eliriums utterances seemed held in check by that coercive will,
but as the disease wasted vital energies speech became strikingly
suggestive.

With some disregard to order of their occurrence, many tragic happenings
were reenacted during these delirious states.

Oswald is again at Northfield, along the lake, and upon the Thames. They
are now on the road from Calcutta.

"What a dreary stretch! 'So foolish was I and ignorant!'"

The scene changes to Himalaya slope.

"Lie still, Karl! I will hit him hard!"

From another room come violin strains of "Ave Maria."

Opening his eyes with a start, they settle upon the crucifix pendent
from the neck of the sweet-faced nun.

"Poor fellow! I shot too straight!"

Again he gazes on that sacred symbol.

"'Thou that takest away--takest away--away the sin of the world'--his
sin, poor fellow! Mine too!"

Staring at his upturned palm lying on the spread, he exclaims:

"See that mark? It's blood! I shot too straight."

Higher rise the notes of the violin.

Rapturously those grand eyes turn toward the ceiling.

"Look! look! Wild flowers arch the mountains! See the graves, Karl! The
clouds drop wreaths!"

There is another quiet lapse, then the patient tosses feverishly. The
weeping nun says:

"He is making a hard fight!"

In startling response comes:

"'I was ever a fighter, so one fight more,
The best and the last!'"

His view seems dazzled by the lights, and the good priest suggests that
his eyes be shaded.

"'I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore
and bade me creep past!'"

For a while Oswald seems quietly sleeping, then in confused accents
mutters, and starting up, calls out:

"'Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set
And blew; Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.'"

These quotations fall upon the ears of priest and Sister of Charity with
awfully solemn accents. They feel in presence of double mystery of life
and death.

There is now naught to break the impressive silence but ticking of a
clock and distant rumble of the elevated trains. No word had been
uttered by this patient giving any clew to his religious training. The
friend at whose cot this stranger so faithfully watched was a professed
believer. Too, those fixed glances at the crucifix and solemn utterances
suggested belief in the "atoning merits." Priest and nun exchange
inquiring looks, then intently gaze at that quiet sleeper.

Oswald sti