But he turned and left her, and she blindly stretched out her hands and
followed him into the darkness, weeping.

Was it the scent of the chemicals in my cabin, coupled with some
subterranean association of things, which brought these scenes vividly
before me at this moment? What had they to do with Mrs. Falchion?

A time came when the occurrence appeared to me in the light of
prescience, but that was when I began to understand that all ideas, all
reason and philosophy, are the result of outer impression. The primal
language of our minds is in the concrete. Afterwards it becomes the
cypher, and even at its highest it is expressed by angles, lines, and
geometrical forms--substances and allusive shapes. But now, as the scene
shifted by, I had involuntarily thrust forward my hands as did the girl
when she passed out into the night, and, in doing so, touched the curtain
of my cabin door swinging in towards me. I recovered myself, and a man
timidly stepped inside, knocking as he did so. It was the Intermediate
Passenger. His face was pale; he looked ill.

Poor as his dress was, I saw that he had known the influences and
practised the graces of good society, though his manner was hesitating
and anxious now. I knew at a glance that he was suffering from both
physical pain and mental worry. Without a word, I took his wrist and
felt his pulse, and he said: "I thought I might venture to come--"

I motioned him not to speak. I counted the irregular pulse-beats,
then listened to the action of his heart, with my ear to his breast.
There lay his physical trouble. I poured out a dose of digitalis, and,
handing it to him, asked him to sit down. As he sat and drank the
medicine, I rapidly studied him. The chin was firm, and the eyes had a