't therefore nail that case down asfalse. "

"Do you mean to say, " exclaimed Embro, "that you have lived all youryears, and studied science at the Salpétrière, --or what they callscience there, --and studied and seen God knows what else besides, andyou can't pronounce an opinion from all you know on a case of thissort?"

"Oh yes, " said Julius, quietly, "I can pronounce an opinion; but what'sthe use of that? I think that case is true, but I don't know that it is;and therefore I can't argue about it, for argument should come fromknowledge, and I have none. I have a few opinions, and I am always readyto receive impressions; but, besides some schoolboy facts that arecommon property, the only thing I know--I am certain of--is, as some mansays, '_Life's a dream worth dreaming_. '"

"You're too high-falutin for me, Julius, " said Embro, shaking his head. "But my opinion, founded on my knowledge, is that this story is ahallucination of the young woman's noddle!"

"And how much, Embro, " laughed Julius, rising to leave the circle, "isthe argument advanced by your ticketing the case with that long word?"

"To say 'hallucination, '" quoth Lefevre, "is a convenient way of givinginquiry the slip. "

"My dear Embro, " said Julius, --and he spoke with an emphasis, and lookeddown on Embro with a bright vivacity of eye, which forewarned the circleof one of his eloquent flashes: a smile of expectant enjoyment passedround, --"hallucination is the dust-heap and limbo of the meanly-equippedman of science to-day, just as witchcraft was a few hundred years ago. The poor creature of science long ago, when he came upon anypathological or psychological manifestation he did not understand, usedto say, '_Witchcraft_! Away with it to the limbo!' To-day he says, '_Hallucination_! Away with it to the dust-heap!' It is a pity, " saidhe, with a laugh, "you ever took to science, Embro. "

"And why, may I ask?" said Embro. 

"Oh, you'd have been great as an orthodox theologian of the Kirk; thecocksureness of theology would have suited you like your own coat. Youare not at home in science, for you have no imagination. "

It was characteristic of the peculiar regard in which Julius was heldthat whatever he said or did appeared natural and pleasant, --like theinnocent actions and the simple, truthful speech of a child. Not evenEmbro was offended with these last words of his: the others laughed;Embro smiled, though with a certain sourness. 

"Pooh, Julius!" said he; "what are you talking about? Science is theexamination of facts, and what has imagination to do with that? Reason, sir, is what you want!"

"My dear Embro, " said Julius, "there are several kinds of facts. Thereare, for instance, big facts and little facts, --clean facts and dirtyfacts. Imagination raises you and gives you a high and comprehensiveview of them all; your mere reason keeps you down in some noisomecorner, like the man with the muck-rake. "

"Hear, hear!" cried the journalist and the artist heartily. 

"You're wrong, Julius, " said Embro, --"quite wrong. Keep your imaginationfor painting and poetry. In science it just leads you the devil's owndance, and fills you with delusions. "

Julius paused, and bent on him his peculiar look, which made a man feelhe was being seen through and through. 

"I am surprised, Embro, " said he, "that one can live all your years andnot find that the illusions of life are its best part. If you leave methe illusions, I'll give you all the realities. But how can we staybabbling and quibbling here all this delicious afternoon? I must go outand see green things and beasts. Come with me, Lefevre, to theZoological Gardens; it will do you good. "

"I tell you what, " said Lefevre, looking at the clock as they movedaway; "my mother and sister will call for me with the carriage in lessthan half an hour: come with us for a drive. "

"Oh yes, " said Julius; "that's a good idea. "

"And I, " said Lefevre, "must have a cup of tea in the meantime. Come andsit down, and tell me where you have been. "

But when they had sat down, Julius was little inclined to divagate intoan account of his travels. His glance swept round and noted everything;he remarked on a soft effect of a shaft of sunshine that lit up thesmall conservatory, and burnished the green of a certain plant; heperceived a fine black Persian cat, the latest pet of the Club, andexclaimed, "What a beautiful, superb creature!" He called it, and itcame, daintily sniffed at his leg, and leaped on his lap, where hestroked and fondled it. And all the while he continued to discussillusion, while Lefevre poured and drank tea (tea, which Julius wouldnot share: tea, he said, did not agree with him). 

"It bothers me, " he said, "to imagine how a man like Embro gets anysatisfaction out of life, for ever mumbling the bare dry bones ofscience. Such a life as his might as well be passed in the receiver ofan air-pump. "

"Still the old Julius!" said the doctor, with a smile. "Still dreamingand wandering, interested in everything, but having nothing to do!"

"Nothing to do, my dear fellow?" said Julius. "I've all the world toenjoy!" and he buried his cheek in the soft fur of the cat. 

"A purpose in life, however, " said Lefevre, "gives an extraordinary zestto all enjoyment. "

"To live, " said Julius, "is surely the purpose of life. Any smaller, anymore obvious purpose, will spoil life, just as it spoils Art. "

"I believe, my boy, you are wrong in both, " said Lefevre. "Art without apurpose goes off into all sorts of madness and extravagance, and so doeslife. "

"You really think so?" said Julius, his attention fixed for an instant, and looking as if he had set up the point and regarded it at a distance. "Yes; perhaps it does. " But the next moment his attention seemed givento the cat; he fondled it, and talked to it soothingly. 

"I am sure of it, " said Lefevre. "Just listen to me, Julius. You havewonderful intelligence and penetration in everything. You are fond ofscience; science needs men like you more than the dull plodders thatusually take to it. When you were in Charbon's class you were hisfavourite and his best pupil, --don't I remember?--and if you liked youcould be the greatest physician of the age. "

"It is treason to yourself to say such a thing. "

"Your fame would soon eclipse mine. "

"Fame! fame!" exclaimed Julius, for an instant showing irritation. "Iwould not give a penny-piece for fame if all the magicians of the Eastcame crying it down the streets! Why should I seek fame? What good wouldit do me if I had it?"

"Well, well, " said Lefevre; "let fame alone: you might be as unknown asyou like, and do a world of good in practice among the poor. "

Julius looked at him, and set the cat down. 

"My dear Lefevre, " said he, "I did not think you could urge such commontwaddle! You know well enough, --nobody knows better, --first of all, thatthere are already more men waiting to do that kind of thing than canfind occupation: why should I go down among them and try to take theirwork? And you know, in the next place, that medical philanthropy, likeall other philanthropy, is so overdone that the race is fastdeteriorating; we strive with so much success to keep the sickly and thediseased alive, that perfect health is scarcely known. Life withouthealth can be nothing but a weariness: why should it be reckoned apraiseworthy thing to keep it going at any price? If life became aburden to me, I should lay it down. "

"But, " said Lefevre, earnestly, "your life surely is not your own to dowith it what you like!"

"In the name of truth, Lefevre, " answered Julius, "if my life is not myown, what is? I get its elements from others, but I fashion it myself, just as much as the sculptor shapes his statue, or the poet turns hispoem. You don't deny to the sculptor the right to smash his statue if itdoes not please him, nor to the poet the right to burn hismanuscript;--why should you deny me the right to dispose of my life? Iknow--I know, " said he, seeing Lefevre open his mouth and raise his handfor another observation, "that your opinion is the common one, but thatis the only sanction it has; it has the sanction neither of truemorality nor of true religion! But here is the waiter to tell you thecarriage is come. I'm glad. Let us get out into the air and thesunshine. "

The carriage was the doctor's own; his mother, although the widow of aCourt physician, was too poor to maintain much equipage, but she madewhat use she pleased of her son's possessions. When Lady Lefevre sawJulius at the carriage-door, she broke into smiles and cries of welcome. 

"Where have you been this long, long while, Julius?" said she. "This isJulius Courtney, Nora. You remember Nora, Julius, when she was a littlegirl in frocks?"

"She now wears remarkable gowns, " chimed in the doctor. 

"Which, " said Julius, "I have no doubt are becoming. "

"My brother, " said Nora, with a sunny smile, "is jealous; because, beinga doctor, he must wear only dowdy clothes of dingy colours. "

"We have finished at school and college, and been presented at Court, "laughed Lady Lefevre. 

"And, " broke in the brother, "we have had cards engraved with our fullname, _Leonora_. "

"With all this, " said Lady Lefevre, "I hope you won't be afraid of us. "

"I see no reason, " said Julius. "For, if I may say so, I like everythingin Nature, and it seems to me Nature has had more to do with thefinishing you speak of than the schoolmistress or the collegeprofessor. "

"There he is already, " laughed Lady Lefevre, "with his equivocalcompliments. I shouldn't wonder if he says that, my dear, because youhave not yet had more than a word to say for yourself. "

By that time Lefevre and Julius were seated, and the carriage wasrolling along towards the Park. Julius sat immediately opposite LadyLefevre, but he included both her and Nora in his talk and his brightglances. The doctor sat agreeably suffused with delight and wonder. Noone, as has been seen, had a higher opinion of Courtney's rare powers, or had had more various evidence of them, than Lefevre, but even he hadnever known his friend so brilliant. He was instinct with life andeloquence. His face shone as with an inner light, and his talk wasbright, searching, and ironical. The amazing thing, however, was thatJulius had as stimulating and intoxicating an influence on Nora as, itwas clear, Nora had on him. His sister had not appeared to Lefevrehitherto more than a beautiful, healthy, shy girl of tolerableintelligence; now she showed that she had brilliance and wit, and, moreover, that she understood Julius as one native of a strange realmunderstands another. When they entered the Park, they were the observedof all. And, indeed, Leonora Lefevre was a vision to excite the worshipof those least inclined to idolatry of Nature. She was of the noblesttype of English beauty, and she seemed as calmly unconscious of itsexcellence and rarity as one of the grand Greek women of the Parthenon. She had, however, a sensuous fulness and bloom, a queenly carriage ofhead and neck, a clearness of feature, and a liquid kindness of eye thatsuggested a deep potentiality of passion. 

They drove round the Row, and round again, and they talked and laughedtheir fill of wisdom and frivolity and folly. To be foolish wisely andgracefully is a rare attainment. When they had almost completed theirthird round, Julius (who had finished a marvellous story of a fairyprincess and a cat) said, "I can see you are fond of beasts, MissLefevre. I should like to take you to the Zoological Gardens and showyou my favourites there. May we go now, Lady Lefevre?"

"By all means, " said Lady Lefevre, "let us go. What do you say, John?"

"Oh, wherever you like, mother, " answered her son. 

Arrived in the Gardens, Julius took possession of his companions, andexerted all his arts to charm and fascinate. He led the ladies from cageto cage, from enclosure to enclosure, showed himself as familiar withthe characters and habits of their wild denizens as a farmer is withthose of his stock, and they responded to his strange calls, to hisgentleness and fearlessness, with an alert understanding and confidencebeautiful to see. His favourites were certain creatures of the deerspecies, which crowded to their fences to sniff his clothes, and to lickhis hands, which he abandoned to their caresses with manifestsatisfaction. His example encouraged the queenly Nora and her sprightlymother to feed the beautiful creatures with bread and buns, and to feelthe suffusion of pleasure derived from the contact of their soft lipswith the palm of the hand. After that they were scarcely astonishedwhen, without bravado, but clearly with simple confidence and enjoyment, Julius put his hand within the bars of the lion's cage and scratched theears of a lioness, murmuring the while in a strange tongue such fondsounds as only those use who are on the best terms with animals. Thegreat brute rose to his touch, closing its eyes, and bearing up its headlike a cat. 

Then came an incident that deeply impressed the Lefevres. Julius went toa cage in which, he said, there was a recent arrival--a leopard from the"Land of the Setting Sun, " the romantic land of the Moors. The creaturecrouched sulking in the back of the cage. Julius tapped on the bars, andentreated her in the language of her native land, "Ya, dudu! ya, lellatsi!" She bounded to him with a "_wir-r-r_" of delight, leaned andrubbed herself against the bars, and gave herself up to be stroked andfondled. When he left her, she cried after him piteously, and wistfullywatched him out of sight. 

"Do you know the beautiful creature?" asked Lady Lefevre. 

"Yes, " answered Julius quietly; "I brought her over some months ago. "

Lefevre had explained to his mother that Julius had always been onfriendly or fond terms with animals, but never till now had he seen theremarkable understanding he clearly maintained with them. 

"Look!" said Lady Lefevre to her son as they turned to leave theGardens. "He seems to have fascinated Nora as much as the beasts. "

Nora stood a little aloof, regarding Julius in an ecstasy of admiration. When she found her mother was looking at her, her eyes sank, and as itwere a veil of blushes fell over her. Mother and son walked on first, and Julius followed with Nora. 

"He is a most charming and extraordinary man, " said the mother. 

"He is, " said the son, "and amazingly intelligent. "

"He seems to know everything, and to have been everywhere, --to have beena kind of rolling stone. If anything should come of this, I suppose hecan afford to marry. You ought to know about him. "

"I believe I know as much as any one. "

"He has no profession?" queried the lady. 

"He has no profession; but I suppose he could afford it, " said Lefevremusingly. 

"You don't like the idea, " said his mother. 

"Not much. I scarce know why. But I somehow think of him as not havingenough sense of the responsibility of life. "

"I suppose his people are of the right sort?"

"I suppose they are; though I don't know if he has any people, " said he, with a laugh. "He is the kind of man who does not need parents orrelations. "

"Still, hadn't you better try to find out what he may have in thatline?"

"Yes, " said Lefevre; "perhaps I had. "

Chapter II. 

A Mysterious Case. 

The two friends returned, as they had arranged, to the Hyacinth Club fordinner. Courtney's coruscating brilliancy sank into almost totaldarkness when they parted from Lady and Miss Lefevre, and when they satdown to table he was preoccupied and silent, yet in no proper sensedowncast or dull. Lefevre noted, while they ate, that there was clearspeculation in his eye, that he was not vaguely dreaming, but with alertintelligence examining some question, or facing some contingency; and itwas natural he should think that the question or contingency mustconcern Nora as much as Julius. Yet he made no overture ofunderstanding, for he knew that Courtney seldom offered confidence ordesired sympathy; not that he was churlish or reserved, but simply thathe was usually sufficient unto himself, both for counsel and forconsolation. Lefevre was therefore surprised when he was suddenly askeda question, which was without context in his own thought. 

"Have you ever found something happen or appear, " said Julius, "thatcompletely upsets your point of view, and tumbles down your scheme oflife, like a stick thrust between your legs when you are running?"

"I have known, " said Lefevre, "a new fact arise and upset a wholescientific theory. That's often a good thing, " he added, with a pointedglance; "for it compels a reconstruction of the theory on a wider andsounder basis. "

"Yes, " murmured Julius; "that may be. But I should think it does notoften happen that the new fact swallows up all the details thatsupported your theory, --as Aaron's rod, turned into a serpent, swallowedup the serpent-rods of the magicians of Egypt, --so that there is nolonger any theory, but only one great, glorious fact. I do admire, " heexclaimed, swerving suddenly, "the imagination of those old Greeks, withtheir beautiful, half-divine personifications of the Spirits of Air andEarth and Sea! But their imagination never conceived a goddess thatembodied them all!"

"I have often thought, Julius, " said Lefevre, "that you must be somesuch embodiment yourself; for you are not quite human, you know. "

The doctor said that with a clear recollection of his mother's request. He hoped that his friend would take the cue, and tell him something ofhis family. Julius, however, said nothing but "Indeed. " Lefevre thentried to tempt him into confession by talking about his own father andmother, and by relating how the French name "Lefevre" came to bedomiciled in England; but Julius ignored the temptation, and dismissedthe question in an eloquent flourish. 

"What does a man want with a family and a name? They only tie him to theearth, as Gulliver was tied by the people of Lilliput. We have life andhealth, --_if_ we have them, --and it is only veiled prurience to inquirewhence we got them. A man can't help having a father and a mother, Isuppose; but he need not be always reminding himself of the fact: noother creature on earth does. For myself, I wish I were like thatextraordinary person, Melchizedek, without father and without mother, without descent, having neither beginning of days nor end of life. "

In a little while the friends parted. Lefevre said he had work to do, but he did not anticipate such work as he had to turn to that night. Though the doctor was a bachelor, he had a professional residence apartfrom his mother and sister. They lived in a small house in CurzonStreet; he dwelt in Savile Row. Savile Row was a place of consequencelong before Regent Street was thought of, but now they are few who knowof its existence. Fashion ignores it. It is tenanted by small clubs, learned societies, and doctors. It slumbers in genteel decorum, with itsback to the garish modern thoroughfare. It is always quiet, but by nineo'clock of a dark evening it is deserted. When Dr Lefevre, therefore, stepped out of his hired hansom, and prepared to put his latch-key inhis own door, he was arrested by a hoarse-voiced hawker of evening newsbursting in upon the repose of the Row with a continuous roar of"Special--Mystery--Paper--Railway--Special--Brighton--Paper--Victoria--Special!" It was with some effort, and only when the man was closeat hand, that he interpreted the sounds into these words. 

"Paper, sir, " said the man; and he bought it and went in. He entered hisdining-room, and read the following paragraph;--

 "A Mysterious Case. 

 "A report has reached us that a young man, about two or four and twenty years of age, whose name is at present unknown, was found yesterday (Sunday) to all appearance dead in a first-class carriage of the 5 P. M. Train from Brighton to Victoria. The discovery was only made at Grosvenor Road Station, where tickets are taken before entering Victoria. At Victoria the body was searched for purposes of identification, and there was found upon him a card with the following remarkable inscription:--'_I am not dead. Take me to the St. James's Hospital. _' To St. James's Hospital accordingly the young man was conveyed. It seems probable he is in a condition of trance--not for the first time--since he was provided with the card, and knew the hospital with which is associated in all men's minds the name of Dr Lefevre, who is so famous for his skill in the treatment of nervous disorders. "

In matters of plain duty Dr Lefevre had got into the excellent habit ofacting first and thinking afterwards. He at once rang the bell, andordered the responsible serving-man who appeared to call a cab. The manwent to the door and sounded his shrill whistle, grateful to the ears ofseveral loitering cabbies. There was a mad race of growlers and hansomsfor the open door. Dr Lefevre got into the first hansom that drew up, and drove off to the hospital. By that time he had told himself that theyoung man must be a former patient of his (though he did not rememberany such), and that he ought to see him at once, although it is not for the visiting physician of a hospital to appear, exceptbetween fixed hours of certain days. He made nothing of the mysterywhich the newspaper wished, after the manner of its kind, to cast aboutthe case, and thought of other things, while he smoked cigarettes, tillhe reached the hospital. The house-physician was somewhat surprised byhis appearance. 

"I have just read that paragraph, " said Lefevre, handing him the paper. 

"Oh yes, sir, " said the house-physician. "The man was brought in lastnight. Dr Dowling" [the resident assistant-physician] "saw him, andthought it a case of ordinary trance, that could easily wait till youcame, as usual, to-morrow. "

"Ah, well, " said Lefevre, "let me see him. "

Seen thus, the physician appeared a different person from the cheerful, modest man of the Hyacinth Club. He had now put on the responsibility ofmen's health and the enthusiasm of his profession. He seemed to swell inproportions and dignity, though his eye still beamed with a calm andkindly light. 

The young man led the way down the echoing flagged passage, and up theflight of stone stairs. As they went they encountered many silent femalefigures, clean and white, going up or down (it was the time of changingnurses), so that a fanciful stranger might well have thought of thestairway reaching from earth to heaven, on which the angels of God wereseen ascending and descending. A stranger, too, would have noted thepeculiar odours that hung about the stairs and passages, as if theghosts of medicines escaped from the chemist's bottles were hovering inthe air. Opening first an outer and then an inner door, Lefevre and hiscompanion entered a large and lofty ward. The room was dark, save forthe light of the fire and of a shaded lamp, by which, within a screen, the night-nurse sat conning her list of night-duties. The evening wasjust beginning out of doors, --shop-fronts were flaring, taverns werebecoming noisy, and brilliantly-lit theatres and music-halls weresettling down to business, --but here night and darkness had set in morethan an hour before. Indeed, in these beds of languishing, whichstretched away down either side of the ward, night was hardly to bedistinguished from day, save for the sunlight and the occasionalexcitement of the doctor's visit; and many there were who cried tothemselves in the morning, "Would God it were evening!" and in theevening, "Would God it were morning!" But there was yet this otherdifference, that disease and doctor, fear and hope, gossip andgrumbling, newspaper and Bible and tract, were all forgotten in thenight, for some time at least, and Nature's kind restorer, sleep, wentsoftly round among the beds and soothed the weary spirits into peace. 

Lefevre and the house-physician passed silently up the ward between therows of silent blue-quilted beds, while the nurse came silently to meetthem with her lamp. Lefevre turned aside a moment to look at a man whosebreathing was laboured and stertorous. The shaded light was turned uponhim: an opiate had been given him to induce sleep; it had performed itsfunction, but, as if resenting its bondage, it was impishly twitchingthe man's muscles and catching him by the throat, so that he choked andstarted. Dr Lefevre raised the man's eyelid to look at his eye: theupturned eye stared out upon him, but the man slept on. He put his handon the man's forehead (he had a beautiful hand--the hand of a bornsurgeon and healer--fine but firm, the expression of nervous force), andwith thumb and finger stroked first his temples and then his neck. Thespasmodic twitching ceased, and his breath came easy and regular. Thehouse-doctor and the nurse looked at each other in admiration of thissubtle skill, while Lefevre turned away and passed on. 

"Where is the man?" said he. 

"Number Thirteen, " answered the house-doctor, leading the way. 

The lamp was set on the locker beside the bed of Thirteen, screens wereplaced round to create a seclusion amid the living, breathing silence ofthe ward, and Lefevre proceeded to examine the unconscious patient whohad so strangely put himself in his hands. 

He was young and well-favoured, and, it was evident from the firmness ofhis flesh, well-fed. Lefevre considered his features a moment, shook hishead, and murmured, "No; I don't think I've seen him before. " He turnedto the nurse and inquired concerning the young man's clothes: they wereevidently those of a gentleman, she said, --of one, at least, who hadplenty of money. He turned again to the young man. He raised the leftarm to feel the heart, but, contrary to his experience in such cases, the arm did not remain as he bent it, nor did the eyes open in obedienceto the summons of the disturbed nerves. The breathing was scarcelyperceptible, and the beating of the heart was faint. 

"A strange case, " said Lefevre in a low voice to his young comrade--"thestrangest I've seen. He does not look a subject for this kind of thing, and yet he is in the extreme stage of hypnotism. You see. " And thedoctor, by sundry tests and applications, showed the peculiar exhaustedand contractive condition of the muscles. "It is very curious. "

"Perhaps, " said the other, "he has been--" and he hesitated. 

"Been what?" asked Lefevre, turning on him his keen look. 

"Enjoying himself. "

"Having a debauch, you mean? No; I think not. There would then haveprobably been some reflex action of the nerves. This is not that kind ofexhaustion; and it is more than mere trance or catalepsy; it seems theextremest suspensory condition, --and that in a young man of suchapparent health is very remarkable. It will take a long time for him torecover in the ordinary way with food and sleep, " he continued, ratherto himself than to his subordinates. "He needs rousing, --a strongstimulant. "

"Shall I get some brandy, sir?" asked the nurse. 

"Brandy? No. That's not the stimulant he needs. "

He was silent for a little, moving the young man's limbs, and touchingcertain muscles which his exact anatomical knowledge taught him to layhis finger on with unerring accuracy. The effect was startling andgrotesque. As a galvanic current applied to the proper nerves andmuscles of a dead body will produce expressions and actions resemblingthose of life, so the touch of Lefevre's finger made the unconsciousyoung man scowl or smile or clench his fist according to the musclesimpressed. 

"The brain, " said Lefevre, "seems quite sound, --perfectly passive, yousee, but active in its passivity. You can leave us, nurse, " said he;then, turning to the house-physician, he continued: "I am convinced thisis such a peculiar case as I have often imagined, but have never seen. This nervous-muscular suspension is complicated with some exhaustiveinfluence. I want your assistance, and I ask for it like this, becauseit is necessary for my purpose that you should give it freely, andwithout reserve; I am going to try the electrode. "

This was a simple machine contrived by Lefevre, on the model of theelectric cylinder of Du Bois-Reymond, and worked on the theory that theelectricity stored in the human body can be driven out by the human willalong a prepared channel into another human body. 

"I understand, " said the assistant promptly. He apprehended his chief'smeaning more fully than the reader can; for he was deeply interested andfairly skilled in that strange annex of modern medical science which hischief called psycho-dynamics, and which old-fashioned practitionersdecline to recognise. 

"Get me the machine and the insulating sheet, " said Lefevre. 

While his assistant was gone on his errand, Lefevre with his right handgently stroked along the main lines of nerve and muscle in the upperpart of his patient's body; and it was strange to note how the featuresand limbs lost a certain constriction and rigidity which it was manifestthey had had only by their disappearance. When the house-physicianreturned, the sheet (a preparation of spun-glass invented by Lefevre)was drawn under the patient, and the machine, with its vessels ofchemical mixture and its conducting wires, was placed close to the bed. The handles attached to the wires were put into the patient's hands. 

"Now, " said Lefevre, "this is a trying experiment. Give me yourhand--your left; you know how to do; yes, the other hand on the machine, with the fingers touching the chemicals. When you feel strength--virtue, so to say--going out of you, don't be alarmed: let it go; use no effortof the will to keep it back, or we shall probably fail. "

"I understand, " repeated the assistant. 

Then, holding his hand, --closely, but not so as to constrain themuscles, --Lefevre put his own left on the machine according to thedirection he had given his assistant, --with his fingers, that is, dipping into the chemicals from plates in the bottom of which the wiresconducted to the patient's hands. A shiver ran through the frame of bothLefevre and his companion, a convulsive shudder passed upon theunconscious body, and--a strange cry rang out upon the silence of theward, and Lefevre withdrew his hands. He and the house-physician lookedat each other pale and shaken. The nurse came running at the cry. Lefevre looked out beyond the screen to reassure her, and saw in the dimred reflection of the firelight a sight which struck him gruesomely, used though he was to hospital sights; all about the ward pale scaredfigures were sitting up in bed, like corpses suddenly raised from thedead. He bent over his patient, who presently opened his eyes and staredat him. 

"Get some brandy and milk, " said Lefevre to his companion. 

"Who? Where am I?" murmured the patient in a faint voice. 

"I am Dr Lefevre, and this is St. James's Hospital. "

"Doctor?--hospital?--oh, I'm dreaming!" murmured the patient. 

"We'll talk about that when you have taken some of this, " said Lefevre, as the house-physician reappeared with the nurse, bearing the brandy andmilk. 

Lefevre presently told him how he had been found in the train, and takenfor dead till the card--"this card, " said he, taking it from the top ofthe locker--was discovered on him. The young man listened in openamazement, and looked at the card. 

"I know nothing of this!" said he. "I never saw the card before! I neverheard your name or the hospital's till a minute ago. "

"Your case was strange before, " said Lefevre; "this makes it stranger. Who journeyed with you?"

"A man, --a nice, strange, oldish fellow in a fur coat. " And the youngman wished to enter upon a narrative, when the doctor interrupted him. 

"You're not well enough to talk much now. Tell me to-morrow all aboutit. "

The doctor returned home, his imagination occupied with the vision of atrain rushing at express speed over the metals, and of a compartment inthe train in which a young man reclined under the spell of an old man. The young man's face he saw clearly, but the old man's evaded him like adream, and yet he felt he ought to know one who knew the peculiar reputeof the St. James's Hospital. Next day the young man told his story, which was in effect as follows: He was a subaltern in a dragoon regimentstationed in Brighton. On Sunday afternoon he had set out for London onseveral days' leave. He had taken a seat in a smoking-carriage, and waspreparing to make himself comfortable with a novel and a cigar, when anelderly gentleman, who looked like a foreigner, came in as the train wasabout to move. He particularly observed the man from the first, because, though it was a pleasant spring day, he looked pinched and shrunken withcold in his great fur overcoat, and because he had remarked him standingon the platform and scrutinizing the passengers hurrying into the train. The gentleman sat down in the seat opposite the young officer, and drewhis fur wrap close about him. The young officer could not keep his eyesoff him, and he noted that his features seemed worn thin and arid, as bypassage through terrific peril, --as if he had been travelling for manydays without sleep and without food, straining forward to a goal ofsafety, sick both in stomach and heart, --as if he had been rushing, likethe maniac of the Gospel, through dry places, seeking rest and findingnone. His hair, which should have been black, looked lustreless andbleached, and his skin seemed as if his blood had lost all colour andgenerosity, as if nothing but serum flowed in his veins. His eyes alonedid not look bloodless; they were weary and extravasated, as fromanxious watching. The young officer's compassion went out to thestranger; for he thought he must be a conspirator, fleeing probably fromthe infamous tyranny of Russian rule. But presently he spoke in suchgood English that the idea of his being a Russian faded away. 

"Excuse the liberty I take, " said he, with a singularly winning smile;"but let me advise you not to smoke that cigar. I have a peculiarlysensitive nose for tobacco, and my nose informs me that your cigar, though good as cigars go, is not fit for you to smoke. "

The young officer was surprised that he was rather charmed than offendedby this impertinence. 

"Let me offer you one of these instead, " said the strange gentleman; "wecall them--I won't trouble you with the Spanish name--but in English itmeans 'Joys of Spain. '"

The officer took and thanked him for a "Joy of Spain, " and found theflavour and aroma so excellent that, to use his own phrase, he couldhave eaten it. He asked the stranger what in particular was hisobjection to the other cigar. 

"This objection, " said he, "which is common to all ill-preparedtobaccos, that it lowers the vital force. You don't feel that yet, because you are young and healthy, and gifted with a superabundance offine vitality; but you may by smoking one bad cigar bring the time a daynearer when you must feel it. And even now it would take a little offthe keen edge of the appetite for pleasure. How little, " said he, "do weunderstand how to keep ourselves in condition for the complete enjoymentof life! You, I suppose, are about to take your pleasure in town, andinstead of judiciously tickling and stimulating your nerves for thecomplete fulfilment of the pleasures you contemplate, you begin--youwere beginning, I mean, with your own cigar--to dull and stupefy them. Don't you see how foolish that is?"

The young officer admitted that it was very foolish and very true; andthey talked on thus, the elder exercising a charm over the younger suchas he had never known before in the society of any man. In a quarter ofan hour the young man felt as if he had known and trusted and loved hisneighbour all his life; he felt, he confessed, so strongly attractedthat he could have hugged him. He told him about his family, and showedhim the innermost secrets of his heart; and all the while he smoked thedelicious "Joy of Spain, " and felt more and more enthralled andfascinated by the stranger's eyes, which, as he talked, lightened andglowed more and more as their glance played caressingly about him. Hewas beginning to wonder at that, when with some emphatic phrase thestranger laid his fingers on his knee, upon which a thrill shot throughhim as if a woman had touched him. He looked in the stranger's face, andthe wonderful eyes seemed to search to the root of his being, and todraw the soul out of him. He had a flying thought--"Can it be a woman, after all, in this strange shape?" and he knew no more . .. Till he wokein the hospital bed. 

That was the patient's story. 

"Just look over your property here, " said the doctor. "Have you lostanything?"

The young man turned over his watch and the contents of his purse, andanswered that he had lost nothing. 

"Strange--strange!" said Lefevre--"very strange! And the card--of coursethe stranger must have put it in your pocket. "

"Which would seem to imply, " said the young man, "that _he_ knowssomething of the hospital. "

"Well, " said Lefevre, "we must see what can be done to clear the mysteryup. "

"Some of those newspaper-men have been here, " said the house-physician, when they had left the ward, "and they will be sure to call again beforethe day is out. Shall I tell them anything of this?"

"Certainly, " said Lefevre. "Publicity may help us to discover thisamazing stranger. "

"Do you quite believe the story?" asked the house-physician. 

"I don't disbelieve it. "

"But what did the stranger do to put him in that condition, which seemssomething more than hypnotism?"

"Ah, " said Lefevre, "I don't yet understand it; but there are forces inNature which few can comprehend, and which only one here and there cancontrol and use. "

Chapter III. 

"M. Dolaro. "

Next day men talked, newspaper in hand, at the breakfast-table, in theearly trains, omnibuses, and tramcars, of the singular railway outrage. It was clear its purpose was not robbery. What, then, did it mean?Some--probably most--declared it was very plain what it meant; whileothers, --the few, --after much argument, confessed themselves quitemystified. 

The police, too, were not idle. They made inquiries and took notes hereand there. They discovered that the five o'clock train made but twopauses on its journey to London--at Croydon and at Clapham Junction. Atneither of those places could a man in a fur coat be heard of as havingdescended from the train; and yet it was manifest that he did not arriveat Grosvenor Road, where tickets were taken. After persistent and widerinquiries, however, at Clapham Junction (which was the most likely pointof departure), a cabman was found who remembered having taken up afare--a gentleman in a fur coat--about the hour indicated. Heparticularly remarked the gentleman, because he looked odd and foreignand half tipsy (that was how he seemed to him), because he was wrappedup "enough for Father Christmas, " and because he asked to be driven sucha long way--to a well-known hotel near the Crystal Palace, where"foreign gents" were fond of staying. Being asked what in particular hadmade him think the gentleman a foreigner, cabby could not exactly say;he believed, however, it was his coat and his eyes. Of his face he sawlittle or nothing, it was so muffled up; yet his tongue was Englishenough. 

Inquiry was then pushed on to the hotel named by the cabman. A gentlemanin a fur coat had certainly arrived there the evening before, but no onehad seen anything of him after his arrival. He had taken dinner in hisprivate sitting-room, and had then paid his bill, because, he said, hemust be gone early in the morning. About half an hour after dinner, whena waiter cleared the things away, he had gone to his room, and nextmorning he had left the hotel soon after dawn. Boots, half asleep, hadseen him walk away, bag in hand, wrapped in his greatcoat, --walk away, it would seem, and dissolve into the mist of the morning, for from thatpoint no further trace could be got of him. No such figure as his hadbeen seen on any of the roads leading from the hotel, either by theearly milkman, or by the belated coffee-stall keeper, or night cabman. Being asked what name the gentleman had given at the hotel, thebook-keeper showed her record, with the equivocal name of "M. Dolaro. "The name might be Italian or Spanish, --or English or American for thatmatter, --and the initial "M" might be French or anything in the world. 

In the meantime Dr Lefevre had been pondering the details of the affair, and noting the aspects of his patient's condition; but the more he notedand pondered, the more contorted and inexplicable did the mysterybecome. His understanding boggled at its very first notes. It was almostunheard of that a young man of his patient's strong and healthyconstitution and temper should be hypnotised or mesmerised at all, muchless hypnotised to the verge of dissolution; and it was unprecedentedthat even a weak, hysterical subject should, after being unhypnotised, remain so long in prostrate exhaustion. Then, suppose thesecircumstances of the case were ordinary, there arose this question, which refused to be solved: Since it was ridiculous to suppose that thehypnotisation was a wanton experiment, and since it had not been for thesake of robbery, what had been its object?

The interest of the case was emphasised and enlarged by an article in'The Daily Telegraph, ' in which was called to mind the singular story inits Paris correspondence a day or two before, of the young woman in theHôtel-Dieu, which Lefevre had forgotten. The writer remarked on thepoints of similarity which the case in the Brighton train bore to thatof the Paris pavement; insisted on the probable identity of the man inthe fur coat with the man in the cloak; and appealed to Dr Lefevre toexplain the mystery, and to the police to find the man "who has alarmedthe civilised world by a new form of outrage. "

Lefevre was piqued by that article, and he went to see his patient dayafter day, in the constant hope of finding a solution of the puzzle thatperplexed him. The direction in which he looked for light will be bestsuggested by remarking what were his peculiar theory and practice. Lefevre was not a materialistic physician; indeed, in the opinion ofmany of his brethren, he erred on the other side, and was too muchinclined to mysticism. It may at least be said that he had an open mind, and a modest estimate of the discoveries of modern medical science. Hehad perceived while still a young man (he was now about forty) that allmedical practice--as distinct from surgical--is inexact and empirical, that, like English common law, it is based merely on custom, and anarrow range of experience; and he had therefore argued that a widerexperience and research, especially among decaying nations, might leadto the discovery of a guiding principle in pathology. That convictionhad taken him as medical officer to Egypt and India, where, amid therelics of civilisations half as old as time, he found traditions of agreat scientific practice; and thence it had brought him back to studysuch foreign medical writers as Du Bois-Reymond, Nobili, Matteucci, andMüller, and to observe the method of the famous physicians of theSalpétrière. Like the great Charbon, he made nervous and hystericaldisorders his specialty, in the treatment of which he was much given tothe use of electricity. He had very pronounced "views, " though he seldomtroubled his brethren with them; for he was not of those who can hold abelief firmly only if it is also held by others. 

More than a week had passed without discovery or promise of light, whenone afternoon he went to the hospital resolved to compass someexplanation. 

He walked at once, on entering the ward, to the bedside of his puzzlingpatient, who still lay limp as a dish-clout and drowsy as a sloth. Hetested--as he had done almost daily--his nervous and respiratory powerswith the exact instruments adapted for the purpose, and then, stillunenlightened, he questioned him closely about his sensations. The youngofficer answered him with tolerable intelligence. 

"I feel, " he ended with saying, "as if all my energy hadevaporated, --and I used to have no end, --just as a spirit evaporates ifit is left open to the air. "

The saying struck Lefevre mightily. "Energy" stood then to Lefevre as analmost convertible term for "electricity, " and his successfulexperiments with electricity had opened up to him a vast field ofconjecture, into which, on the smallest inflaming hint, he was wont tomake an excursion. Such a hint was the saying of the young officer now, and, as he walked away, he found himself, as it were, knocking at thedoor of a great discovery. But the door did not open on that summons, and he resolved straightway to discuss the subject with Julius Courtney, who, though an amateur, had about as complete a knowledge of it ashimself, and who could bring to bear, he believed, a finer intelligence. 

He first sought Julius at the Hyacinth Club, where he frequently spentthe afternoon. Failing to find him there, he inquired for him at hischambers in the Albany. Hearing nothing of him there, and the ardour ofhis quest having cooled a little, he stepped out across the way to hisown home in Savile Row. 

There he found a note from his mother, with a touch of mystery in itswording. She said she wanted very much to have a serious conversationwith him; she had been expecting for days to see him, and she begged himto go that evening to dinner if he could. "Julius, " said she, "will behere, and one or two others. "

The mention of Julius as a visitor at his mother's house reminded him ofhis promise to that lady to find out how the young man was connected:engrossed as he had been with his strange case, he had almost forgottenthe promise, and he had done nothing to fulfil it but tap ineffectuallyfor admission to his friend's confidence. He therefore considered withsome anxiety what he should do, for Lady Lefevre could on occasion beexacting and severe with her son. He concluded nothing could be donebefore dinner, but he went prepared to be questioned and perhaps rated. He was pleased to find that his mother seemed to have forgotten hispromise as much as he had, and to see her in the best of spirits with atableful of company. 

"Oh, you have come, " said she, presenting her cheek to her son; "Ithought that after all you might be detained by that mysterious case youhave at the hospital. Here's Dr. Rippon--and Julius too--dying to hearall about it;" but she gave no hint of the serious conversation whichshe said in her note she desired. 

"Not I, Lady Lefevre, " Julius protested. "I don't like medicalrevelations; they make me feel as if I were sitting at the confessionalof mankind. "

Noting by the way that Julius and his sister seemed much taken up witheach other, and that Julius, while as fascinating as ever, and as readyand apt and intelligent of speech, seemed somewhat more chastened inmanner and less effervescent in health, --like a fire of coal that hasspent its gas and settled into a steady glow of heat, --he turned to DrRippon, a tall, thin old gentleman of over seventy, but who yet had akeen tongue, and a shrewd, critical eye. He had been an intimate friendof the elder Lefevre, and the son greeted him with respect andaffection. 

"Who is the gentleman?" said Dr Rippon, aside, when their greeting wasover. "It does an old man's heart good to see and hear him, " and the olddoctor straightened himself. "But he'll get old too; that's the sadthing, from my point of view, that such beauty of person and swiftintelligence of mind _must_ grow old and withered, and slow and dull. What did you say his name is, John?"

"His name is Courtney--Julius Courtney, " said Lefevre. 

"Courtney, " mused the old man, stroking his eyebrow; "I once knew a manof that name, or, rather, who took that name. I wonder if this friend ofyours is of the same family; he is not unlike the man I knew. "

"Oh, " said Lefevre, immediately interested, "he may be of the samefamily, but I don't know anything of his relations. Who was the man, mayI ask, that you knew?"

"Well, " said the old gentleman, settling down to a story, which Lefevrewas sure would be full of interest and contemporary allusion, for theold physician had in his time seen many men and many things--"it is aromantic story in its way. "

He was on the point of beginning it when dinner was announced. 

"I should like to hear the story when we return to the drawing-room, "said Lefevre. 

Over dinner, Lefevre was beset with inquiries about his mysteriouscase:--Was the young man better? Had he been very ill? Was he handsome?What had the foreign-looking stranger done to him? and for what purposehad he done it? These questions were mostly ignorant and thoughtless, and Lefevre either parried them or answered them with great reserve. When the ladies retired from table, however, more particular and curiousqueries were pressed upon him as to the real character of the outrageupon the young man. He replied that he had not yet discovered, though hebelieved he was getting "warm. "

"Is it fair, " said Julius, "to ask you in what direction you are lookingfor an explanation or revelation?"

"Oh, quite fair, " said Lefevre, welcoming the question. "To put it in aword, I look to _electricity_, --animal electricity. I have been for sometime working round, and I hope gradually getting nearer, a scientificsecret of enormous--of transcendent value. Can you conceive, Julius, ofa universal principle in Nature being got so under control as to form auniversal basis of cure?"

"Can I conceive?" said Julius. "And is that electricity too?"

"I hope to find it is. "

"Oh, how slow!" exclaimed Julius, --"oh, how slow you professionalscientific men become! You begin to run on tram-lines, and you can't getoff them! Why fix yourself to call this principle you're seeking for'electricity'? It will probably restrict your inquiry, and hamper you inseveral ways. I would declare to every scientific man, 'Unless youbecome as a little child or a poet, you will discover no great truth!'Setting aside your bias towards what you call 'electricity, ' you arereally hoping to discover something that was discovered or divinedthousands of years ago! Some have called it 'od'--an 'imponderablefluid'--as you know; you and others wish to call it 'electricity. ' Iprefer to call it 'the spirit of life, '--a name simple, dignified, andexpressive!"

"It has the disadvantage of being poetic, " said Dr Rippon, with graveirony; "and doctors don't like poetry mixed up with their science. "

"It _is_ poetic, " admitted Julius, regarding the old doctor withinterest, "and therefore it is intelligible. The spirit of life iselectric and elective, and it is 'imponderable:' it can neither beweighed nor measured! It flows and thrills in the nerves of men andwomen, animals and plants, throughout the whole of Nature! It connectsthe whole round of the Cosmos by one glowing, teasing, agonisingprinciple of being, and makes us and beasts and trees and flowers allkindred!"

"That is all very beautiful and fresh, " said Lefevre, "but--"

"But, " interrupted Julius, "it is not a new truth: the poet divined itages ago! Buddha, thousands of years ago, perceived it, and taught that'all life is linked and kin;' so did the Egyptians and the Greeks, whenthey worshipped the principle of life everywhere; and so did our ownbarbaric ancestors, when the woods--the wonderful, mystic woods!--weretheir temples. Life--the spirit of life!--is always beautiful; always tobe desired and worshipped!"

"Yes, " said old Dr Rippon, who had listened to this astonishing rhapsodywith evident interest, with sympathetic and intelligent eye; "but a timewill come even to you, when death will appear more beautiful andfriendly and desirable than life. "

Courtney was silent, and looked for a second or two deadly sick. He casta searching eye on Dr Rippon. 

"That's the one thought, " said he, "that makes me sometimes feel as if Iwere already under the horror of the shade. It's not that I am afraid ofdying--of merely ceasing to live; it is that life may cease to bedelightful and friendly, and become an intolerable, decaying burden. "

He filled a glass with Burgundy, and set himself attentively to drinkit, lingering on the bouquet and the flavour. Lefevre beheld him withsurprise, for he had never before seen Julius take wine: he was wont tosay that converse with good company was intoxicating enough for him. 

"Why, Julius, " said Lefevre, "that's a new experience you aretrying, --is it not?"

Julius looked embarrassed an instant, and then replied, "I have begun itvery recently. I did not think it wise to postpone the experience tillit might become an absolute necessity. "

Old Dr Rippon watched him empty the glass with a musing eye. "'I soughtin mine heart, '" said he, gravely quoting, "'to give myself unto wine, yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom. '"

"True, " said Julius, considering him closely. "But, for completeness'sake, you ought to quote also, 'Whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept notfrom them; I withheld not my heart from any joy. '"

Lefevre looked from the one to the other in some darkness of perplexity. 

"You appear, John, " said the old doctor, with a smile, "not to know oneof the oldest and greatest of books: you will find it included in yourBible. Mr Courtney clearly knows it. I should not be surprised to hearhe had adopted its philosophy of 'wisdom and madness and folly. '"

"Surely you cannot say, " remarked Julius, "that the writer of that bookhad what is called a 'philosophy. ' He was moved by an irresistibleimpulse, of which he gives you the explanation when he uses thatmagnificent sentence about having 'the world set in his heart. '"

"Yes, " said the old doctor, in a subdued, backward voice, regardingJulius with the contemplative eyes of memory. "You will, I hope, forgiveme when I say that you remind me very much of a gentleman who took thename of Courtney. I knew him years ago: was he a relation of yours, Iwonder?"

"Possibly, " said Julius, seeming scarcely interested; "though the nameof Courtney, I believe, is not very uncommon. " Then, turning to Lefevre, he said, "I hope you don't think I wish to make light of your grandidea. I only mean that you must widen your view, if you would work itout to success. "

With that Lefevre became more curious to hear Dr Rippon's story. So whenthey went to the drawing-room he got the old gentleman into a secludedcorner, and reminded him of his promise. 

"Yes, " said the doctor, "it is a romantic story. About forty yearsago, --yes, about forty: it was immediately after the fall of LouisPhilippe, --I went with my friend Lord Rokeby to Madrid. He went asambassador, and I as his physician. There was then at the Spanish Courta very handsome hidalgo, Don Hernando--I forget all his names, but hissurname was De Sandoval. He was of the bluest blood in Spain, and amarquis, but poor as a church mouse. He had a great reputation forgallant adventures and for mysterious scientific studies. On the lastground I sought and cultivated his acquaintance. But he was a proud, reserved person, and I could never quite make out what his studies were, except that he read a great deal, and believed firmly in the Arabicphilosophers and alchemists of the middle ages; and he would sometimestalk with the same sort of rhapsodical mysticism as this young mandelights you with. We did not have much opportunity for developing anintimacy in any case; for he fell in love with the daughter of our ChiefSecretary of Legation, a bright, lovely English girl, and that endeddisastrously for his position in Madrid. He made his proposals to herfather, and had them refused; chiefly, I believe, on account of hisloose reputation. The girl, too, was the heiress of an uncle's propertyon this curious condition, it appeared, --that whoever should marry hershould take the uncle's name of _Courtney_. Don Hernando and the younglady disappeared; they were married, and he took the name of Courtney, and was forbidden to return to Madrid. He and his wife settled in Paris, where I used to meet them frequently; then they travelled, I believe, and I lost sight of them. I returned to Paris on a visit some few yearsago, and I asked an old friend about the Courtneys; he believed theywere both dead, though he could give me no certain news about them. "

"Supposing, " said Lefevre, "that this Julius were their son, do you knowof any reason why he should be reserved about his parentage?"

"No, " said the old man, "no;--unless it be that Hernando was notepiscopal in his affections; but I should think the young man isscarcely Puritan enough to be ashamed of that. "

Lefevre and the old man both looked round for Julius. They caught sightof him and Leonora Lefevre standing one on either side of a window, withtheir eyes fixed upon each other. 

"The young lady, " said the old doctor, "seems much taken up with him. "

"Yes, " said Lefevre; "and she's my sister. "

"Ah, " said the old doctor; "I fear my remark was rather unreserved. "

"It is true, " said Lefevre. 

He left Dr Rippon, to seek his mother. He found her excited and warm, and without a word to spare for him. 

"You wanted, " said he, "some serious talk with me, mother?"

"Oh yes, " said she; "but I can't talk seriously now: I can scarcely talkat all. But do you see how Nora and Julius are taken up with each other?I never before saw such a pair of moonstruck mortals! I believe I haveheard of the moon having a magnetic influence on people: do you think ithas? But he is a charming man!"--glancing towards Julius--"I'm more thanhalf in love with him myself. Now I must go. Come quietly one afternoon, and then we can talk. "

Her son abstained from recounting, as he had proposed to himself, whathe had heard from Dr Rippon: he would reserve it for the quietafternoon. He took his leave almost immediately, bearing with him a deepimpression--like a strongly bitten etching wrought on his memory--of hislast glimpse of the drawing-room: Nora and Julius set talking across asmall table, and the tall, pale, gaunt figure of Dr Rippon approachingand stooping between them. It seemed a sinister reminder of the wordsthe old doctor had addressed to Julius, --"_A time will come when deathwill appear more beautiful and friendly and desirable than life!_"

Chapter IV. 

The Man of the Crowd. 

In a few days Dr Lefevre found a quiet afternoon, and went and told hismother the story of the Spanish marquis which he had got from Dr Rippon. She hailed the story with delight. Courtney was a fascinating figure toher before: it needed but that to clothe him with a complete romanticheroism; for, of course, she did not doubt that he was the son of theSpanish grandee. She wished to put it to him at once whether he was not, but she was dissuaded by her son from mentioning the matter yet toeither Julius or her daughter. 

"If he wishes, " said Lefevre, "to keep it secret for some reason, itwould be an impertinence to speak about it. We shall, however, have aperfect right to ask him about himself if his attentions to Nora go on. "

Soon afterwards (it was really a fortnight; but in a busy life day meltsinto day with amazing rapidity), Lefevre was surprised at dinner, andsomewhat irritated, by a letter from his mother. She wrote that they hadseen nothing of Julius Courtney for three or four days, --which wassingular, since for the past three or four weeks he had been a dailyvisitor; latterly he had begun to look fagged and ill, and it waspossible he was confined to his room, --though, after all, that wasscarcely likely, for he had not answered a note of inquiry which she hadsent. She begged her son to call at his chambers, the more so as Norawas pining in Julius's absence to a degree which made her mother veryanxious. 

With professional suspicion Lefevre told himself that if Julius, withhis magnificent health, was fallen ill, it must be for some outrageousreason. But even if he was ill, he need not be unmannerly: he might havelet his friends who had been in the habit of seeing him daily know whathad come to him. Was it possible, the doctor thought, that he wasrepenting of having given Nora and her mother so much cause to take hisassiduous attentions seriously? He resolved to see Julius at once, if hewere at his chambers. 

He left his wine unfinished (to the delight of his grave and silent manin black), hastily took his hat from its peg in the hall, and passed outinto the street, while his man held the door open. In two minutes he hadpassed the northern gateway of the Albany, which, as most people know, is just at the southern end of Savile Row. Courtney's door was speedilyopened in response to his peremptory summons. 

"Is your master at home, Jenkins?" asked Lefevre of the well-dressedserving-man, who looked distinguished enough to be master himself. 

"No, doctor, " answered Jenkins; "he is not. "

"Gone out, " said Lefevre, "to the club or to dinner, I suppose?"

"No, doctor, " repeated Jenkins; "he is not. He went away four days ago. "

"Went away!" exclaimed Lefevre. 

"He do sometimes go away by himself, sir. He is so fond of the country, and he likes to be by himself. It is the only thing that do him good. "

"Becomes solitary, does he?" said Lefevre. "Yes; intelligent, impulsivepersons like him, that live at high pressure, often have black moods. "That was not quite what he meant, but it was enough for Jenkins. 

"Yes, sir, " said Jenkins; "he do sometimes have 'em black. He don't seemto take no pride in himself, as he do usual--don't seem to care somehowif he look a gentleman or a common man. "

"But your master, Jenkins, " said Lefevre, "can never look a common man. "

"No, sir, " said Jenkins; "he cannot, whatever he do. "

"He is gone into the country, then?" asked Lefevre. 

"Yes, sir; I packed his small port-mantew for him four days ago. "

"And where is he gone? He told you, I suppose?"

"No, sir; he do not usual tell me when he is like that. "

It did not seem possible to learn anything from Jenkins, in spite of theapparent intimacy of his conversation, so Lefevre left him, and returnedto his own house. He had sat but a little while in his laboratory (wherehe had been occupying his small intervals of leisure lately inelectrical studies and experiments) when, as chance would have it, thelast post brought him a note from Dr Rippon. Its purport was curious. 

"_I think_, " the letter ran, "_you were sufficiently interested in thestory I told you some week or two ago about one Hernando Courtney, notto be bored by a note on the same subject. Last night I accompanied mydaughter and son-in-law to the Lyceum Theatre. On coming out we had towalk down Wellington Street into the Strand to find our carriage, and inthe surging crowd about there I am almost sure I saw the HernandoCourtney whom I believed to be dead_. Aut Courtney aut Diabolus. _I havenever heard satisfactory evidence of his death, and I should very muchlike to know if he is really still alive and in London. It has occurredto me that, considering the intimacy of yourself and your family withthe gentleman who was made known to me at your mother's house by thename of Courtney, you may have heard by now the rights of the case. Ifyou have any news, I shall be glad to share it with you. "_

Considering this in association with the absence of Julius, Lefevrefound his wits becoming involved in a puzzle. He could not settle towork, so he put on overcoat and hat, and sallied out again. He had nofixed purpose: he only felt the necessity of motion to resolve himselfback into his normal calm. The air was keen from the east. May, whichhad opened with such wanton warmth and seductiveness, turned a coldshoulder on the world as she took herself off. It was long since he hadindulged in an evening walk in the lamp-lit streets, so he stepped outeastward against the shrewd wind. Insensibly his attention forsook thebusy and anxious present, and slipped back to the days of golden andromantic youth, when the crowded nocturnal streets were full of themystery of life. He recalled the sensations of those days--the sharpdoubts of self, the frequent strong desires to drink deep of all thatlife had to offer, and the painful recoils from temptation, which hefelt would ruin, if yielded to, his hope of himself, and his ambition offilling a worthy place among men. 

Thus musing, he walked on, taking, without noting it, the mostfrequented turnings, and soon he found himself in the Strand. It wasthat middle time of evening, after the theatres and restaurants havesucked in their crowds, when the frequenters of the streets have somereserve in their vivacity, before reckless roisterers have begun totaste the lees of pleasure, and to shout and jostle on the pavements. Hewas walking on the side of the way next the river, when, near theAdelphi, he became aware of a man before him, wearing a slouch-hat and agreatcoat--a man who appeared to choose the densest part of the throng, to prefer to be rubbed against and hustled rather than not. There wassomething about the man which held Lefevre's attention and roused hiscuriosity--something in the swing of his gait and the set of hisshoulders. The man, too, seemed urged on by a singular haste, whichpermitted him to be the slowest and easiest of passengers in the thickof the crowd, but carried him swiftly over the less frequented parts ofthe pavement. The doctor began to wonder if he was a pickpocket, and tolook about for the watchful eye of a policeman. He kept close behind himpast the door of the Strand Theatre, when the throng became slacker, andthe man turned quickly about and returned the way he had come. ThenLefevre had a glimpse of his face, --the merest passing glimpse, but itmade him pause and ask himself where he had seen it before. A dark, foreign-looking man, with a haggard appeal in his eye: he tried to findthe place of such a figure in his memory, but for the time he tried invain. 

Before the doctor recovered himself the man was well past, anddisappearing in the throng. He hurried after, determined to overtakehim, and to make a full and satisfying perusal of his face and figure. He found that difficult, however, because of the man's singular style ofprogression. To maintain an even pace for himself, moreover, Lefevre hadto walk very much in the roadway, the dangers of which, from passingcabs and omnibuses, forbade his fixing his attention on the man alone. Yet he was more and more piqued to look him in the face; for the longerhe followed him the more he was struck with the oddity of his conduct. He had already noted how he hurried over the empty spaces of pavementand lingered sinuously in the thronged parts; he now remarked furtherthat those who came into immediate contact with him (and they weremostly young people who were to be met with at that season of the night)glanced sharply at him, as if they had experienced some suspicioussensation, and seemed inclined to remonstrate, till they looked in hisface. 

Lefevre could not arrive at a clear front view till, by Charing CrossStation, the man turned on the kerb to look after a handsome youth whocrossed before him, and passed over the road. Then the doctor saw theface in the light of a street-lamp, and the sight sent the blood in agush from his heart. It was a dark hairless face, terribly blanched andemaciated, as if by years of darkness and prison, with the impress ofage and death, but yet with a wistful light in the eyes, and a firmsensuousness about the mouth that betrayed a considerable interest inlife. He turned his eyes away an instant, to bring memory andassociation to bear. When he looked again the man was moving away. Atonce recognition rushed upon him like a wave of light. The terriblyworn, ghastly features resolved themselves into a kind of death-mask ofJulius! The wave recoiled and smote him again. Who could the man be, therefore, who was so like Julius, and yet was not Julius?--who could hebe but Julius's father, --that Hernando Courtney whom Dr Rippon believedhe had seen the evening before?

Here was a coil to unravel! Julius's father--the Spanish marquis thatwas--supposed to be dead, but yet wandering in singular fashion aboutthe London streets, clearly not desiring, much less courting, opportunities of being recognised; Julius not caring to speak of hisfather, apparently ignoring his continued existence, and yet apparentlyknowing enough of his movements to avoid him when he came to London bysuddenly removing "into the country" without leaving his address. Whatwas the meaning of so much mystery? Crime? debt? political intrigue? or, what?

The mysterious Hernando went on his way, by the southern sweep ofTrafalgar Square and Cockspur Street, to the Haymarket, and Lefevrefollowed with attention and curiosity bent on him, but yet with solittle thought of playing spy that, if Hernando had gone any other wayor had returned along the Strand, he would probably have let him go. Andas they went on, the doctor could not but note, as before, how theobject of his curiosity lingered wherever there was a press of people, whether on the pavement or on a refuge at a crossing, and hurried onwherever the pavement was sparsely peopled or whenever the personsencountered were at all advanced in years. Indeed, the farther hefollowed the more was his attention compelled to remark that Hernandosharply avoided contact with the weakly, the old, and the decrepit, andwonder why the young people of either sex whom he brushed against shouldturn as if the touch of him waked suspicion and a something hostile. Thus they traversed the Haymarket, the Criterion pavement, and, flittingacross to the Quadrant, the more popular side of Regent Street, amongpushing groups, weary stragglers, and steady pedestrians. Lefevre had amind to turn aside and go home when he was opposite Vigo Street, but hewas drawn on by the hope of observing something that might give him aclue to the Courtney mystery. When Oxford Circus was reached, however, Hernando jumped into a cab and drove rapidly off, and Lefevre returnedto his own fireside. 

He sat for some time over a cigar and a grog, walking in imaginationround and round the mystery, which steadfastly refused to dissolve or tobe set aside. His own honour, and perhaps the peace of his mother andsister, were involved in it. He was resolved to ask Julius for anexplanation as soon as he could come to speech with him; but yet, inspite of that assurance which he gave himself, he returned to themystery again and again, and beset and bewildered himself withquestions: Why was Julius estranged from his father? What was the secretof the old man's life which had left such an awful impress on his face?And why was he nightly haunting the busiest pavements of London, in thecrowd, but not of it, urged on as by some desire or agony?

He went to bed, but not to sleep. In the quiet and the darkness hisimagination ranged without constraint over the whole field of hisquestionings. He went back upon Dr Rippon's story of the Spanishmarquis, and fixed on the mention of his occult studies. He saw him, infancy, without wife or son, cut off from the position and activities inhis native country which his proper rank would have given him, sequesterhimself from society altogether, and give himself up to the study ofthose Arabian sages and alchemists in whom he had delighted when he wasa young man. He saw him shun the daylight, and sleep its hours away, andthen by night abandon himself like another Cagliostro to strangeexperiments with alembic and crucible, breathing acrid and poisonousvapours, seeking to extort from Nature her yet undiscoveredsecrets, --the Philosophers Stone, and the Elixir of Life. He saw himturn for a little from his strange and deadly experiments, and ventureforth to show his blanched and worn face among the throngs of men; buteven there he still pursued his anxious quest of life in the midst ofdeath. He saw him wander up and down, in and out, among the eveningcrowd, delighting in contact with such of his fellow-creatures as hadhealth and youth, and seeking, seeking--he knew not what. From thisphantasmagoria he dozed off into the dark plains of sleep; but eventhere the terribly blanched and emaciated face was with him, bendingwistful worn eyes upon him and melting him to pity. And still again thevision of the streets would arise about the face, and the sleeper wouldbe aware of the man to whom the face belonged walking quickly andsinuously, seeking and enjoying contact with the throng, and strangelycausing many to resent his touch as if they had been pricked or stung, and yet urged onward in some further quest, --an anxious quest itsometimes resolved itself into for Julius, who ever evaded him. 

Thus his brain laboured through the dead hours of the night, viewing andreviewing these scenes and figures, to extract a meaning from them; buthe was no nearer the heart of the mystery when the morning broke and hewas waked by the shrill chatter of the sparrows. The day, however, brought an event which shed a lurid light upon the Courtney difficulty, and revealed a vital connection between facts which Lefevre had notguessed were related. 

Chapter V. 

The Remarkable Case of Lady Mary Fane. 

It was the kind of day that is called seasonable. If the sun had beenobscured, the air would have been felt to be wintry; but the sunshinewas full and warm, and so the world rejoiced, and declared it was aperfectly lovely May day, --just as a man who is charmed with the smilesand beauty of a woman, thinks her complete though she may have a heartof ice. Lefevre, as he went his hospital round that afternoon, found hispatients revelling in the sunlight like flies. He himself was inexcellent spirits, and he said a cheery or facetious word here and thereas he passed, which gave infinite delight to the thin and bloodlessatomies under his care; for a joke from so serious and awful a being asthe doctor is to a desponding patient better than all the drugs of thepharmacopoeia: it is as exquisite and sustaining as a divine text ofpromise to a religious enthusiast. 

Dr Lefevre was thus passing round his female ward, with a train ofattentive students at his heels, when the door was swung open and twoattendants entered, bearing a stretcher between them, and accompanied bythe house-physician and a policeman. 

"What is this?" asked Lefevre, with a touch of severity; for it wasirregular to intrude a fresh case into a ward while the physician wasgoing his round. 

"I thought, sir, " said the house-physician, "you would like to see herat once: it seems to me a case similar to that of the man found in theBrighton train. "

"Where was this lady found?" asked Lefevre of the policeman. He used theword "lady" advisedly, for though the dress was that of a hospital nurseor probationer, the unconscious face was that of an educatedgentlewoman. "Why, bless my soul!" he cried, upon more particularscrutiny of her features--"it seems to me I know her! Surely I do! Wheredid you say she was found?"

The policeman explained that he was on his beat outside St James's Park, when a park-keeper called him in and showed him, in one of the shadywalks, the lady set on a bench as if she had fainted. The keeper said hehad taken particular notice of her, because he saw from her dress andher veil she was a hospital lady. When he first set eyes on her, an oldgentleman was sitting talking to her--a strange, dark, foreign-lookinggentleman, in a soft hat and a big Inverness cape. 

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the doctor. "The very man! That's the meaningof it. And I did not guess!"

His assistant and the policeman gazed at him in surprise; but herecovered himself and asked, with a serious and determined knitting ofthe brows, if the policeman had seen the old gentleman. The policemanreplied he had not; the gentleman was nowhere to be seen when he wascalled in. The keeper saw him only once; when he returned that wayagain, in about a quarter of an hour, he found the lady alone andapparently asleep. She had a very handsome umbrella by her side, andtherefore he kept within eye-shot of her on this side and on that, lestsome park-loafer should seize so good a chance of thieving. He thuspassed her two or three times. The last time, he remarked that she hadslipped a little to one side, and that her umbrella had fallen to theground. He went to pick it up, and it struck him as he bent that shelooked strangely quiet and pale. He spoke to her; she made no reply. Hetouched her--he even in his fear ventured to shake her--but she made nosign; and he ran to call the policeman. They then brought her straightto the hospital, because they could see she was a hospital lady of somesort. 

"It must--it must be the same!" said Lefevre. 

"I thought, when I first heard of it below, " said the house-physician, "that it must be the same man as was the cause of the other case, in theBrighton train. "

"No doubt it is the same. But I was thinking of it in another--a farmore serious sense!" Then turning to the waiting policeman, he said, "Ofcourse, you must report this to your inspector?"

"Yes, sir, " said the policeman. 

"Give him my compliments, then, and say I shall see him presently. "

Yet, he thought, how could he speak to the official, with all that hesuspected, all that he feared, in his heart? With his attention on the_qui vive_ with his experiences and speculations of the night, he wasseized, as we have seen, by the conclusion that the "strange, dark, foreign-looking gentleman" of the park-keeper's story was the same whosesteps he had followed the evening before, without guessing that the manwas perambulating the pavement and passing among the crowd in search, doubtless, of a fresh victim for occult experiment or outrage! Thatconclusion once determined, shock after shock smote upon his sense. Whatif the mysterious person were really proved to be Julius's father? Whatif he had entered upon a course of experiment or outrage (he passed inrapid review the mysteries of the Paris pavement and the Brighton train, and this of the Park)--outrage yet unnamable because unknown, but whichwould amaze and confound society, and bring signal punishment upon theoffender? And what--what if Julius knew all that, and therefore soughtto keep his parentage hidden?

"She is ready, doctor, " said the Sister of the ward at his elbow, addingwith a touch of excitement in her manner as he turned to her, "do youknow who she is? Look at this card; we noticed the name first on herlinen. "

Dr Lefevre looked at the card and read, "Lady Mary Fane, CarltonGardens, S. W. "

"I suspected as much, " said he. "Lord Rivercourt's daughter. It's a badbusiness. She has been learning at St Thomas's the duties of nurse anddresser, which accounts for her being in that uniform. "

He went to the bed on which his new patient had been laid, and very soonsatisfied himself that her case was similar to that of the youngofficer, though graver much than it. He wrote a telegram to LordRivercourt, sent the house-physician for his electrical apparatus, andreturned to the bedside. He looked at his patient. He had not remarkedher hitherto more than other women of his acquaintance, though he hadsometimes sat at her father's table; but now he was moved by a beautywhich was enhanced by helplessness--a beauty stamped with a calmdisregard of itself--the manifest expression of a noble and loving soul, which had lived above the plane of doubt and fear and gusty passion. Herwealth of lustrous black hair lay abroad upon her pillow, and made anadmirable setting for her finely-modelled head and neck. As he looked atthis excellent presentment, and thought of the intelligence and activitywhich had been wont to animate it, resentment rose in him against theman who, for whatever end, had subdued the noble woman to thatcondition, and a deep impatience penetrated him that he had notdiscovered--had even scarcely guessed--the purpose or the method of thesubjugation!

It was, however, not speculation but action that was needed then. Theapparatus described in the case of the young officer was ready, and thehouse-physician was waiting to give his assistance. The stimulation ofWill and Electricity was applied to resuscitate the patient--but withthe smallest success: there was only a faint flutter, a passing slightrigidity of the muscles, and all seemed again as it had been. Theexhausting nature of the operation or experiment forbade its immediaterepetition. Disappointment pervaded the doctor's being, though it didnot appear in the doctor's manner. 

"We'll try again in half an hour, " said he to his assistant, and turnedaway to complete his round of the ward. 

At the end of the half-hour, Lefevre and the house-physician were againby Lady Mary's bedside. Again, with fine but firm touch, Lefevre strokednerves and muscles to stimulate them into normal action; again he andhis assistant put out their electrical force through the electrode; andagain the result was nothing but a passing galvanic quiver. The doctor, though he maintained his professional calm, was smitten with alarm, --asa man is who, walking through darkness and danger to the rescue of afriend, finds himself stopped by an unscalable wall. While he soughtfresh means of help, his patient might pass beyond his reach. He did notthink she would--he hoped she would not; but her condition, soobstinately resistant to his restoratives, was so peculiar, that hecould not in the least determine the issue. Imagination and speculationwere excited, and he asked himself whether, after all, the explanationof his failure might not be of the simplest--a difference of sex! Thesecrets of nature, so far as he had discovered, were of such amazingsimplicity, that it would not surprise him now to find that theelectrical force of a man varied vitally from that of a woman. Heexplained this suspicion to his assistant. 

"I think, " said he, "we must make another attempt, for her condition maybecome the more serious the longer it is left. We'll set the Sister andthe nurse to try this time, and we'll turn her bed north and south, inthe line of the earth's magnetism. " But just then the lady's father, theold Lord Rivercourt, appeared in response to the doctor's telegram, andthe experiment with the women had to wait. The old lord was naturallyfilled with wonder and anxiety when he saw his apparently lifelessdaughter. He was amazed that she should have been overcome by suchinfluence as, he understood, the old gentleman must wield. She hadalways, he said, enjoyed the finest health, and was as little inclinedto hysteria as woman well could be. Lefevre told the father that thiswas something other than hystero-hypnotism, which, while it reassuredhim as to his daughter's former health, made him the more anxiousregarding her present condition. 

"It is very extraordinary, " said the old lord; "but whatever it is, --andyou say it is like the young man's case that we have all readabout, --whatever it is, "--and he laid his hand emphatically on thedoctor's arm, --"she could not be in more capable hands than yours. "

That assurance, though soothing to the doctor's self-esteem, addedgravely to his sense of responsibility. 

While they were yet speaking, Lefevre was further troubled by theannouncement that a detective-inspector desired to speak with him!Should he tell the inspector all that he had seen the night before, andall that he suspected now, or should he hold his peace? His duty as acitizen, as a doctor, and as, in a sense, the protector of his patient, seemed to demand the one course, while his consideration for Julius andfor his own family suggested the other. Surely, never was a simple, upright doctor involved in a more bewildering _imbroglio_!

The detective-inspector entered, and opened an interview which provedless embarrassing than Lefevre had anticipated. The detective hadalready made up his mind about the case and his course regarding it. Heput no curious questions; he merely inquired concerning the identity andthe condition of the lady. When he heard who she was, and when he caughtthe import of an aside from Lord Rivercourt that it would be worth anyone's while to discover the mysterious offender, professional zealsparkled in his eye. 

"I think I know my man, " said he; and the doctor looked the livelyinterest he felt. "I am right, I believe, Dr Lefevre, in setting thisdown to the author of that other case you had, --that from the Brightontrain?" Lefevre thought he was right in that. "'M. Dolaro:' that was thename. I had charge of the case, and was baffled. I shan't miss him thistime. I shall get on his tracks at once; he can't have left the Park inbroad daylight, a singular man like him, without being noticed. "

"It rather puzzles me, " said the doctor, "what crime you will charge himwith. "

"It is an outrage, " said Lord Rivercourt; "and if it is not criminal, itseems about time it were made so. "

"Oh, we'll class it, my lord, " said the detective; "never fear. "

The detective departed; but Lord Rivercourt seemed not inclined to stir. 

"You will excuse me, " said Lefevre; "but I must perform a very delicateoperation. "

"To be sure, " said the old lord; "and you want me to go. How stupid ofme! I kept waiting for my daughter to wake up; but I see that, ofcourse, you have to rouse her. It did not occur to me what that machinemeant. Something magneto-electric--eh? Forgive one question, Lefevre. Ican see you look anxious: is Mary's condition very serious?--mostserious? I can bear to be told the complete truth. "

The doctor was touched by the old gentleman's emotion. He took his hand. "It is serious, " said he--"most serious, for this reason, that I cannotaccount for her obstinate lethargy; but I think there is no immediatedanger. If necessity arises, I shall send for you again. "

"To the House, " said Lord Rivercourt. "I shall be sitting out a debateon our eternal Irish question. "

Lefevre was left seriously discomposed, but at once he sent for thehouse-physician, summoned the Sister and the nurse, and set about histhird attempt to revive his patient. He got the bed turned north andsouth. He carefully explained to the two women what was demanded ofthem, and applied them to their task; but, whatever the cause, thefailure was completer than before: there was not even a tremor of musclein the unconscious lady, and the doctor was suffused with alarm andhumiliation. Failure!--failure!--failure! Such a concatenation had neverhappened to him before!

But failure only nerves the brave and capable man to a supreme effortfor success. Still self-contained, and apparently unmoved, the doctorgave directions for some liquid nourishment to be artificiallyadministered to his patient, said he would return after dinner, and wenthis way. The society of friends or acquaintances was distasteful to himthen; the thought even of seeing his own familiar dining-room and hisfamiliar man in black, whose silent obsequiousness he felt would be areproach, was disagreeable. All his thought, all his attention, all hisfaculties were drawn tight to this acute point--he must succeed; he mustaccomplish the task he had set himself: life at that hour was worthliving only for that purpose. But how was success to be compelled?

He walked for a while about the streets, and then he went into arestaurant and ordered a modest dinner. He broke and crumbled his breadwith both hands, his mind still intent on that one engrossing, acutepoint. While thus he sat he heard a voice, as in a dream, say, "The verydoctor you read about. That's the second curious case he's got in amonth or so. .. . Oh yes--very clever; he treats them, I understand, inthe same sort of way as the famous Dr Charbon of Paris would. .. . Ishould say so; quite as good, if not better than Charbon. I'd ratherhave an English doctor any day than a French. .. . His name's in thepaper--_Lefevre_. " Then the doctor woke to the fact that he was beingtalked about. He perceived his admirers were sitting at a table a littlebehind him, and he judged from what had been said that his fresh casewas already being made "copy" of in the evening papers. The flatteringcomparison of himself with Dr Charbon had an oddly stimulating effectupon him, notwithstanding that it had been uttered by he knew notwhom, --a mere _vox et præterea nihil_. He disclaimed to himself thetruth of the comparison, but all the same he was encouraged to bend hisattention with his utmost force to the solution of his difficultproblem--what to do to rouse his patient?

He sat thus, amid the bustle and buzz of the restaurant, the coming andgoing of waiters, completely abstracted, assailing his difficulty withquestions on this side and on that, --when suddenly out of the mists thatobscured it there rose upon his mental vision an idea, which appealed tohim as a solution of the whole, and, more than that, as a secret thatwould revolutionise all the treatment of nervous weakness andderangement. How came the idea? How do ideas ever come? As inspirations, we say, or as revelations; and truly they come upon us with such amazingand inspiriting freshness, that they may well be called either the oneor the other. But no great idea had ever yet an epiphany but from theferment of more familiar small ideas, --just as the glorious Aphroditewas born of the ferment and pother of the waves of the sea. Lefevre'snew idea clothed itself in the form of a comparative question--_Whyshould there not be Transfusion of Nervous Force, Ether, or Electricity, just as there is Transfusion of Blood?_

He pushed his dinner away (he could scarcely have told what he had beeneating and drinking), called for his bill, and returned with all speedto the hospital. He entered his female ward just as evening prayers werefinished, before the lights were turned out and night began for thepatients. He summoned his trusted assistant, the house-physician, again. 

"I am about to attempt, " said he, "an altogether new operation: thepatient has remained just as I left her, I suppose?"

"Just the same. "

"Nervous Force, whether it be Electricity or not, is manifestly a fluidof some sort: why should it not be transfused as the other vital fluidis?"

"Indeed, sir, when you put it so, " said the house-physician, suddenlysteeled and brightened into interest, "I should say, 'why not?' The onlyreason against it is what can be assigned against all new things--it hasnot, so far as I know, been done. "

"Exactly. I am going to try. I think, in case we need a current, so tosay, to draw it along, that we shall use the apparatus too; we shalltherefore need the women. "

"You mean, of course, " said the young man, "you will cut a main nerve. "

"I shall use this nerve, " said Lefevre, indicating the main nerve in thewrist, --upon which the young man, in his ready enthusiasm, began to barehis arm. 

"My dear fellow, " said Lefevre, "do you consider what you are sopromptly offering? Do you know that my experiment, if successful, mightleave you a paralytic, or an imbecile, or even--a corpse?"

"I'll take the risk, sir, " said the young man. 

"I can't permit it, my boy, " said Lefevre, laying his hand on his arm, and giving him a look of kindness. "Nobody must run this risk but me. Idon't mean, however, to cut the nerve. "

"What then, sir?"

"Well, " said Lefevre, "this Nervous Force, or Nervous Ether, is clearlya very volatile, and at the same time a very searching fluid. It caneasily pass through the skin from a nerve in one person to a nerve inanother. There is no difficulty about that; the difficulty is to set upa rapid enough vibration to whirl the current through!" He said that inmeditative fashion: he was clearly at the moment repeating the workingout of the problem. 

"I see, " said the young man, looking thoughtful. 

"Now, you are a musician, are you not?"

"I play a little, " said the young man, with a bewildered look. 

"You play the violin?"

"Yes. "

"And, of course, you have it in your rooms. Would you be so good asto bring me the bow of your violin, and borrow for me anywhere atuning-fork of as high a note as possible?"

The young man looked at Dr Lefevre in puzzled inquiry; but the doctorwas considering the electrical apparatus before him, and the young manset off on his errands. When he returned with the fiddle-bow and thetuning-fork, he saw Lefevre had placed the machine ready, with freshchemicals in the vessels. 

"Do you perceive my purpose?" asked Lefevre. He placed one handle of theapparatus in the unconscious patient's right hand, while he himself tookhold of her left arm with his right hand, so that the inner side of hiswrist was in contact with the inner side of hers; and then, to completethe circle of connection, he took in his left hand the other handle ofthe apparatus. "You don't understand?"

"I do not, " answered the young man. 

"We want a very rapid vibration--much more rapid than usual, " said thedoctor. "I can apply no more rapid vibration at present than that whichthe note of that tuning-fork will produce. I want you to sound thetuning-fork with the fiddle-bow, and then apply the fork to this wire. "

"Oh, " said the young man, "I understand!"

"Now, " said Lefevre, "you'd better call the Sister to set theelectricity going. "

The Sister came and took her place as before described--with her hands, that is, on the cylinder of the electrode, her fingers dipping over intothe vessels of chemicals. She opened her eyes and smiled at sight of thefiddle-bow and tuning-fork. 

"I am trying a new thing, Sister, " said Lefevre, with a touch ofseverity. "I do not need you, I do not wish you, to exert yourself thistime; I only wish you to keep that position, and to be calm. Maintainyour composure, and attend. .. . Now!" said he, addressing the young man. 

The fiddle-bow was drawn across the tuning-fork, and the fork appliedwith its thrilling note to the conducting wire which Lefevre held. Thewire hummed its vibration, and electricity tingled wildly throughLefevre's nerves. .. There was an anxious, breathless pause for someseconds, and fear of failure began to contract the doctor's heart. 

"Take your hands away, Sister, " said he. Then, turning to his assistant, "Apply that to the other wire, " said he; and dropping his own wire, heput his hand over the cylinder, with his fingers dipping into the vesselfrom which the other wire sprang. When the wire hummed under thetuning-fork and the vibration thrilled again, instantly he felt as if aninert obstruction had been removed. The vibratory influence whirledwildly through him, there was a pause of a second or two (which seemedto him many minutes in duration), and then suddenly a kind of rigorpassed upon the form and features of his patient, as if each individualnerve and muscle were being threaded with quick wire, a sharp rush ofbreath filled her chest, and she opened her eyes and closed them again. 

"That will do, " said Lefevre in a whisper, and, releasing his hands, hesank back in a chair. "It's a success, " said he, turning his eyes with athin smile on the house-physician, and then closing them in a deadlyexhaustion. 

Chapter VI. 

At the Bedside of the Doctor. 

For the first time since he had come into the world Dr Lefevre was thatnight attended by another doctor. The resident assistant-physician tookhim home to Savile Row in a cab, assisted him to bed, and sat with him awhile after he had administered a tonic and soporific. Then he left himin charge of the silent man in black, whom he reassured by saying thatthere was no danger; that his master had a magnificent constitution;that he was only exhausted--though exhausted very much; and that all heneeded was rest, sleep, nourishment, --sleep above all. 

Lefevre slept the night through like a child, and awoke refreshed, though still very weak. He was bewildered with his condition for amoment or two, till he recalled the moving and exhausting experiences ofthe day before, and then he was suffused with a glow ofelation, --elation which was not all satisfaction in the successfulperformance of a new experiment, nor in a good deed well done. Hisfriend came to see him early, to anticipate the risk of his rising. Heinsisted that he should keep his bed, for that day at least, if not fora second and a third day. He reported that the patient was doing well;that she had asked with particularity, and had been informed with equalparticularity, concerning the method of her recovery, upon which she wasmuch bemused, and asked to see her physician. 

"It is a pity she was told, " said Lefevre; "it is not usual to tell apatient such a thing, and I meant it to be kept secret, at least till itwas better established. " But for all his protest he was again suffusedwith that new sense of inward joy. 

Alone, and lying idle in bed, it was but natural--it was almostinevitable--that the doctor's thoughts should begin to run upon thestrange events and suspicions of the past two days; and their currentsetting strongly in one channel, made him long to be resolved whether orno the Man of the Crowd, the author of yesterday's outrage, the "M. Dolaro" of whom the detective had gone in search, and who, if captured, would be certainly overwhelmed with contumely, if not withpunishment, --whether or not that strange creature was Julius's father, or any relation at all of Julius. He was not clear how he could well putthe matter to Julius, since he so evidently shrank from discourse uponit, yet he thought some kind of certainty might be arrived at from aninterview with him. On the chance of his having returned to hischambers, he called for pen and paper and wrote a note, asking him tolook in, as he would be resting all day. "Try to come, " he urged; "Ihave something important to speak about. "

This he sent by the trusty hand of his man in black; and by mid-dayJulius was announced. He came in confident, and bright as sunshine(Lefevre thought he had never seen him looking more serene); butsuddenly the sunshine was beclouded, and Julius ceased to be himself, and became a restless, timorous kind of creature, like a bird put in acage under the eye of his captor. 

"What?" he cried when he entered, with an eloquent gesture. "Lazying inbed on such a day as this? What does this mean?" But when he observedthe pallor and weakness of Lefevre's appearance, he paused abruptly, refrained from the hand stretched out to greet him, and exclaimed in atone of something like terror, "Good heavens! Are you ill?" A paleness, a shudder, and a dizziness passed upon him as if he sickened. "May I, "he said, "open the window?"

"Certainly, Julius, " said Lefevre, in surprise and alarm. "Do you feelill?"

"No--no, " said Julius from the window, where he stood letting the airplay upon his face, and speaking as if he had to put considerablerestraint upon himself. "I--I am unfortunately, miserably constituted: Icannot help it. I cannot bear the sight of illness, or lowness of healtheven. It appals me; it--it horrifies me with a quite instinctive horror;it deadens me. "

Lefevre, whose abundant sympathy and vitality went out instinctively tosuccour and bless the weak and the ill, was inexpressibly shocked andoffended by this confession of what to his sense appeared selfishcowardice and inhumanity. He had again and again heard it said, and hehad with pleasure assented to the opinion, that Julius was a rare, finely-strung being, with such pure and glowing health that he shrankfrom contact with, or from the sight of, pain or ill-health, and evenfrom their discussion; but now that the singularity of Julius'sorganization impinged upon his own experience, now that he saw Juliusshrink from himself, he was shocked and offended. Julius, on his part, was pitiably moved. He kept away from the bed; he fidgeted to and fro, looking at this thing and that, without a sparkle of interest in hiseye, yet all with his own peculiar grace. 

"You wanted to speak to me, " he said. "Do you mind saying what you haveto say and letting me go?"

"I reckoned upon your staying to lunch, " said Lefevre. 

"I can't!--I can't!. .. Very sorry, my dear Lefevre, but I really can't!Forgive what seems my rudeness. It distresses me that at such a time asthis my sensations are so acute. But I cannot help it!--I cannot!"

"You have been in the country, --have you not?" said Lefevre, beginningwith a resolve to get at something. 

"I have just come back, " said Julius. "My man told me you had called. "

"Yes. My mother wrote in a state of great anxiety about you, and askedme to go and look at you. She said that she and my sister had seen agood deal of you lately; that you began to look unwell, and then ceasedto appear, and she was afraid you might be ill. "

This was put forth as an invitation to Julius to expound not only hisown situation, but also his relations with Lady and Miss Lefevre, butJulius took no heed of it. He merely said, "No; I was not ill. I onlywanted a little change to refresh me, "--and walked back to the window tolave himself in the air. 

"Well, " continued Lefevre, "since I called to see you, I have had anadventure or two. You never look at a newspaper except for the weather, and so it is probable you do not know that I had brought to me yesterdayafternoon another strange case like that of the young officer a monthago, --a similar case, but worse. "

"Worse?" exclaimed Julius, dropping into the chair by the window, andglancing, as a less preoccupied observer than the doctor would haveremarked, with a wistful desire at the door. 

"Much worse--though, I believe, from the same hand, " said Lefevre. "Alady this time, --titularly and really a lady, --Lady Mary Fane, thedaughter of Lord Rivercourt. "

"Oh, good heavens!" exclaimed Julius, and there were manifest so keen anote of apprehension in his voice and so deep a shade of apprehension onhis face, that Lefevre could not but note them and confirm himself inhis suspicion of the intimate bond of connection between him and theauthor of the outrage. He pitied Julius's distress, and hurried throughthe rest of his revelation, careless of the result he had sought. 

"It may prove, " said he, "a far more serious affair than the other. LordRivercourt is not the man to sit quietly under an outrage like that. "

Julius astonished him by demanding, "What is the outrage? Has the ladygiven an account of it? What does she accuse the man of?"

"She has not spoken yet, --to me, at least, " said Lefevre; "and I don'tknow what the outrage can be called, but I am sure Lord Rivercourt--andhe is a man of immense influence--will move heaven and earth to give ita legal name, and to get it punishment. There is a detective on theman's track now. "

"Oh!" said Julius. "Well, it will be time enough to discuss thepunishment when the man is caught. Now, if that is all your news, " headded hurriedly, "I think--" He took up his hat, and was as if goingto the door. 

"It is not quite all, " said the doctor, and Julius went back to thewindow, with his hat in his hand. 

"I wonder, " he broke out, "if we shall ever be simple enough andintelligent enough to perceive that real wickedness--the breaking of anyof the laws of Nature, I mean (or, if you prefer to say so, the laws ofGod)--is best punished by being left to itself? Outraged nature exacts asevere retribution! But you were going to say--?"

"The night before last, " continued Lefevre, determined to be brief andsuccinct, "I was walking in the Strand, and I could not help observing aman who fulfilled completely the description given of the author of thiscase and my former one. "

"Well?"

"That is not all. When I caught sight of his face I was completelyamazed; for--I must tell you--it looked for all the world like you grownold, or, as I said to myself at the time, like a death-mask of you. "

"You--you saw that?" exclaimed Julius, leaning against the window with asudden look of terror which Lefevre was ashamed to have seen: it waslike catching a glimpse of Julius's poor naked soul. "And youthought--?" continued Julius. 

"You shall hear. Dr Rippon--you remember the old doctor?--had a sight ofa man in the Strand the night before, who, he believes, was his oldfriend Courtney that he thought dead, and who, I believe, was the man Isaw. "

Lefevre stopped. There was a pause, in which Julius put his head out ofthe window, as if he had a mind to be gone that way. Then he turned witha marked control upon himself. 

"Really, Lefevre, " said he, "this is the queerest stuff I've heard for along time! This is hallucination with a vengeance! I don't like to applysuch a tomfool word to anything, but observe how all this has comeabout. An excellent old gentleman, who has been dining out or something, has a glimpse at night, on a crowded pavement, of a man who looks like afriend of his youth. Very well. The excellent old gentleman tells you ofthat, and it impresses you. _You_ walk on the same pavement the nextevening--I won't emphasise the fact of its being after dinner, though Idaresay it was--"

"It was. "

"--_You_ have a glimpse of a man who looks--well, something like me;and you instantly conclude, 'Ah! the Courtney person--the friend of DrRippon's youth!--and, surely, some relative of my friend Julius!' Nextday this hospital case turns up, and because the description of itsauthor, given by more or less unobservant persons, fits the person yousaw, _argal_, you jump to the conclusion that the three are one! Is yourconclusion clear upon the evidence? Is it inevitable? Is it necessary?Is it not forced?"

"Well, " began Lefevre. 

"It is bad detective business, " broke in Julius, "though it may be goodfriendship. You have thought there was trouble in this for me, and youwished to give me warning of it. But--_que diable vas-tu faire danscette galère?_ You are the best friend in the world, and whenever I amin trouble--and who knows? who knows? 'Man is born unto trouble, as thesparks fly upward'--I may ask of you both your friendship and yourskill. One thing I ask of you here: don't speak of me as you see me now, thus miserably moved, to any one! Now I must go. Good-bye. " And beforeLefevre could find another word, Julius had opened the door and wasgone. 

"If it moves him like that, " said the doctor to himself, through hisbewilderment, "there must be something worse in it--God forgive me forthinking so!--than I have ever imagined. "

Chapter VII. 

Contains a Love Interlude. 

Next day Lefevre learned that the police had been again baffled in theirpart of the inquiry. The detective had contrived to trace hisman--though not till the morning after the event--to the St PancrasHotel, where he had dined in private, and gone to bed early, and whencehe had departed on foot before any one was astir, to catch, it wassurmised, the first train. But wherever he had gone, it was just as inthe former case: from the time the hotel door had closed on his cloakedfigure, all trace of him was lost. 

Nor could Lady Mary Fane add anything of moment to what Lefevre alreadyknew or guessed. Her account of her adventure (which she gave him in herfather's house, whither she had been removed on the third day) was asfollows: She was returning home from St Thomas's Hospital, dressedaccording to her habit when she went there; she had crossed WestminsterBridge, and was proceeding straight into St James's Park, when shebecame aware of a man walking in the same direction as herself, and atthe same pace. She casually noted that he looked like a distinguishedforeigner, and that he had about him an indefinable suggestion of deathclinging with an eager, haggard hope to life, --a suggestion which meltedthe heart of the beholder, as if it were the mute appeal of a drowningsailor. She was stirred to pity; and when he suddenly appeared to reelfrom weakness, she stepped out to him on an overwhelming impulse, laid asteadying hand on his arm, and asked what ailed him. He turned on her apair of wonderful dark eyes, which were animal-like in their simple, direct appeal, and their moist softness. He begged her to lead him asideinto a path by which few would pass: he disliked being stared at. Thinking only of him as a creature in sickness and distress, she obeyedwithout a thought for herself. She helped him to sit down upon a bench, and sat down by him and felt his pulse. He looked at her with an open, kindly eye, with a simple-seeming gratitude, which held her strangely(though she only perceived that clearly on looking back). He said to hersuddenly, --

"There was a deep, mystical truth in the teaching of the Church to itschildren--that they should prefer in their moments of human weakness topray to the Virgin-mother; for woman is always man's best friend. "

She looked in his face, wondering at him, still with her finger on hispulse, when she felt an unconsciousness come over her, not unlike "thethick, sweet mystery of chloroform;" and she knew no more till sheopened her eyes in the hospital bed. "Revived by you, " she said toLefevre. 

He inquired further, as to her sensations before unconsciousness, andshe replied in these striking words: "I felt as if I were strung upon acomplicated system of threads, and as if they tingled and tingled, andgrew tighter to numbness. " That answer, he saw, was kindred to thedescription given by the young officer of his condition. It was clearthat in both cases the nerves had been seriously played upon; but forwhat purpose? What was the secret of the stranger's endeavour? What didhe seek?--and what find? To these questions no satisfactory answer wouldcome for the asking, so that in his impatience he was tempted to breakthrough the severe self-restraint of science, and let unfettered fancyfind an answer. 

But, most of all, he longed to see close to him the man whom the policesought for in and out, to judge for himself what might be the method andthe purpose of his strange outrages. He scarcely desired his capture, for he thought of the possible results to Julius, and yet--Day afterday passed, and still the man was unfound, and very soon a change cameover Lefevre's life, which lifted it so far above the plane of his dailyprofessional experience, that all speculation about the mysterious "M. Dolaro, " and his probable relation to Julius, fell for a time into thedim background. The doctor had been calling daily in Carlton Terrace tosee his patient, when, on a certain memorable day, he intimated to herfather that she was so completely recovered that there was no need ofhis calling on her professionally again. The old lord, looking a littleflustered, asked him if he could spare a few minutes' conversation, andled him into his study. 

"My dear Lefevre, " said he, "I am at a loss how to make you any adequatereturn for what you have done for my daughter. Money can't do it; no, nor my friendship either, though you are so kind as to say so. But Ihave an idea, which I think it best to set before you frankly. You are abachelor: it is not good to be a bachelor, " he went on, laying his handaffectionately on the doctor's arm, and flushing--old man of the worldthough he was--flushing to the eyes. "What--what do you think of mydaughter? I mean, not as a doctor, but as a man?"

Lefevre was not in his first youth, and he had had his admirations forwomen in his time, as all healthy men must have, but yet he was made asdeliriously dizzy as if he were a boy by his guess at what LordRivercourt meant. 

"Why, " he stammered, "I think her the most beautiful, intelligent, and--and attractive woman I know. "

"Yes, " said her father, "I believe she is pretty well in all these ways. But--and you see I frankly expose my whole position to you--what wouldyou think of her for a wife?"

"Frankly, then, " said Lefevre, "I find I have admired her from thebeginning of this, but I had no notion of letting my admiration gofarther, because I conceived that she was quite beyond my hopes. "

"My dear fellow, " said Lord Rivercourt, "you have relieved me anddelighted me immensely. I know no man that I would like so well for ason-in-law. And after all, it is only fitting that the life you havesaved with such risk to yourself--oh, I know all about it--should bedevoted to making yours happy. And--and I understand from her motherthat Mary is quite of the same opinion herself. Now, will you go andspeak to her at once, or will you wait till another day? You will haveto decide that, " said he, with a smile, "not only as lover, but asdoctor. "

Lefevre hesitated for but an instant; for what true, manly lover wouldhave decided to withdraw till another day when the door to his mistresswas held open to him?

"I'll see her now, " he said. 

Lord Rivercourt led the doctor back to his daughter, and left him withher. There were some moments of chilling doubt and cold uncertainty, andthen came a rush of warm feeling at the bidding of a shy glance fromLady Mary. He bent over her and murmured he scarcely knew what, but heheard clearly and with a divine ecstasy a softly-whispered "_Yes!_"which thrilled in his heart for days and months afterwards, and then heturned to him her face, her beautiful face illumined with love, andkissed it: between two who had been drawn together as they had, whatwords were needed, or what could poor words convey?

About an hour later he walked to Savile Row to dress and return fordinner. He walked, because he felt surcharged with life. He desiredpeace and goodwill among men; he pitied with all his soul the weary andthe broken whom he met, and wondered with regret that men should getirremediably involved in the toils of their own misdeeds; he was profusewith coppers, and even small silver, to the wretched waifs of societywho swept the crossings he had to take on his triumphant way; he wouldeven have bestowed forgiveness on his greatest enemy if he had met himthen;--for the divine joy of love was singing in his heart and raisinghim to the serene and glorious empyrean of heroes and gods. Oh matchlessmagic of the human heart, which confounds all the hypotheses of science, and flouts all its explanations!

It was that evening when he and Lady Mary sat in sweet converse that shesaid to him these words, which he hung for ever after about his heart--

"Surely, never before did a man win a wife as you have won me! You mademe well by putting your own life into me; so what could I do but giveyou the life that was already your own!"

Thus day followed day on golden wings: Lefevre in the morning occupiedwith the patients that thronged his consulting-room; in the afternoondispensing healing, and, where healing was impossible, cheerfulness andcourage, in his hospital wards; and in the evening finding inspirationand strength in the company of Lady Mary--for her love was to him betterthan wine. All who went to him in those days found him changed, and in asense glorified. He had always been considerate and kind; but theweakness, the folly, and the wickedness of poor human nature, which wereoften laid bare to his searching scrutiny, had frequently plunged himinto a welter of despondency and shame, out of which he would cry, "Alasfor God's image! Alas for the temple of the Holy Ghost!" But in thosedays it seemed as if disease and death appeared to him mere trivialaccidents of life, with the result that no "case, " however bad, was sentaway empty of hope. 

Chapter VIII. 

Strange Scenes in Curzon Street. 

It happened, however, that just when all the bays and creeks of DrLefevre's attention were occupied, as by a springtide, with theexcellent, the divine fortune that had come to him, --when he seemed thusmost completely divorced from anxious speculation about Julius Courtneyand "M. Dolaro, " his attention was suddenly and in unexpected fashionhurried again to the mystery. The doctor had not seen Julius since theday he had received him in his bedroom--it must be admitted he had notsought to see him--but he had heard now and then from his mother, incasual notes and postscripts, that Courtney continued to call in CurzonStreet. 

On a certain evening Lady Lefevre gave a dinner and a reception, designed to introduce Lady Mary to the Lefevre circle. Julius was not atdinner (at which only members of the two families sat down), but he wasexpected to appear later. It is probable, under the circumstances, thatLefevre would not have remarked the absence of Julius from thedinner-table, had it not been for Nora. He was painfully struck with herappearance and demeanour. She seemed to have lost much of her beautifulvigour and bloom of health, like a flower that has been for some timecut from its stem; and she, who had been wont to be ready and gay ofspeech, was now completely silent, yet without constraint, and as ifwrapt in a dream. 

"What has come over Nora?" asked Lefevre of his mother when they hadgone to the drawing-room. 

"Ah, " said Lady Lefevre, "you have noticed something, have you? Do youfind her very changed, then?"

"Very much changed. "

"It's this attachment of hers to Julius. I want to have a talk with youabout it presently. She seems scarcely to live when he is not with her. She sits like that always when he is gone, and appears only to dream andwait, --wait with her life as if suspended till he comes back. "

"Has it, indeed, got so far as that?" said her son with concern. "I hadbetter have a word or two with Julius about it. "

Just then Mr Courtney was announced, and there were introductions onthis side and on that. He turned to be introduced to Lady Mary, and forthe time Lefevre forgot his sister, so engrossed was he with the alteredaspect of his friend. He looked worn and weary, like a student when thedawn finds him still at his books. Lady Lefevre expressed that in herquestion--

"Why, Julius, have you taken to hard work? You're not looking well, andwe have not seen you for days. "

A flush rose to tinge his cheek, but it sank as soon as it appeared. 

"I have been out of sorts, " said he; "that is all. And you have not seenme because I have bought a yacht and have been trying it on the river. "

"A yacht!" exclaimed Lefevre. "I did not know you cared for the water. "

"_You_ know me, " laughed Julius in his own manner, "and not know that Icare for everything!" So saying, he laid his hand on Lefevre's arm. Theact was not remarkable, but its result was, for Lefevre felt it as if itwere a blow, and stood astonished at it. 

During this interchange of words Lefevre (with Lady Mary) had beenmoving with Julius, as he drew off across the room to greet Nora, andthe doctor could not help observing how the attention of all the companywas bent on his friend. Before his entrance all had been chatting orlaughing easily with their neighbours; now they seemed as constrainedand belittled as is a crowd of courtiers when a royal personage appearsin their midst. In truth, Julius at all times had a grace, an ease, anda distinction of manner not unworthy of a prince; but on this occasionhe had an added something, an indefinable attraction which strangelyheld the attention. Lefevre, therefore, was scarcely surprised (though, perhaps, a trifle disappointed, considering that he was a lover) to notethat Lady Mary was regarding Julius with a silent, wide-eyedfascination. They convoyed Julius to Nora, and then withdrew, leavingthem together. 

There were several fresh arrivals and new introductions to Lady Mary. These, Lefevre observed, she went through half-absently, still turningher eyes on Julius in the intervals with open and intense interest. 

"Well, " said Lefevre at length, smiling in spite of a twinge ofjealousy, "what do you think, now you have seen him, of the fascinatingJulius?"

She gave him no answering smile, but replied as if she painfullywithdrew herself from abstraction, --"I--I don't know. He is veryinteresting and very strange. I--I can't make him out. I don't know. "

Then Lefevre turned his eyes on Julius, and became aware of somethingstrained in the relations of his sister and his friend. He could notforbear to look, and as he continued looking he instinctively felt thata passionate scene was being silently enacted between them. They satmarkedly apart. Nora's bosom heaved with suppressed emotion, and herlook, when raised to Julius, plied him with appeal or reproach--Lefevrecould not determine which. The doctor's interest almost drew him over tothem, when Lady Lefevre appeared and said to Julius--

"Do go to the piano, Julius, and wake us up. "

Nora put out her hand with a gesture which plainly meant, "Don't!. .. Don't leave me!"

But Julius rose, and as he turned (the doctor noted) he bent aninscrutable look of pain on Nora. He sat down at the piano and struck awild, sad chord. Instantly it became as if the people in the room werethe instrument upon which he played, --as if the throbbing human heartsaround him were directly connected by invisible strings with the ivorykeys that pulsed beneath his fingers. What was the music he played noone knew, no one cared, no one inquired: each individual person was heldand played upon, and was allowed no pause for reflection or criticism. The music carried all away as on the flood of time, showing them, on onehand, sunshine and beauty and joy, and all the pride of life; and on theother, darkness and cruelty, despair, and defiance, and death. It mighthave been, on the one hand, the music with which Orpheus tamed thebeasts; and on the other, that which Æschylus arranged to accompany thelast act of his tragedy of "Prometheus Bound. " There was, however, noclear distinction between the joyous airs and the sombre: all werewrought and mingled into an exciting and bewildering atmosphere ofmelody, which thrilled the heart and maddened the brain. But as themusic continued, its joyous strains died out; the instrument cried aloudin horror and pain, as if the vulture of Prometheus were tearing at itsvitals; darkness seemed to descend upon the room--a darkness alive withthe sighs and groans, the disillusions and tears, of lost souls. The mensat transfixed with agony and dread, the women were caught in the wildclutches of hysteria, and Courtney himself was as if possessed with afrenzy: his features were rigid, his eyes dilated, and his hair rose andclung in wavy locks, so that he seemed a very Gorgon's head. The onlyperson apparently unmoved was old Dr Rippon, whose pale, gaunt form rosein the background, sinister and calm as Death!

The situation was at its height, when a black cat (a pet of MissLefevre's) suddenly leaped on the top of the piano with a canary in itsmouth, and in the presence of them all, laid its captive before JuliusCourtney. The music ceased with a dissonant crash. With a cry Juliusrose and laid his hand on the cat's neck: to the general amazement thecat lay down limp and senseless, and the little golden bird flutteredaway. Then the sobs of the women, hitherto controlled, broke out, andthe murmurs of the men. 

"O Julius! Julius! what have you done?" cried Nora, sweeping up to himin an ecstasy of emotion. 

He caught her in his arms, when with a strange cry--a strained kind oflaugh with a hysterical catch in it--she sank fainting on his breast. With a sharp exclamation of pain and fear he bore her swiftly from theroom (he was near the door) and into a little conservatory that openedupon the staircase, casting his eyes upon Lefevre as he went, andsaying, "Come! come quick!" Lefevre then woke to the fact that he hadbeen fixedly regarding this last strange scene, while Lady Mary clungtrembling to his arm. He hurried out after Julius, followed by Lady Maryand his mother. 

"Take her!" cried Julius, standing away from Nora, and looking white andterror-stricken. "Restore her! Oh, I must not!--I dare not touch her!"

With nimble accustomed fingers Lady Mary undid Nora's dress, while thedoctor applied the remedies usual in hysterical fainting. Nora openedher eyes and fixed them upon Julius. 

"O Julius, Julius!" she cried. "Do not leave me! Come near me! Oh!. .. Ithink I am going to die!"

"My love! my life! my soul!" said Julius, stretching out his hands toher, but approaching no nearer. "I cannot--I must not touch you! No, no!I dare not!"

"O Julius!" said she. "Are you afraid of me? How can I harm you?"

"Nora, my life! I am afraid of myself! You would not harm me, but Iwould harm you! Ah, I know it now only too well!"

Then, as she closed her eyes again, she said, "I had better die!"

"No, you must not die!" he exclaimed. "Your time is not yet! Yes, you willlive!--live! But I must be cut off--though not for ever--from the sweetestand dearest, the noblest and purest of all God's creatures!"

In the meantime Lefevre had been examining his sister with closerscrutiny. He raised her eyelid and looked at her eye; he pricked her onthe arm and wrist; and then he turned to Julius. 

"Julius, " said he, "what does this mean?"

"It means, " answered Julius, covering his face with his hands, "that Iam of all living things the most accurst!" Then with a cry of horror andanguish he fled from the room and down the stairs. 

Lady Lefevre followed him in a flutter of fear. Presently she returned, and said, in answer to a look from her son, "He snatched his hat andcoat, and was gone before I came up with him. "

Without a word Lefevre set himself to recover his sister, and in half anhour she was well enough to walk with Lady Mary's assistance to bed. 

The guests, meanwhile, had departed, all but two or three intimates; andin less than an hour Dr Lefevre was returning home in the Fane carriage. Lord Rivercourt and he talked of the strange events of the evening, while Lady Mary leaned back and half-absently listened. They wereproceeding thus along Piccadilly, when she suddenly caught the doctor'sarm and exclaimed--

"Oh! Look! The very man I met in the Park! I am sure of it! I can neverforget the face!"

Lefevre, alert on the instant, looked to recognise Hernando Courtney, the Man of the Crowd: he saw only the back of a person in a loose capeand a slouch hat turning in at the gateway of the Albany courtyard. Inflashes of reflection these questions arose: Who could he be butHernando Courtney?--and where could he be going but to Julius'schambers? Julius, therefore (whose own conduct had been that night soextraordinary), must be familiar with his whole mysterious course, andconsequently with the peril he was in. Before Lefevre could out of hisperplexity snatch a resolution, Lord Rivercourt had pulled the cord tostop the coachman. The coachman, however, having received orders todrive home, was driving at a goodly pace, and it was only on a secondsummons through the cord that he slackened speed, and obeyed hismaster's direction to "draw up by the kerb. "

"I'll get out, " said Lefevre, "and look after him. You'd better get Maryhome; she's not very strong yet, and she has been upset to-night. "

He put himself thus forward for another reason besides, --on the impulseof his friendship for Julius, without considering whether in the eventof an arrest and an exposure, he could do anything to shield Julius fromshame and pain. 

He got out, saying his adieus, and the carriage drove on. He foundhimself well past the Albany. He hurried back, nerved by the desire toencounter Julius's visitor, and at the same time by the hope that hewould not. In his heart was a turmoil of feeling, to the surface ofwhich continued to rise pity for Julius. The events of the evening hadforced him to the conclusion that Julius possessed the same singular, magnetic, baleful influence on men and women as his putative fatherHernando; but Julius's burst of agony, when Nora lay overcome, haddeclared to him that till then he had scarcely been aware of thedestructive side of his power. All resentment, therefore, all sense ofoffence and suspicion which had lately begun to arise in his mind, wasswallowed up in pity for his afflicted friend. His chief desire, nowthat he seemed reduced to the level of suffering humanity, was to givehim help and counsel. 

Thus he entered the Albany, and passed the porter. The lamps in theflagged passage were little better than luminous shadows in thedarkness, and the hollow silence re-echoed the sound of his hurriedsteps. No one was to be seen or heard in front of him. He came to theletter which marked Julius's abode. He looked into the gloomy doorway, and resolved he would see and speak to Julius in any case. He passedinto the gloom and knocked at Julius's door. After a pause the door wasopened by Jenkins. Lefevre could not well make out the expression of theserving-man's face, but he was satisfied that his voice was shaken as bya recent shock. 

"I wish to see Mr Courtney, " said Lefevre, in the half hope that Jenkinswould say, "Which Mr Courtney?"

"Not at home, sir, " said Jenkins in his flurried voice, and prepared toshut the door. 

"Not at home, Jenkins? You don't mean that!"

"Oh, it's you, Dr Lefevre, sir. Mr Courtney is not at home, but perhapshe will see you, sir! I hope he will; for he don't seem to me at allwell. "

"But if he is engaged, Jenkins--?"

"Oh, sir, you know what 'not-at-home' means, " answered Jenkins. "Itmeans anything or nothing. Will you step into the drawing-room, sir, while I inquire? Mr Courtney is in his study. "

"Thank you, Jenkins, " said the doctor; "I'll wait where I am. "

Jenkins returned with deep concern on his face. "Mr Courtney'scompliments, sir, " said he, "and he is very sorry he cannot see youto-night. It is a pity, sir, " he added, in a burst of confidence, "forhe don't seem well. He's a-settin' there with the lamp turned down, andhis face in his hands. "

"Is he alone, then?" asked the doctor. 

"Oh yes, sir, " answered Jenkins, in manifest surprise. 

"Has nobody been to see him since he came in?"

"No, sir, nobody, " said Jenkins, in wider surprise than before. 

It appeared to Lefevre that his friend must be sitting alone with theterrible discovery he had that night made of himself. His heart, therefore, urged him to go in and take him by the hand, and give whathelp and comfort he could. 

"I think, " said he to Jenkins, "I'll try and have a word with him. "

"Yes, sir, " said Jenkins, and led the way to the study. He tapped at thedoor, and then turned the handle; but the door remained closed. 

"Who is there?" asked a weary voice within, which scarce sounded likethe voice of Julius. 

"I--Lefevre, " said the doctor, putting Jenkins aside. "May not I comein? I want a friendly word with you. "

"Forgive me, Lefevre, " said the voice, "that I do not let you in. I amvery busy at present. "

"You are alone, " said Lefevre, "are you not?"

"Alone, " said Julius; "yes, all alone!" There was a melting note ofsadness in the words which went to the doctor's heart. 

"My dear Julius, " said he, "I think I know what's troubling you. Don'tyou think a talk with me might help you?"

"You are very good, Lefevre. " (That was an unusual form of speech tocome from Julius. ) "I shall come to your house in a few minutes, if youwill allow me. "

"Do, " answered Lefevre, for the moment completely satisfied. "Do!" Andhe turned away. 

But when Jenkins had closed the outer door upon him, doubts arose. Oughthe not to have insisted on seeing whether Julius was in truth alone inthe study? And why could they not have had their talk there as well asin Savile Row? These doubts, however, he thrust down with the promise tohimself that, if Julius did not come to him within half an hour, hewould return to him. Yet he had not gone many steps before an unworthysuspicion shot up and arrested him: Suppose Julius had got rid of him tohave the opportunity of sending a mysterious companion away unseen? ButJenkins had said he had let no one in, and it was shameful to suspectboth master and man of lying. Yet Lady Mary Fane had distinctlyrecognised the man who passed into the Albany courtyard: had he merelypassed through on his unceasing pursuit of something unknown? or werefather and son somehow aware of each other? Between this and that hismind became a jumble of the wildest conjectures. He imagined manythings, but never conceived that which soon showed itself to be thefact. 

Chapter IX. 

An Apparition and a Confession. 

He let himself in with his latch-key, went into his dining-room, and satdown dressed as he was to wait. He listened through minute after minutefor the expected step. The window was open (for the midsummer night waswarm), and all the sounds of belated and revelling London floatedvaguely in the air. Twelve o'clock boomed softly from Westminster, andmade the heavy atmosphere drowsily vibrate with the volume of thestrokes. The reverberation of the last had scarcely died away when alight, measured footfall made him sit up. It came nearer and nearer, andthen, after a moment's hesitation, sounded on his own doorstep. Withthat there came the tap of a cane on the window. With thought andexpectation resolutely suspended, Lefevre swung out of the room and tothe hall-door. He opened it, and stood and gazed. The light of thehall-lamp fell upon a figure, the sight of which sent the blood in agush to his heart, and pierced him with horror. He expected Julius, andhe looked on the man whom he had followed on the crowded pavements someweeks before, --the man whom the police had long sought forineffectually!

"Won't you let me in, Lefevre?" said the man. 

The doctor stood speechless, with his eyes fixed: the face and dress ofthe person before him were those of Hernando Courtney, but the voice wasthe voice of Julius, though it sounded strange and distant, and bore anaccent as of death. Lefevre was involved in a wild turmoil and horror ofsurmise, too appalling to be exactly stated to himself; for he shrankwith all his energy from the conclusion to which he was being forced. Heturned, however, upon the request for admission, and led the way intothe dining-room, letting his visitor close the door and follow. 

"Lefevre, " said the strange voice, "I have come to show myself to you, because I know you are a true-hearted friend, and because I think youhave that exquisite charity that can forgive all things. "

"_Show myself!_" . .. As Lefevre listened to the strange voice and lookedat the strange person, the suspicion came upon him--What if he were butregarding an Illusion? He had read in some of his mystical and magicalwriters, that men gifted with certain powers could project to a distanceeidola or phantasms of varying likeness to themselves: might not this besuch a mocking phantasm of Julius? He drew his hand across his eyes, andlooked again: the figure still sat there. He put out his hand to testits substantiality, and the voice cried in a keen pitch of terror--

"Don't touch me!--for your own sake!. .. Why, Lefevre, do you look soamazed and overcome? Is not my wretched secret written in my face?"

"And you are really Julius Courtney?" asked Lefevre, at length findingutterance, with measured emphasis, and in a voice which he hardlyrecognised as his own. 

"I am Julius Courtney--"

He paused, for Lefevre had put his head in his hands, shaken with asilent paroxysm of grief. It wrung the doctor's heart, as if in theperson that sat opposite him, all that was noblest and most gracious inhumanity were disgraced and overthrown. 

"Yes, " continued the voice, "I am Julius; there is no other Courtneythat I know of, and soon there will be none at all. " The doctorlistened, but he could not endure to look again. "I am dying--I havebeen dying for a dozen years, and for a dozen years I have resisted andovercome death; now I surrender. I have come to my period. I shall neverenter your house again. I have only come now to confess myself, and toask a last favour of you--a last token of friendship. "

"I will freely do what I can for you, Julius, " said the doctor, stillwithout looking at him, "though I am too overcome, too bewildered, yetto say much to you. "

"Thank you. You will hear my story and understand. It contains a secretwhich I, like a blind fool, have only used for myself, but which youwill apply for the wide benefit of mankind. The request I have to makeof you is small, but it may seem extraordinary, --be my companion fortwelve hours. I cannot talk to you here, enclosed and oppressed withstreets of houses. Come with me for a few hours on the water; I have afancy to see the sun rise for the last time over the sea. I have myyacht ready near London Bridge, and a boat waiting at the steps byCleopatra's Needle; a cab will soon take us there. Will you come?"

Lefevre did not look up. The voice of Julius sounded like an appeal fromthe very abode of death. Then he glanced in spite of himself in hisface, and was moved and melted to unreserved compassion by the strainedweariness of his expression--the open, luminous wistfulness of his eyes. 

"Yes; I'll go, " said he. "But can't I do something for you first? Let meconsider your case. "

"There's nothing now to be done for me, Lefevre, " said Julius, shakinghis head. "You will perceive that when you have heard me out. "

The doctor went to find his man and tell him that he was going out forthe night to attend on an urgent case. When he returned he stood amoment touched with misgiving. He thought of Lady Mary--he thought ofhis mother and sister. Ought he not to leave some hint behind him of thestrange adventure upon which he was about to embark, and which might endhe knew not how or where? Julius was observing him, and seemed to divinehis doubt. 

"You need have no hesitation, " said he. "I ask you only for twelvehours. You can easily get back here by noon to-morrow. There is asouth-west wind blowing, with every prospect of settled weather. I amquite certain about it. "

Fortified with that assurance, Lefevre put on a thicker overcoat and anold soft hat, turned out the lights in the dining-room and in the hall, closed the door with a slam, and stood with the new, the strange Juliusin the street, fairly embarked upon his adventure. It was only with aneffort that he could realise he was in the company of one who had been afamiliar friend. They walked towards Regent Street without speaking. Atthe corner of Savile Row they came upon a policeman, and Lefevre had asudden thrill of fear lest his companion should, at length, berecognised and arrested. Courtney himself, however, appeared in no wisedisturbed. In Regent Street he hailed a passing four-wheeler. 

"Wouldn't a hansom be quicker?" said Lefevre. 

"It is better on your account, " said Julius, "that we should sit apart. "

When they entered the cab, Courtney ensconced himself in the remotecorner of the other seat from Lefevre; and thus without another wordthey drove to the Embankment. At the foot of the steps by Cleopatra'sNeedle, they found a waterman and a boat in waiting. They entered theboat, Lefevre going forward while Julius sat down at the tiller. Thewaterman pulled out. The tide was ebbing, and they slipped swiftly downthe dark river, with broken reflections of lamps and lanterns on eitherbank streaming deep into the water like molten gold as they passed, andwith tall buildings and chimney-shafts showing black against the calmnight sky. Lefevre found it necessary at intervals to assure himselfthat he was not drifting in a dream, or that the ghastly, burning-eyedfigure, wrapped in a dark cloak in the stern, was not a strange visitorfrom the nether world. 

Soon after they had shot through London Bridge they were alongside ayacht almost in mid-stream. It was clear that all had been prearrangedfor Julius's arrival; for as soon as they were on board, the yacht(loosed from her upper mooring by the waterman who had brought them downthe river) began to stand away. 

"We had better go forward, " said Courtney. "Are you warm enough?"

The doctor answered that he was. Courtney gave an order to one of themen, who went below and returned with a fur-lined coat which his masterput on. That little incident gave a curious shock to Lefevre: it madehim think of the mysterious stranger who had sat down opposite the youngofficer in the Brighton train, and it showed him that he had not beencompletely satisfied that his friend Julius and the person he had beenwont to think of as Hernando Courtney were one and the same. 

They went forward to be free of the sail and its tackling. Courtney, wrapped in his extra, his fur-lined coat, pointing to a lowfolding-chair for Lefevre, threw himself on a heap of cordage. He lookedaround and above him, at the rippling, flashing water and the blackhulls of ships, and at the serene, starlit heavens stretching over all. 

"How wonderful!--how beautiful it all is!" he exclaimed. "All, all!--even the dullest and deadest-seeming things are vibrating, palpitating with the very madness of life! He set the world in my heart, and oh, how I loved!--how I loved the world!"

"It is a wonderful world, " said Lefevre, trying to speak cheerfully;"and you will take delight in it again when this abnormal fit ofdepression is over. "

"Never, Lefevre!--never, never!" said Courtney in strenuous tones. "Iregret it deeply, bitterly, madly, --but yet I know that I have aboutdone with it!"

"Julius, " said Lefevre, "I have been so amazed and bewildered, that Ihave found little to say: I can scarcely believe that you are in verydeed the Julius I have known for years. But now let me remind you I amyour friend--"

"Thank you, Lefevre. "

"--And I am ready to help you to the uttermost in this crisis, which Ibut dimly understand. Tell me about yourself, and let me see what I cando. "

"You can do nothing, " said Julius, sadly shaking his head. "Understandme; I am not going to state a case for diagnosis. Put that idea aside; Imerely wish to confess myself to my friend. "

"But surely, " said Lefevre, "I may be your physician as well as yourfriend. As long as you have life there is hope of life. "

"No, no, no, Lefevre! There is a depth of life--life on the lees--thatis worse than death! If I could retrace my steps to the beginning ofthis, taking my knowledge with me, then--! But no, I must go myappointed way, and face what is beyond. .. . But let me tell you my story. 

"You have heard something of my parentage from Dr Rippon, I believe. Myfather was Spanish, and my mother was English. I think I was bornwithout that sense of responsibility to a traditional or conventionalstandard which is called Conscience, and that sense of obligation toconsider others as important as myself, which, I believe, they callAltruism. I do not know whether the lack of these senses had beenmanifest in my mother's family, but I am sure it had been in myfather's. For generations it had been a law unto itself; none of itsmembers had known any duty but the fulfilment of his desires; and Ibelieve even that kind of outward conscience called Honour had scarcelyexisted for some of them. I had from my earliest recollection the natureof these ancestors: they, though dead, desired, acted, lived inme, --with something of a difference, due to I know not what. Let me tryto state the fact as it appears to me looking back: I was for myself theone consciousness, the one person in the world, all else--trees, beasts, men and women, and what not--being the medium in which, and on which, Ilived. I conceived of nothing around me but as existing to please, toamuse, to delight me, and if anything showed itself contrary to theseends, I simply avoided it. What I wished to do I did; what I wished tohave I had;--and nothing else. I do not suppose that in these points Iwas different from most other children of wealthy parents. Where Idiffered, I believe, was in having a peculiarly sensitive, and at thesame time admirably healthy, constitution of body, which induced aremarkable development of desire and gratification. I can hardly makeyou understand, I am sure I cannot make you feel--I myself cannot feel, I can only remember--what a bright natural creature I was when I wasyoung. "

"Don't I remember well, " said Lefevre, "what you were like when I firstmet you in Paris?"

"Ah, " said Julius, "the change had begun then, --the change that hasbrought me to this. I contemplate myself as I was before that withbitter envy and regret. I was as a being sprung fresh from the womb ofprimitive Nature. I delighted in Nature as a child delights in itsmother, and I throve on my delight as a child thrives. I refused to goto school--and indeed little pressure was put upon me--to be drilled inthe paces and hypocrisy of civilised mankind. I ran wild about thecountry; I became proficient in all bodily exercises; I fenced andwrestled and boxed; I leaped and swam; I rowed for days alone in askiff; I associated with simple peasants, and with all kinds of animals;I delighted in air and water, and grass and trees: to me they were asmuch alive as beasts are. Oh, what an exquisite, abounding, uncloudedpleasure life was! When I was hungry I ate; when I was thirsty I drank;when I was tired I slept; and when I woke I stretched myself like agiant refreshed. It was a pure joy to me in those days to close myfingers into a fist and see the beauty and firmness of my muscles. Whensolemn, civilised people spoke to me of duty and work, I listened likean idiot. I had nothing in my consciousness to help me to understandthem. I knew no more of duty than Crusoe on his island; and as for work, I had no ambition, --why, then, should I work? I read, of course; but Iread because I liked it, not because I had tasks set me. I readeverything that came in my way; and very soon all literature andscience--all good poetry and romance, and all genuine science--came tomean for me a fine, orderly expression of nature and life. And religion, too, I felt as the ecstasy of nature. So I fed and flourished on themilk of life and the bread of life. 

"But a time came when I longed to live deeper, and to get at the pithand marrow of life. I was over twenty when it was revealed to me in anoonday splendour and warmth of light, that the human is unspeakably thehighest and most enthralling expression of life in all Nature. Thatdiscovery happened to me when I was in Morocco with my father, who diedthere--no matter how--among those whom he liked to believe were his ownpeople: my mother had died long before. I had considerable wealth at mycommand, and I began to live at the height of all my faculties; I livedin every nerve, and at every pore. 

"And then I began to perceive a reverse to the bounteous beauty and theoverflowing life of Nature, --a threatening quality, a devouring facultyin her by which she fed the joyous abundance of her life. I saw that allactivity, all the pleasant palpitation and titillation in the life ofNature and of Man, merely means that one living thing is feeding upon oris feeding another. I began to perceive that all the interest of lifecentres in this alter-devouring principle. I discovered, moreover, thisstrange point, --that the joy of life is in direct proportion to therapidity with which we lose or surrender life. "

"Yes, " said Lefevre, "the giving of pleasure is always more exquisiteand satisfactory than the getting it. "

"I lost life, " continued Julius, without noting Lefevre's remark, --"Ilost life, --vital force, nervous ether, electricity, whatever you chooseto call it, --at an enormous rate, but I as quickly replenished my loss. I had revelled for some time in this deeper life of give and take beforeI discovered that this faculty of recuperation also was curiously andwonderfully active in me. Whenever I fell into a state of weakness, well-nigh empty of life, I withdrew myself from company, and dwelt for alittle while with the simplest forms of Nature. "

"But, " asked Lefevre, "how did you get into such a low condition?"

"How? _I lived!_" said he with fervour. "_Yes; I lived:_ that was how! Ihad always delighted in animals, but then I began to find that when Icaressed them they were not merely tamed, as they had been wont, butcompletely subdued; and I felt rapid and full accessions of life fromcontact with them. If I lay upon a bank of rich grass or wild flowers, Ihad to a slight extent the same revivifying sensation. The fable ofAntæus was fulfilled in me. The constant recurrence and vigour of thisrecuperation not only filled me with pride, but also set me thinking. Iturned to medical science to find the secret of it. I entered myself asa student in Paris: it was then I met you. I read deeply, too, in thebooks of the mediæval alchemists and sages of Spain, which my father hadleft me. It came upon me in a clear flood of evidence that Nature andman are one and indivisible, being animated by one identical Energy orSpirit of Life, however various may be the material forms; and that allthings, all creatures, according to the activity of their life, have thepower of communicating, of giving or taking, this invisible force oflife. It furthermore became clear to me that, though the force residesin all parts of a body, floating in every corpuscle of blood, yet itsproper channels of circulation and communication are the nerves, so thatas soon as a nerve in any one shape of life touches a nerve in anyother, there is an instant tendency to establish in them a common levelof the Force of Life. If I or you touch a man or woman with a finger, orclasp their hand, or embrace them more completely, the tendency is atonce set up, and the force seeks to flow, and, according to certainconditions, does flow, from one to another, evermore seeking to find acommon level, --always, that is, in the direction of the greater need, orthe greater capacity. I saw then that not only had I a greater storagecapacity, so to say, than most men, but also, therefore, when exhaustioncame, I had a more insistent need for replenishment, and a more violentshrinking at all times from any weak or unhealthy person who might evenby chance contact make a demand on my store of life. "

"And is that your secret?" asked Lefevre. "I have arrived in a differentway at something like the same discovery. "

"I know you have, " said Julius. "But my peculiar secret is not that, though it is connected with it. I am growing very tired, " said he, abruptly. "I must be quick, Lefevre, " he continued in a hurried, weakvoice of appeal; "grant me one little last favour to enable me tofinish. "

"Anything I can do I will, Julius, " said Lefevre, suddenly roused out ofthe half-drowsiness which the soft night induced. He was held betweenalarm and fascination by the look which Julius bent on him. 

"I am ashamed to ask, but you are full of life, " said Julius: "I am atthe shallowest ebb. Just for one minute help me. Of your free-willsubmit yourself to me for but a moment. Will you do me that service?"

"Yes, " said Lefevre, after an instant's hesitation; "certainly I will. "

Julius half rose from his reclining position; he turned on Lefevre hiswonderful eyes, which in the mysterious twilight that suffused themidsummer night burned with a surprising brilliance. Lefevre felthimself seized and held in their influence. 

"Give me your hand, " said Julius. 

The doctor gave his hand, his eyes being still held by those of Julius, and instantly, as it seemed to him, he plunged, as a man dives into thesea, into a gulf of unconsciousness, from which he presently emergedwith something like a gasp and with a tremulous sensation about hisheart. What had happened to him he did not know; but he felt slacker offibre, as if virtue had gone out of him, while Julius, when he spoke, seemed refreshed as by a draught of wine. 

"How are you?" asked Julius. "For heaven's sake don't let me think thatat the last I have troubled much the current of your life! Will you havesomething to eat and drink? There's wine and food below. "

"Thank you; no, " said Lefevre. "I am well enough, only a little drowsy. "

"I am stronger, " said Julius, "but it will not last; so let me finish mystory. "

Then he continued. "Having explained to myself, in the way I have toldyou, the ease of my unwitting replenishment of force whenever I wasbrought low, I set myself to improve on my discovery. I saw before me aprospect of enjoyment of all the delights of life, deeper and moreconstant than most men ever know, --if I could only ensure to myself withabsolute certainty a still more complete and rapid reinvigoration asoften soever as I sank into exhaustion. I was quite sure that no energyof life is finer or fuller than the human at its best. "

"Good God!" exclaimed Lefevre, turning away with an involuntary shudder. 

"For heaven's sake!" cried Julius, "don't shrink from me now, or youwill tempt me to be less frank than I have been. I wish to make fullconfession. I know, I see now, I have been cruelly, brutally selfish--asselfish as Nature herself!--none knows that better than I. But remember, in extenuation, what I have told you of my origin and my growth. And Ihad not the suspicion of a thought of injuring any one. Fool! fool!egregious fool that I was! I who understood most things so clearly didnot guess that no creature, no being in the universe--god, or man, orbeast--can indulge in arrogant, full, magnificent enjoyment withoutgathering and living in himself, squandering through himself, the livesof others, to their eternal loss and his own final ruin! But, as I said, I did not think, and it was not evident until recently, that I injuredany one. I had for a long time been aware that I had an unusual mesmericor magnetic influence--call it what you will--over others. I cultivatedthat power in eye and hand, so that I was soon able to take any personat unawares whom I considered fit for my purpose, and subdue him or hercompletely to myself. Then after one or two failures I hit upon amethod, which I perfected at length into entire simplicity, by which Iwas able to tap the nervous system and draw into myself as much as everI needed of the abounding force of life, without leaving any sign whicheven the most skilful doctor could detect. "

"Julius, you sicken me!" exclaimed Lefevre. "I am a doctor, but yousicken me!"

"I explain myself so in detail, " said Julius, "_because_ you are adoctor. But let me finish. I lived that life of complete wedlock withNature for I dare not think how many years. "

"And you did not get weary of it?" asked Lefevre. 

"Weary of it? No! I returned to it always, after a pause of a few daysfor the reinvigoration I needed, --I returned to it with all thefreshness of youth, with the advantage which, of course, mere youth cannever have, --an amazingly rich experience. I revelled in the full lap oflife. I passed through many lands, civilised and barbaric; but it was myespecial delight to strike down to that simple, passionate, essentialnature which lies beneath the thickest lacquer of refinements in ourcivilised societies. Oh, what a life it was!--what a life!

"But a change came: it must have been growing on me for some timewithout my knowledge. I commonly removed from society when I feltexhaustion coming on me; but on one occasion it chanced that I stayed onin the pleasant company I was in (I was then in Vienna). I did notexactly feel ill; I felt merely weary and languid, and thought thatpresently I would go to bed. Gradually I began to observe that the looksof my companions were bent strangely on me, and that the expression oftheir countenances more and more developed surprise and alarm. 'What isthe matter with you all?' I demanded; when they instantly cried, 'Whatis the matter with _you?_ Have you been poisoned?' I rose and went andlooked in a mirror; I saw, with ghastly horror, what I was like, and Iknew then that I was _doomed_. I fled from that company for ever. I sawthat, when the alien life on which I flourished was gone out of me, Iwas a worn old man--that the Fire of Life which usually burned in mybody, making me look bright and young, was now none of it my own; a fewhot ashes only were mine, which Death sat cowering by! I could not butsit and gaze at the reflection of the seared ghastliness of that face, which was mine and yet not mine, and feel well-nigh sick unto death. After a while, however, I plucked up heart. I considered that it wasimpossible this change had come all at once; I must have looked likethat--or almost like that--once or twice or oftener before, and yet lifeand reinvigoration had gone on as they had been wont. I wrapped myselfwell up, and went out. I found a fit subject. I replenished my life astheretofore; my youthful, fresh appearance returned, and my confidencewith it. I refused to look again upon my own, my worn face, from thattime until tonight. 

"But alarm again seized me about a year ago, when I chanced bycalculation to note that my periods of abounding life were graduallygetting shorter, --that I needed reinvigoration at more frequentintervals;--not that I did not take as much from my subjects asformerly--on the contrary, I seemed to take more--but that I lost morerapidly what I took, as if my body were becoming little better than afine sieve. The last stage of all was this that you are familiar with, when my subjects began to be so utterly exhausted as to attract publicnotice. Yet that is not what has given me pause, and made me resolve tobring the whole weary, selfish business to an end. Could I not have goneelsewhere--anywhere, the wide world over--and lived my life? But I waskept, I was tethered here, to this London by a feeling I had never knownbefore. Call it by the common fool's name of Love; call it what youwill. I was fascinated by your sister Nora, even as others had beenfascinated by me, even as I had been in my youth by the bountiful, gracious beauty of Nature. "

"I have wanted to ask you, " said Lefevre, "for an explanation of yourconduct towards Nora. Why did you--with your awful life--life which, asyou say, was not your own, and your extraordinary secret--why did youremain near her, and entangle her with your fascinations? What did youdesire?--what did you hope for?"

"I scarcely know for what I hoped. But let me speak of her; for she hastraversed and completely eclipsed my former vision of Nature. I havetold you what my point of view was, --alone in the midst of Nature. I wasfor myself the only consciousness in the world, and all the worldbesides was merely a variety of material and impression, to be observedand known, to be interested in and delighted with. I was thus lonely, lonely as a despot, when Nora, your sister, appeared to me, andinstantly I became aware there was another consciousness in the world asgreat as, or greater than, my own, --another person than myself, a personof supreme beauty and intelligence and faculty. She became to me allthat Nature had been, and more. She expressed for me all that I hadsought to find diffused through Nature, and at the same time she stoodforth to me as an equal of my own kind, with as great a capacity forlife. At first I had a vision of our living and reigning together, so tosay, though the word may seem to you absurd; but I soon discovered thatthere was a gulf fixed between us, --the gulf of the life I had lived;she stood pure where I had stood a dozen years ago. So, gradually, shesubverted my whole scheme of life; more and more, without knowing it, she made me see and judge myself with her eyes, till I felt altogetherabased before her. But that which finally stripped the veil from me, andshowed me myself as the hateful incarnation of relentlessly devouringSelf, was my influence upon her, which culminated in the event of lastnight. Can you conceive how I was smitten and pierced with horror by thediscovery that rose on me like a nightmare, that even on her sweet, pure, sumptuous life, I had unwittingly begun to prey? For thatdiscovery flung wide the door of the future and showed me what I wouldbecome. 

"Beautiful, calm, divine Nora! If I could but have continued near herwithout touching her, to delight in the thought and the sight of her, asone delights in the wind and the sunshine! But it could not be. I couldonly appear fit company for her if I refreshed and strengthened myselfas I had been wont; but my new disgust of myself, and pity for myvictims, made me shudder at the thought. What then? Here I am, and thetime has come (as that old doctor said it would) when death appears morebeautiful and friendly and desirable than life. Forgive me, Lefevre--forgive me on Nora's part, --and forgive me in the name of humannature. "

Lefevre could not reply for the moment. He sat convulsed withheartrending sobs. He put out his hand to Julius. 

"No, no!" exclaimed Julius, "I must not take your hand. You know I mustnot. "

"Take my hand, " cried Lefevre. "I know what it means. Take my life!Leave me but enough to recover. I give it you freely, for I wish you tolive. You shall not die. By heaven! you shall not die. O Julius, Julius!why did you not tell me this long ago? Science has resource enough todeliver you from your mistake. "

"Lefevre, " said Julius, --and his eyes sparkled with tears and hisweakening voice was choked, --"your friendship moves me deeply--to thesoul. But science can do nothing for me: science has not yet sufficientknowledge of the principle on which I lived. Would you have me, then, live on, --passing to and fro among mankind merely as a blight, takingthe energy of life, even from whomsoever I would not? No, I must die!Death is best!"

"I will not let you die, " said Lefevre, rising to take a pace or two onthe deck. "You shall come home with me. I shall feed your life--thereare dozens besides myself who will be glad to assist--till you arehealed of the devouring demon you have raised within you. "

"No, no, no, my dear friend!" cried Julius. "I have steadily sinnedagainst the most vital law of life. "

"Julius, " said Lefevre, standing over him, "my friendship, my love foryou may blind me to the enormity of your sin, but I can find it in me tosay, in the name of humanity, 'I forgive you all! Now, rise up and liveanew! Your intelligence, your soul is too rare and admirable to besnuffed out like a guttering candle!'"

"Lefevre, " said Julius, "you are a perfect friend! But your knowledge ofthis secret force of Nature, which we have both studied, is not so greatas mine. Let me tell you, then, that this mystical saying, which I oncescoffed at, is the profoundest truth:--

 "'Who loveth life shall lose it all; Who seeketh life shall surely fall!'

"There is no remedy for me but death, which (who knows?) may be themother of new life!"

"It would have been better for you, " said Lefevre, sitting down againwith his head in his hands, "better--if you had never seen Nora. "

"Nay, nay, " cried Julius, sitting up, animate with a fresh impulse oflife. "Better for her, dear, beautiful soul, but not for me! I havetruly lived only since I saw her, and I have the joy of feeling that Ihave beheld and known Nature's sole and perfect chrysolite. But I mustbe quick, my friend; the dawn will soon be upon us. There is but oneother thing for me to speak of--my method of taking to myself the forceof life. It is my secret; it is perfectly adapted for professional use, and I wish to give it to you, because you are wise enough in mind, andgreat enough of soul, to use it for the benefit of mankind. "

"I will not hear you, Julius!" exclaimed Lefevre. "I am neither wise norgreat. Your perfect secret would be too much for me. I might be temptedto keep it for my own use. Come home with me, and apply it wellyourself. "

Julius was silent for a space, murmuring only, "I have no time forargument. " Then his face assumed the white sickness of death, and hisdark eyes seemed to grow larger and to burn with a concentrated fire. 

"Lefevre!" he panted in amazement, "do you know that you are refusingsuch a medical and spiritual secret as the world has not known forthousands of years? A secret that would enable you--_you_--to work curesmore wonderful than any that are told of the greatest EasternThaumaturge?"

"I have discovered a method, " answered the doctor, --"an imperfect, clumsy method--for myself, of transmitting nervous force or ether forcurative purposes. That, for the present, must be enough for me. Icannot hear your secret, Julius. "

"Lefevre, I beg of you, " pleaded Julius, "take it from me. I havepromised myself, as a last satisfaction, that the secret I haveguarded--it is not altogether mine: it is an old oriental secret--thatnow I would hand it over to you for the good of mankind, that at thelast I might say to myself, 'I have, after all, opened my hand liberallyto my fellow-men!' For pity's sake, Lefevre, don't deny me that smallfinal satisfaction!"

"Julius, " said Lefevre, firmly, "if your method is so perfect--as Ibelieve it must be from what I have seen--I dare not lay on myself theresponsibility of possessing its secret. "

"Would not my example keep you from using it selfishly?"

"Does the experience of another, " demanded the doctor, "however untowardit may be, ever keep a man from making his own? I dare not--I dare nottrust myself to hold your perfect secret. "

"Then share it with others, " responded Julius, promptly; "and I daresayit is not so perfect, but that it could be made more perfect still. "

"I'll have nothing to do with it, Julius; you must keep and use ityourself. "

"Then, " cried Julius, throwing himself on his bed of cordage, "thenthere will be, indeed, an end of me!"

There was no sound for a time, but the soft rush of the sea at the bowsof the yacht. They had left the Thames water some distance behind, andwere then in that part of the estuary where it is just possible inmid-channel to descry either coast. The glorious rose of dawn was justbeginning to flame in the eastern sky. Lefevre looked about him, andstrove to shake off the sensation, which would cling to him, that he wasinvolved in a strange dream. There lay Julius or Hernando Courtneybefore him; or at least the figure of a man with his face hid in hishands. What more could be said or done?

In the meantime light was swiftly rushing up the sky and waking allthings to life. A flock of seagulls came from the depth of the night andwheeled about the yacht, their shrill screams strangely softened in themorning air. At the sound of them Julius roused himself, and raisedhimself on his elbow to watch their beautiful evolutions. As he watched, one and another swooped gracefully to the water, and hanging there aninstant, rose with a fish and flew away. Julius flung himself again onhis face. 

"O God!" he cried. "Is it not horrible? Even on such a beautiful day asthis death wakes as early as life! Devouring death is ushered in by thedawn, hand in hand with generous life! Awful, devilish Nature! thatmakes all creatures full of beauty and delight, and then condemns themto live upon each other! Nature is the sphinx: she appears soft andgentle and more lovely than heart can bear, but if you look closer, yousee she is a creature with claws and teeth that rend and devour! Ithought, fool that I was! that I had found the secret to solve herriddle! But it was an empty hope, a vain imagination. .. . Yet, I havelived! Yes, I have lived!"

He rose and stood erect, facing the dawn, with his back to Lefevre. Hestood thus for some time, with one foot on the low bulwark of thevessel, till the sun leaped above the horizon and flamed with blindingbrilliance across the sea. 

"Ah!" he murmured. "The superb, the glorious sun! Unwearied lord ofCreation! Generous giver of all light and life! And yet, who knows whatworlds he may not have drawn into his flaming self, and consumed duringthe æons of his existence? It is ever and everywhere the same: death incompany with life! And swift, strong death is better than slow, weaklife!. .. Almost the splendour and inspiration of his rising tempt me tostay! Great nourisher and renewer of life's heat!"

He put off his fur coat, and let it fall on the deck, and stood for awhile as if wrapt in ecstasy. Then, before Lefevre could conceive hisintention, his feet were together on the bulwark, and with a flash and aplunge he was gone!

Amazement held the doctor's energies congealed, though but for aninstant or two. Then he threw off hat and coat, and stood alert andresolute to dive to Julius's rescue when he rose, while those who mannedthe yacht prepared to cast a buoy and line. Not a ripple or flash ofwater passed unheeded; the flood of sunshine rose fuller and fuller overthe world; moments grew to minutes, and minutes swelled to hopelesshours under the doctor's weary eyes, till it seemed to them as if theuniverse were only a swirling, greedy ocean;--but no sign appeared ofhis night's companion: his life was quenched in the depths of therestless waters, as a flaming meteor is quenched in night. At lengthLefevre ordered the yacht to stand away to the shore, his heart tornwith grief and self-upbraiding. He had called Courtney his friend, andyet until that last he had never won his inner confidence; and now heknew that his friend--he of the gentle heart, the peerless intelligence, and the wildly erring life--was dead in the hour of self-redemption. 

When he had landed, however, given to the proper authorities suchinformation as was necessary, and set off by train on his return totown, the agitation of his grief began to assuage; and when next day, upon the publication in the papers of the news of Courtney's death bydrowning, a solicitor called in Savile Row with a will which he haddrawn up two days before, and by which all Julius Courtney's propertywas left to Dr Lefevre, to dispose of as he thought best, "forscientific and humane ends, " the doctor admitted to his reason that adeath that could thus calmly be prepared was not lightly to bequestioned. 

"He must have known best, " he said to himself, as he bowed over hishands--"he must have known best when to put off the poisoned garment oflife he had woven for himself. "