e central bookcase was a
bronze bust of Hippocrates, with which, according to some authorities,
Dr. Heidegger was accustomed to hold consultations in all difficult
cases of his practice. In the obscurest corner of the room stood a
tall and narrow oaken closet with its door ajar, within which
doubtfully appeared a skeleton. Between two of the bookcases hung a
looking-glass, presenting its high and dusty plate within a tarnished
gilt frame. Among many wonderful stories related of this mirror, it
was fabled that the spirits of all the doctor's deceased patients
dwelt within its verge and would stare him in the face whenever he
looked thitherward. The opposite side of the chamber was ornamented
with the full-length portrait of a young lady arrayed in the faded
magnificence of silk, satin and brocade, and with a visage as faded as
her dress. Above half a century ago Dr. Heidegger had been on the
point of marriage with this young lady, but, being affected with some
slight disorder, she had swallowed one of her lover's prescriptions
and died on the bridal-evening. The greatest curiosity of the study
remains to be mentioned: it was a ponderous folio volume bound in
black leather, with massive silver clasps. There were no letters on
the back, and nobody could tell the title of the book. But it was well
known to be a book of magic, and once, when a chambermaid had lifted
it merely to brush away the dust, the skeleton had rattled in its
closet, the picture of the young lady had stepped one foot upon the
floor and several ghastly faces had peeped forth from the mirror,
while the brazen head of Hippocrates frowned and said, "Forbear!"

Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the summer afternoon of our tale a
small round table as black as ebony stood in the centre of the room,
sustaining a cut-glass vase of beautiful form and elaborate
workmanship. The sunshine came through the window between the heavy
festoons of two faded damask curtains and fell directly across this
vase, so that a mild splendor was reflected from it on the ashen
visages of the five old people who sat around. Four champagne-glasses
were also on the table.

"My dear old friends," repeated Dr. Heidegger, "may I reckon on your
aid in performing an exceedingly curious experiment?"

Now, Dr. Heidegger was a very strange old gentleman whose eccentricity
had become the nucleus for a thousand fantastic stories. Some of these
fables--to my shame be it spoken--might possibly