for an insurance policy, and you would be returned as absolutely
robust." In the course of his investigations, he applied a test,
quite casually and as if he were hardly interested, the point of
which he thought (I suppose) that I should not divine.
Unfortunately I knew it, and I need only say that it was a test for
something very bad indeed. That was rather a horrible moment, when
a grim thing out of the shadow slipped forward for a moment, and
looked me in the face. But it was over in an instant, and he went
on to other things. He ended by saying: "Mr. ----, you are not as
bad as you feel, or even as you think. Just take it quietly; don't
overdo it, but don't be bored. You say that you can't write to
please yourself at present. Well, this experience is partly the
cause, and partly the result of your condition. You have used one
particular part of your brain too much, and you must give it time
to recover. My impression is that you will get better very
gradually, and I can only repeat that there is no sort of cause for
anxiety. I can't help you more than that, and I am saying exactly
what I feel."

I looked at the worn face and kind eyes of the man whose whole life
is spent in plumbing abysses of human suffering. What a terrible
life, and yet what a noble one! He spoke as though he had no other
case in the world to consider except my own; yet when I went back
to the waiting-room to get my hat, and looked round on the anxious-
looking crowd of patients waiting there, each with a secret burden,
I felt how heavy a load he must be carrying.

There is a certain strength, after all, in having to live by rule;
and I have derived, I find, a certain comfort in having to abstain
from things that are likely to upset me, not because I wish it, but