window when Embro's voice again sounded at Lefevre's elbow "Come now, Lefevre; what's the meaning of that Paris case?" "What Paris case?" Embro answered by handing him the paper. He took it and read as follows:

"About a month ago a strange case of complete mental collapse was received into the Hôtel-Dieu. A fresh healthy girl, of the working class, about twenty years of age, and comfortably dressed, presented herself at a police-station near the Odeon and asked for shelter. As she did not appear to be in full possession of her mental faculties, she was sent to the Hôtel-Dieu, where she remained in a semi-comatose condition. memory did not go farther back than the hour of her application at the police - station. She was entirely ignorant of her previous history, and had even forgotten her name. The minds of the medical staff of the

Her

Hôtel-Dieu were very much exercised with her condition; but it was not till about a week ago that they succeeded in restoring to any extent her mental consciousness and her memory. She then remembered the events immediately preceding her application to the police. It had come on to rain, she said, and she was hurrying along to escape from it, when a gentleman in a cloak came to her side and politely offered to give her the shelter of his umbrella. She accepted; the gentleman seemed old and ill. He asked her to take his arm. She did so, and very soon she felt as if her strength had gone from her; a cold shiver crept over her; she trembled and tottered; but with all that she did not find her sensations disagree able exactly or alarming; so little so, indeed, that she never thought of letting go the gentleman's arm. head buzzed, and a kind of darkness came over her. Then all seemed to clear, and she found herself alone near the police-station, remembering nothing. Being asked to further describe the gentleman, she said he was tall and dark, with a pleasant voice and wonderful eyes, that made you feel you must do whatever he

Her

"Oh no," said Lefevre; "it's not painful, but it's curious; and so Julius set himself to read it.

"But come," said Embro, posing the question with his forefinger; "do you believe that story, Lefevre ?"

"Though it's French, and from the 'Telegraph,'" said Lefevre, "I see no reason to disbelieve it."

'Come," said Embro, comeyou're shirking the question."

"I confess," said Lefevre, "I've no desire to discuss it. You think me prejudiced in favour of anything of the kind; perhaps I think you prejudiced against it: where, then, is the good of discussion?"

"Well, now," said the unabashed Embro, "I'll tell you what I think. Here's a story "-Julius at that instant handed back the paper to him-" of a healthy young woman mesmerised, hypnotised, or somnambulised, or whatever you like to call it, in the public street, by some man that casually comes up to her, and her brain so affected that her memory goes! I say it's inconceivable !-impossible!" And

The others looked on with grim satisfaction at the prospect of an argument between the two representatives of rival schools; and it was noteworthy that, as they looked, they turned a referring glance on Courtney, as if it were a foregone conclusion that he must be the final arbiter. He, however, sat abstracted, with his eyes on the floor, and with one hand propping his chin and the other drumming on the arm of his chair. "I'm not a scientific man," said the journalist who was not an Art critic, "and I am not prejudiced either way about this story; but it seems to me, Embro, that you view the thing through a very ordinary fallacy, and make a double mistake. You confound the relatively inconceivable with the absolutely impossible: this story is relatively inconceivable to you, and therefore you say it is absolutely impossible."

"Is there such a thing as an absolute impossibility?" murmured Julius, who still sat with his chin in his hand, looking as if he considered the "thing" from a long way off as one of a multitude of other things.

"I do not believe there is," said the journalist; "but "

"Do you mean to say," exclaimed Embro, "that you have lived all your years, and studied science at the Salpétrière-or what they call science there-and studied and seen God knows what elso besides, and you can't pronounce an opinion from all you know on a case of this sort?"

"Oh yes," said Julius, quietly, "I can pronounce an opinion; but what's the use of that? I think that case is true, but I don't know that it is; and therefore I can't argue about it, for argument should come from knowledge, and I have none. I have a few opinions, and I am always ready to receive impressions; but, besides some schoolboy facts that are common property, the only thing I know-I am certain of-is, as some man says, 'Life's a dream worth dreaming.'

"You're too high-falutin for me, Julius," said Embro, shaking his head. "But my opinion, founded on my knowledge, is that this story is a hallucination of the young woman's noddle!"

"And how much, Embro," laughed Julius, rising to leave the circle, "is the argument advanced by your ticketing the case with that long word ?"

"To say 'hallucination," " quoth Lefevre, "is a convenient way of giving inquiry the slip."

or

"I can't say I have," said Julius.

"There you are!" quoth Embro, in triumph.

"But," continued Julius, "I

"My dear Embro," said Julius and he spoke with an emphasis, and looked down on Embro with a bright vivacity of eye, which forewarned the circle of one of his

pectant enjoyment passed round"hallucination is the dust - heap and limbo of the meanly equipped man of science to-day, just as witchcraft was a few hundred years ago. The poor creature of

It was characteristic of the peculiar regard in which Julius was held that whatever he said or did appeared natural and pleasant,like the innocent actions, and the simple truthful speech of a child. Not even Embro was offended with these last words of his: the others laughed; Embro smiled, though with a certain sourness.

"Pooh, Julius!" said he; "what are you talking about? Science is the examination of facts, and what has imagination to do with that Reason, sir, is what you want!"

"My dear Embro," said Julius, "there are several kinds of facts. There are, for instance, big facts and little facts,-clean facts and dirty facts. Imagination raises you and gives you a high and comprehensive view of them all; your reason keeps you down in some noisome corner, like the man with the muck-rake."

mere

"Hear, hear!” cried the journalist and the artist heartily.

"You're wrong, Julius," said Embro,-" quite wrong. Keep your imagination for painting and poetry. In science it just leads you the devil's own dance, and fills you with delusions."

Julius paused, and bent on him his peculiar look, which made a man feel he was being seen through and through.

"I am surprised, Embro," said he, "that one can live all your years and not find that the illusions of life are its best part. If you leave me the illusions, I'll give you all the realities. But how can we stay babbling and quibbling here all this delicious afternoon ? I must go out and see green things and beasts. Come with me, Lefevre, to the Zoological Gardens ; it will do you good.'

"I tell you what," said Lefevre, looking at the clock as they moved away; my mother and sister will call for me with the carriage in less than half an hour: come with us for a drive."

"Oh yes," said Julius; "that's a good idea."

"And I," said Lefevre, "must have a cup of tea in the meantime. Come and sit down, and tell, me where you have been."

But when they had sat down, Julius was little inclined to divagate into an account of his travels. His glance swept round and noted everything; he remarked on a soft effect of a shaft of sunshine that' lit up the small conservatory, and burnished the green of a certain plant; he perceived a fine black Persian cat, the latest pet of the Club, and exclaimed, "What a beautiful, superb creature!" He called it, and it came, daintily sniffed at his leg, and leaped on his lap, where he stroked and fondled it. And all the while he continued to discuss illusion, while Lefevre poured and drank tea (tea, which Julius would not share : tea, he said, did not agree with him).

"It bothers me," he said, "to imagine how a man like Embro gets any satisfaction out of life,

for over mumbling the bare dry bones of science. Such a life as his might as well be passed in the receiver of an air-pump."

"Still the old Julius !" said the doctor with a smile. "Still dreaming and wandering, interested in everything, but having nothing to do!"

"Nothing to do, my dear fellow" said Julius. "I've all the world to enjoy !" and he buried his cheek in the soft fur of the cat.

"A purpose in life, however," said Lefevre, "gives an extraordinary zest to all enjoyment."

"To live," said Julius, "is surely the purpose of life. Any smaller, any more obvious purpose, will spoil life, just as it spoils Art."

"I believe, my boy, you are wrong in both," said Lefevre. "Art without a purpose goes off into all sorts of madness and extravagance, and so does life."

"You really' think so?" said Julius, his attention fixed for an instant, and looking as if he had set up the point and regarded it at a distance. "Yes; perhaps it does." But the next moment his attention seemed given to the cat; he fondled it, and talked to it soothingly.

'I am sure of it," said Lefevre. "Just listen to me, Julius. You have wonderful intelligence and penetration in everything. You are fond of science; science needs men like you more than the dull plodders that usually take to it. When you were in Charbon's class you were his favourite and his best pupil-don't I remember?-and if you liked you could be the greatest physician of the age."

"It is treason to yourself to say such a thing."

"Your fame would soon eclipse mine."

"Fame! fame!"exclaimed Julius,

for an instant showing irritation. "I would not give a penny-piece for fame if all the magicians of the East came crying it down the streets! Why should I seek fame? What good would it do me if I had it?"

"Well, well," said Lefevre ; "let fame alone; you might be as unknown as you like, and do a world of good in practice among the poor."

Julius looked at him, and set the cat down.

"My dear Lefevre," said he, "I did not think you could urge such common twaddle! You know well enough-nobody knows betterfirst of all, that there are already more men waiting to do that kind of thing than can find occupation: why should I go down among them and try to take their work? And you know, in the next place, that medical philanthropy, like all other philanthropy, is so overdone that the race is fast deteriorating; we strive with so much success to keep the sickly and the diseased alive, that perfect health is scarcely known. Life without health can be nothing but a weariness: why should it be reckoned a praiseworthy thing to keep it going at any price? If life became a burden to me, I should lay it down."

"But," said Lefevre, earnestly, "your life surely is not your own to do with it what you like!"

"In the name of truth, Lefevre," answered Julius, "if my life is not my own, what is? I get its elements from others, but I fashion it myself, just as much as the sculptor shapes his statue, or the poet turns his poem. You don't deny to the sculptor the right to smash his statue if it does not please him, nor to the poet the right to burn his manuscript; -why should you deny me the right to dispose of my life? I know-I know," said he,

seeing Lefevre open his mouth and raise his hand for another observation, "that your opinion is the common one, but that is the only sanction it has; it has the sanction neither of true morality nor of true religion! But here is the waiter to tell you the carriage is come. I'm glad. Let us get out into the air and the sunshine."

The carriage was the doctor's own; his mother, although the widow of a Court physician, was too poor to maintain much equipage, but she made what use she pleased of her son's possessions. When Lady Lefevre saw Julius at the carriage-door, she broke into smiles and cries of welcome.

"Where have you been this long, long while, Julius?" said she. "This is Julius Courtney, Nora. You remember Nora, Julius, when she was a little girl in frocks?"

"She now wears remarkable gowns," chimed in the doctor.

"Which," said Julius, "I have no doubt are becoming."

"My brother," said Nora, with a sunny smile, "is jealous; because, being a doctor, he must wear only dowdy clothes of dingy .colours."

"We have finished at school and college, and been presented at Court," laughed Lady Lefevre.

"And," broke in the brother, "we have had cards engraved with our full name, Leonora."

"With all this," said Lady Lefevre, "I hope you won't be afraid of us."

"I see no reason," said Julius. "For, if I may say so, I like everything in Nature, and it seems to me Nature has had more to do with the finishing you speak of than the schoolmistress or the college professor."

"There he is already," laughed Lady Lefevre, "with his equivocal compliments. I shouldn't wonder

if he says that, my dear, because you have not yet had more than a word to say for yourself."

By that time Lefevre and Julius were seated, and the carriage was rolling along towards the Park. Julius sat immediately opposite Lady Lefevre, but he included both her and Nora in his talk and his bright glances. The doctor sat agreeably suffused with delight. and wonder. No one, as has been seen, had a higher opinion of Courtney's rare powers, or had had more various evidence of them, than Lefevre, but even he had never known his friend so bril liant. He was instinct with life and eloquence. His face shone as with an inner light, and his talk was bright, searching, and ironical. The amazing thing, however, was that Julius had as stimulating and intoxicating an influence on Nora as, it was clear, Nora had on him. His sister had not appeared to Lefevre hitherto more than a beautiful, healthy, shy girl of tolerable intelligence; now she showed that she had brilliance and wit, and, moreover, that she understood Julius as one native of a strange realm understands another. When they entered the Park they were the observed of all. And, indeed, Leonora Lefevre was a vision to excite the worship of those least inclined to idolatry of Nature. She was of the noblest type of English beauty, and she seemed as calmly unconscious of its excellence and rarity as one of the grand Greek women of the Parthenon. She had, however, a sensuous fulness and bloom, a queenly carriage of head and neck, a clearness of feature, and a liquid kindness of eye that suggested a deep potentiality of passion

They drove round the Row, and round again, and they talked and laughed their fill of wisdom and