I should not be surprised to hear
he had adopted its philosophy of 'wisdom and madness and folly.'"

"Surely you cannot say," remarked Julius, "that the writer of that book
had what is called a 'philosophy.' He was moved by an irresistible
impulse, of which he gives you the explanation when he uses that
magnificent sentence about having 'the world set in his heart.'"

"Yes," said the old doctor, in a subdued, backward voice, regarding
Julius with the contemplative eyes of memory. "You will, I hope, forgive
me when I say that you remind me very much of a gentleman who took the
name of Courtney. I knew him years ago: was he a relation of yours, I
wonder?"

"Possibly," said Julius, seeming scarcely interested; "though the name
of Courtney, I believe, is not very uncommon." Then, turning to Lefevre,
he said, "I hope you don't think I wish to make light of your grand
idea. I only mean that you must widen your view, if you would work it
out to success."

With that Lefevre became more curious to hear Dr Rippon's story. So when
they went to the drawing-room he got the old gentleman into a secluded
corner, and reminded him of his promise.

"Yes," said the doctor, "it is a romantic story. About forty years
ago,--yes, about forty: it was immediately after the fall of Louis
Philippe,--I went with my friend Lord Rokeby to Madrid. He went as
ambassador, and I as his physician. There was then at the Spanish Court
a very handsome hidalgo, Don Hernando--I forget all his names, but his
surname was De Sandoval. He was of the bluest blood in Spain, and a
marquis, but poor as a church mouse. He had a great reputation for
gallant adventures and for mysterious scientific studies. On the last
ground I sought and cultivated his acquaintance. But he was a proud,
reserved person, and I could never quite make out what his studies were,
except that he read a great deal, and believed firmly in the Arabic
philosophers and alchemists of the middle ages; and he would sometimes
talk with the same sort of rhapsodical mysticism as this young man
delights you with. We did not have much opportunity for developing an
intimacy in any case; for he fell in love with the daughter of our Chief
Secretary of Legation, a bright, lovely English girl, and that ended
disastrously for his position in Madrid. He made his proposals to her
father, and had them refused; chiefly, I believe, on account of his
loose reputation. The girl, too, was the heiress of an uncle's