ell."

All of which from our Interpreter is as clear as God Save the King.
And from which we hope our Reader will infer that those outbursts and
tears and rhapsodies of Khalid did mean somewhat. They did mean, even
when we first approached his cell, that something was going on in
him--a revolution, a _coup d'etat_, so to speak, of the spirit. For a
Prince in Rags, but not in Debts and Dishonour, will throttle the
Harpy which has hitherto ruled and degraded his soul.

But the dwelling, too, of that soul is sorely undermined. And so, his
leal and loving friend Shakib takes him later to the best physician in
the City, who after the tapping and auscultation, shakes his head,
writes his prescriptions, and advises Khalid to keep in the open air
as much as possible, or better still, to return to his native
country. The last portion of the advice, however, Khalid can not
follow at present. For he will either return home on his own account
or die in New York. "If I can not in time save enough money for the
Steamship Company," he said to Shakib, "I can at least leave enough to
settle the undertaker's bill. And in either case, I shall have paid my
own passage out of this New World. And I shall stand before my Maker
in a shroud, at least, which I can call my own."

To which Shakib replies by going to the druggist with the prescriptions.
And when he returns to the cellar with a package of four or five
medicine bottles for rubbing and smelling and drinking, he finds Khalid
sitting near the stove--we are now in the last month of Winter--warming
his hands on the flames of the two last books he read. _Emile_ and
_Hero-Worship_ go the way of all the rest. And there he sits, meditating
over Carlyle's crepitating fire and Rousseau's writhing, sibilating
flame. And it may be he thought of neither. Perhaps he was brooding
over the resolution he had made, and the ominous shaking of the doctor's
head. Ah, but his tutelar deities are better physicians, he thought.
And having made his choice, he will pitch the medicine bottles into the
street, and only follow the doctor's advice by keeping in the open air.

Behold him, therefore, with a note in hand, applying to Shakib, in a
formal and business-like manner, for a loan; and see that noble
benefactor and friend, after gladly giving the money, throw the note
into the fire. And now, Khalid is neither dervish nor philosopher,
but a man of business with a capital of twenty-five dollars in his
pock