he 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 dogged,
persistent look that, when turned on you, saw not you, but something
beyond you. The head was thrown slightly forward, the eyes looking up at
an angle. This last action was habitual with him. It gave him a peculiar
earnestness. As I noted these peculiarities, my mind was also with his
case; I saw that his life was threatened. Perhaps he guessed what was
going on in me, for he said in a low, cultured voice: "The wheels will
stop too long some time, and there will be no rebound;"--referring to
the irregular action of his heart.

"Perhaps that is true," I said; "yet it depends a good deal upon
yourself when it will be. Men can die if they wish without committing
suicide. Look at the Maori, the Tongan, the Malay. They can also prolong
life (not indefinitely, but in a case like yours considerably), if
they choose. Y