"You have spoiled my heart," she said; "I
cannot go into the world so."
"It is too late; the measures are empty," he replied.
"I love you to-day, I will loathe you to-morrow," was the answer.
But he turned and left her, and she blindly stretched out her hands and
followed him into the darkness, weeping.
Was it the scent of the chemicals in my cabin, coupled with some
subterranean association of things, which brought these scenes vividly
before me at this moment? What had they to do with Mrs. Falchion?
A time came when the occurrence appeared to me in the light of
prescience, but that was when I began to understand that all ideas, all
reason and philosophy, are the result of outer impression. The primal
language of our minds is in the concrete. Afterwards it becomes the
cypher, and even at its highest it is expressed by angles, lines, and
geometrical forms--substances and allusive shapes. But now, as the scene
shifted by, I had involuntarily thrust forward my hands as did the girl
when she passed out into the night, and, in doing so, touched the curtain
of my cabin door swinging in towards me.
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