decision. I invested the struggle going on in his mind with something
of universal significance, seeing in it a symbol of the strife between
"light and darkness which are the world's eternal ways." He came
in late one evening. I saw at once by the dim light that there
was something strange in his manner. I spoke to him in enquiry;
he answered me in a harsh dry voice quite foreign to his usual manner.
"Oh, I am not going to trouble myself any more, I will let things
take their course." This seemed the one idea in his mind, the one
thing he understood clearly was that things were to take their own
course; he failed to grasp the significance of any other idea or
its relative importance. He answered "Aye, indeed," with every
appearance of interest and eagerness to some trivial remark about
the weather, and was quite unconcerned about another and most
important matter which should have interested him deeply. I soon
saw what had happened; his mind, in which forces so evenly balanced
had fought so strenuously, had become utterly wearied out and could
work no longer. A flash of old intuition illumined it at last,--
it was not wise to strive with such bitterness over life,--therefore
he said to me in memory of this intuition, "I am going to let things
take their course." A larger tribunal would decide; he had appealed
unto Caesar. I sent him up to his room and tried to quiet his fever
by magnetization with some success. He fell asleep, and as I was
rather weary myself I retired soon after.

This was the vision of the night. It was surely in the room I was
lying and on my bed, and yet space opened on every side with pale,
clear light. A slight wavering figure caught my eye, a figure that
swayed to and fro; I was struck with its utter feebleness, yet I
understood it was its own will or some quality of its nature which
determined that palpitating movement towards the poles between which