troubled him but the memory of what had passed, and an abject fear
of its return.

"Gallo canente, spes redit,
Aegris salus refunditur,
Lapsis fides revertitur,"

as they sang of old in Portugal in the Morning Office. But to him
that good hour of cockcrow, and the changes of the dawn, had
brought panic, and lasting doubt, and such terror as he still shook
to think of. He dared not return to his lodging; he could not eat;
he sat down, he rose up, he wandered; the city woke about him with
its cheerful bustle, the sun climbed overhead; and still he grew
but the more absorbed in the distress of his recollection and the
fear of his past fear. At the appointed hour, he came to the door
of the place of examination; but when he was asked, he had
forgotten his name. Seeing him so disordered, they had not the
heart to send him away, but gave him a paper and admitted him,
still nameless, to the Hall. Vain kindness, vain efforts. He
could only sit in a still growing horror, writing nothing, ignorant
of all, his mind filled with a single memory of the breaking day
and his own intolerable fear. And that same night he was tossing
in a brain fever.

People are afraid of war and wounds and dentists, all with
excellent reason; but these are not to be compared with such
chaotic terrors of the mind as fell on this young man, and made him
cover his eyes from the innocent morning. We all have by our
bedsides the box of the Merchant Abudah, thank God, securely enough
shut; but when a young man sacrifices sleep to labour, let him have