"Excuse me!" returned Heliobas quietly, "I never was a mesmerist."

"Well-as a spiritualist then; though I cannot admit the existence
of any such thing as spiritualism."

"Neither can I," returned Heliobas, with perfect good-humor,
"according to the generally accepted meaning of the term. Pray go
on, Mr. Alwyn!"

Alwyn looked at him, a little puzzled and uncertain how to
proceed. A curious sense of irritation was growing up in his mind
against this monk with the grand head and flashing eyes--eyes that
seemed to strip bare his innermost thoughts, as lightning strips
bark from a tree.

"I was told," he continued after a pause, during which he had
apparently considered and prepared his words, "that you were
chiefly known in Paris as being the possessor of some mysterious
internal force--call it magnetic, hypnotic, or spiritual, as you
please--which, though perfectly inexplicable, was yet plainly
manifested and evident to all who placed themselves under your
influence. Moreover, that by this force you were able to deal
scientifically and practically with the active principle of
intelligence in man, to such an extent that you could, in some
miraculous way, disentangle the knots of toil and perplexity in an
over-taxed brain, and restore to it its pristine vitality and
vigor. Is this true? If so, exert your power upon me,--for
something, I know not what, has of late frozen up the once
overflowing fountain of my thoughts, and I have lost all working
ability. When a man can no longer work, it were best he should