of great
weariness, and the feeling that he should never rise from his bed again.
For the most part his intellect was unclouded when his attention was
aroused. He spoke only in whispers, a few words at a time. The doctor
felt sure, by the expression which passed over his features from time to
time, that something was worrying and oppressing him; something which
he wished to communicate, and had not the force, or the tenacity of
purpose, to make perfectly clear. His eyes often wandered to a certain
desk, and once he had found strength to lift his emaciated arm and
point to it. The doctor went towards it as if to fetch it to him, but he
slowly shook his head. He had not the power to say at that time what he
wished. The next day he felt a little less prostrated; and succeeded
in explaining to the doctor what he wanted. His words, so far as the
physician could make them out, were these which follow. Dr. Butts looked
upon them as possibly expressing wishes which would be his last, and
noted them down carefully immediately after leaving his chamber.

"I commit the secret of my life to your charge. My whole story is told
in a paper locked in that desk. The key is--put your hand under
my pillow. If I die, let the story be known. It will show that I
was--human--and save my memory from reproach."

He was silent for a little time. A single tear stole down his hollow
cheek. The doctor turned his head away, for his own eyes were full. But
he said to himself, "It is a good sign; I begin to feel strong hopes
that he will recover."

Maurice spoke once more. "Doctor, I put full trust in you. You are wise
and kind. Do what you will with this paper, but open it at once and
read. I want you to know the story of my life before it is finished--if
the end is at hand. Take it with you and read it before you sleep."
He was exhausted and presently his eyes closed, but the doctor saw a
tranquil look on his features which added encouragement to his hopes.

XVIII. MAURICE KIRKWOOD'S STORY OF HIS LIFE.

I am an American by birth, but a large part of my life has been passed
in foreign lands. My father was a man of education, possessed of an
ample fortune; my mother was considered, a very accomplished and amiable
woman. I was their first and only child. She died while I was yet an
infant. If I remember her at all it is as a vision, more like a glimpse
of a pre-natal existence than as a part of my earthly life. At the death
of my mother I w