The physician's few words of warning made but slight impression
upon the infatuated man at the time. Mr. Jocelyn remembered only
that he had an intolerable pain in his head and a heavy weight upon
his heart. Many a time during the long civil war he had smilingly
led charges wherein the chances of death were greater than those
of life, but neither then nor since had he ever displayed any great
aptitude for quiet endurance and self-control. Now every day was
precious, and he felt he could not give himself up to pain and
patient waiting until the disease could be conquered in a slow,
legitimate way, when by a wound no more than a pin-prick he could
obtain courage, happiness, and prospects illimitable.

Having obtained the syringe and a vial of the solution of morphia,
he injected into his arm a much larger quantity than the physician
would have dreamed of employing. Not only did the unendurable
anguish pass away within a few brief moments, but the world was
transfigured; life's grim outlook became full of the richest promise,
and discouragement and dread vanished utterly. So far from fearing
that he could not provide for his family, he was sure that he
could win for them abundance and luxury. A dozen avenues to fortune
opened before him, and he felt that his only task was to choose,
believing that in some indefinite yet easily discerned way he
would achieve more than falls to the lot of most men to accomplish.
Instead of a long, sleepless night like those which had preceded,
his waking dreams ended in quiet and equally pleasant visions--then
oblivion, which did not pass away until the morning sun was shining.
But with the new day came a new access of pain and gloom, and the
aid of the magic little instrument was invoked once more. Again
within a few moments the potent drug produced a tranquil elysium