of his destruction, seemingly powerless to
move, till the engine crushes him in its onward course.

When Frank descended to breakfast, old Pierre and his spouse noticed
his wan look. "I think master's going mad," said the man to his
wife, when Frank was out of the room. "I don't know what ails him,
but he seems very pale and strange."

The young man wandered aimlessly. Nothing interested him, not even
his books, these companions which he had cherished so much. He tried
to find pleasure in them. "If I had something to do, something to
occupy my thoughts," he said to himself, "I would be much better.
Work is the balm which heals my wounds, it sets me on my feet again.
I will work, I will study."

He soon found out that work in itself could not heal his wounds.
Then he grew still more despondent. What was the use of working if
work did not bring a reward. It was all very well to toil, but to
work like a slave, without the prospect of utilizing one's power
after having continually striven to acquire it, was discouraging.

He therefore put his books aside and his melancholy grew deeper and
deeper.

One day he was seized with anxiousness for his soul's future. He had
not done what he ought to have done. He greatly frightened Mrs.
Merlin, when he entered the house and exclaimed: "I'm lost; I'm
lost."

"Don't say that, Mr. Mathers," she said. "You have always been a
good man."

"Good!" he exclaimed, his eyes dilated, the muscles of his face
working convulsively; "good, yes, for my sake, because I hoped in my
selfishness to reap ten times the outlay. Don't you see," he
continued, "that I have only worked for my own selfish interest. I
have made sacrifices, because I hoped to reap a rich reward. And
now, I am well punished; I deserve all this, I certainly do. I have
done nothing for others. I have not been altruistic."

The woman stared at him. She knew almost as much about altruism as a
dog does about the celestial sciences. After a few moments of
silence she spoke: "You have been very good to us, you rescued a man
from drowning once at great risk, you----"

"Ha, ha!" he laughed, "fine talk, to come and speak like that to me.
I am going to die, and do you hear;" he added in an undertone,
catching hold of Mrs. Merlin's arm and terrifying her; "I am afraid,
oh, so afraid."

The old woman began to cry. "You must not talk like that," she said,
"you really must not. Why don't you pray?"

"Pray! what is the use; no, no