"Gentlemen--your cure is--worse than--the disease," he panted.

Manifestly Doctor Branson's interest in Lane had advanced beyond the
professional. His tone was one of friendship when he said, "Boy, it
beats hell what you can stand. I don't know about you. Stop your worry
now. Isn't there something you _care_ for?"

"Yes," replied Lane.

"Think of that, or it, or _her_, then to the exclusion of all else.
And give nature a chance."

"Doctor, I can't control my thoughts."

"A fellow like you can do anything," snapped Bronson. "There are such
men, now and then. Human nature is strange and manifold. All great men
do not have statues erected in their honor. Most of them are unknown,
unsung.... Lane, you could do anything--do you hear me?--_anything_."

Lane felt surprise at the force and passion of the practical little
physician. But he was not greatly impressed. And he was glad when the
two men went away. He felt the insidious approach of one of his states
of depression--the black mood--the hopeless despair--the hell on
earth. This spell had not visited him often of late, and now
manifestly meant to make up for that forbearance. Lane put forth his
intelligence, his courage, his spirit--all in vain. The onslaught of
gloom and anguish was irresistible. Then thought of Mel Iden
sustained him--held back this madness for the moment.

Every hour he lived made her dearer, yet farther away. It was the
unattainableness of her, the impossibility of a fruition of love that
slowly and surely removed her. On the other hand, the image of her
sweet face, of her form, of her beauty, of her movements--every recall
of these physical things enhanced her charm, and his love. He had
cherished a delusion that it was Mel Iden's spirit alone, the
wonderful soul of her, that had stormed his heart and won it. But he
found to his consternation that however he revered her soul, it was
the woman also who now allured him. That moment of revelation to Lane
was a catastrophe. Was there no peace on earth for him? What had he
done to be so tortured? He had a secret he must hide from Mel Iden. He
was human, he was alone, he needed love, but this seemed madness. And
at the moment of full realization Doctor Bronson's strange words of
possibility returned to haunt and flay him. He might live! A fierce
thrill like a flame leaped from his heart, along his veins. And a
shudder, cold as ice, followed it. Love would kill his resignation.
Love would add to his