ain. It was a fountain of boiling light.

At this moment, a knock was heard at that door of the reception room
which evidently led into the Doctor's inner office. Dr. Randolph
started, quickly locked the door leading into the hall, and put the
priceless flask gently upon a high bookcase. It was on a level with his
face. The liquid shot bubbles of animation to the surface; and before
Slack's eyes, as if gathering fire from the light or the heat, it slowly
began to turn red. The languid debauchee now jumped nimbly to his feet
and stood entranced before this beautiful, perplexing transformation.

"Keep your eyes on it for a moment, my friend," whispered Dr. Randolph:
"watch it carefully for me. I wish to note its changes. It differs under
variable conditions. Tell me about it. Do not touch it. When I come back
you shall taste, and then--" Harland lost the last words as the
physician hurried out.

Harland Slack, feeling a dull sense of scientific responsibility, fixed
his eyes upon the occult fluid, watching its strange manifestations
eagerly. His brain throbbed with thoughts. If the mere sight of this
curious elixir could clear the clots of alcohol from his blood and his
will, what might come of a draught? He walked for the first few moments
about the room briskly. He stood erect: but he did not take his gaze
from the flask, nor did he touch it. It now shot forth colors of the
ruby. Along the rim played the fires of the spinel. These gave way to
the glow of the garnet; which in turn vanished before gleams whose
indescribable radiance is only likened to the blood of the pigeon.
Harland was eager not to lose the lightest stage of this marvellous
metamorphosis. With every new hue fresh streams of blood seemed to come
into his heart. He felt so strangely that he soon began to doubt whether
he were sober or not. He rubbed his eyes, and pinched his ears. Yes, he
was awake and sane. This was no delirium of a caked brain. His mind was
as clear as the waters of the Bermuda reefs. If he had been an opium
eater, he might have thought these the legitimate effects of the dusky
drug.

As soon as he had thoroughly assured himself of the validity of his
reason he began to hear music. It came from the inner room whither the
Doctor had gone. Without taking his eyes off of the blazing flask,
Harland backed up to the door and listened. The strains sounded louder
as he approached. There seemed to be a castanet, and a harp, and
singing. In