myself the force
of life. It is my secret; it is perfectly adapted for professional use,
and I wish to give it to you, because you are wise enough in mind, and
great enough of soul, to use it for the benefit of mankind."

"I will not hear you, Julius!" exclaimed Lefevre. "I am neither wise nor
great. Your perfect secret would be too much for me. I might be tempted
to keep it for my own use. Come home with me, and apply it well
yourself."

Julius was silent for a space, murmuring only, "I have no time for
argument." Then his face assumed the white sickness of death, and his
dark eyes seemed to grow larger and to burn with a concentrated fire.

"Lefevre!" he panted in amazement, "do you know that you are refusing
such a medical and spiritual secret as the world has not known for
thousands of years? A secret that would enable you--_you_--to work cures
more wonderful than any that are told of the greatest Eastern
Thaumaturge?"

"I have discovered a method," answered the doctor,--"an imperfect,
clumsy method--for myself, of transmitting nervous force or ether for
curative purposes. That, for the present, must be enough for me. I
cannot hear your secret, Julius."

"Lefevre, I beg of you," pleaded Julius, "take it from me. I have
promised myself, as a last satisfaction, that the secret I have
guarded--it is not altogether mine: it is an old oriental secret--that
now I would hand it over to you for the good of mankind, that at the
last I might say to myself, 'I have, after all, opened my hand liberally
to my fellow-men!' For pity's sake, Lefevre, don't deny me that small
final satisfaction!"

"Julius," said Lefevre, firmly, "if your method is so perfect--as I
believe it must be from what I have seen--I dare not lay on myself the
responsibility of possessing its secret."

"Would not my example keep you from using it selfishly?"

"Does the experience of another," demanded the doctor, "however untoward
it may be, ever keep a man from making his own? I dare not--I dare not
trust myself to hold your perfect secret."

"Then share it with others," responded Julius, promptly; "and I daresay
it is not so perfect, but that it could be made more perfect still."

"I'll have nothing to do with it, Julius; you must keep and use it
yourself."

"Then," cried Julius, throwing himself on his bed of cordage, "then
there will be, indeed, an end of me!"

There was no sound for a time, but the soft rush of the sea at the bows
of the