sorrow, and already survive myself and my
affections, it is for your sake, and not for mine, that I desire her
presence. Were she shut out, dear friend, it is to be feared she might
misjudge your kindness."

"Mother," I cried wildly, "mother, what is this?"

But my mother, with her radiant smile, said only "Hush!" as though I
were a child again, and tossing in some fever-fit; and the doctor bade
me be silent and trouble her no more. "You have made a choice," he
continued, addressing my mother, "that has often strangely tempted me.
The two extremes: all, or else nothing; never, or this very hour upon
the clock--these have been my incongruous desires. But to accept the
middle term, to be content with a half-gift, to flicker awhile and to
burn out--never for an hour, never since I was born, has satisfied the
appetite of my ambition." He looked upon my mother fixedly, much of
admiration and some touch of envy in his eyes; then, with a profound
sigh, he led the way into the inner room.

It was very long. From end to end it was lit up by many lamps, which by
the changeful colour of their light, and by the incessant snapping
sounds with which they burned, I have since divined to be electric. At
the extreme end an open door gave us a glimpse into what must have been
a lean-to shed beside the chimney; and this, in strong contrast to the
room, was painted with a red reverberation as from furnace-doors. The
walls were lined with books and glazed cases, the tables crowded with
the implements of chemical research; great glass accumulators glittered
in the light; and through a hole in the gable near the shed door a heavy
driving-belt entered the apartment and ran overhead upon steel pulleys,
with clumsy activity and many ghostly and fluttering sounds. In one
corner I perceived a chair resting upon crystal feet, and curiously
wreathed with wire. To this my mother advanced with a decisive
swiftness.

"Is this it?" she asked.

The doctor bowed in silence.

"Asenath," said my mother, "in this sad end of my life I have found one
helper. Look upon him: it is Doctor Grierson. Be not, O my daughter, be
not ungrateful to that friend!"

She sat upon the chair, and took in her hands the globes that terminated
the arms.

"Am I right?" she asked, and looked upon the doctor with such a radiancy
of face that I trembled for her reason. Once more the doctor bowed, but
this time leaning hard against the wall. He must have touched a spring.