I have been a sane man all my life, except the day when I embraced the business of literature for a living. I am not nervous; sudden events do not startle me. I have taken life honestly and bravely, and I believe I have faced all the conditions which mere living brings, with courage. But to-night I have to relate that I sat on that hard bench without changing my position until two in the afternoon, when I just happened to drag my watch out. The mere position of the hands brought about a mental reaction, or I should say served as a powerful mental stimulant, for up to that hour I am not conscious of a single coherent thought. I had been sitting all that time in mindless apathy. Then I began to think. My first gleam of intelligence informed me that my watch must be wrong. Then I gained sense enough to look at the sun, to find that it had passed the meridian considerably. Followed at once a keen introspective query, to which no answer was forthcoming. Then I am sure I breathed gently, "You damn fool!" and became a man again. I did not eat any dinner--punishing the body for a fault of the mind--but smoked instead. My pipe did not go out a second time. Hour after hour the black briar bowl stayed burning hot, and hour after hour I drove my mind, now thoroughly aroused and under control, along the various byways of thought, action and incident which had a common meeting point at the feet of the Dryad. It required an effort for me to do this--a great effort. Had I followed my inclination I would simply have brought her before my eyes in retrospection, and gazed upon the picture throughout the day. But she had ceased to be an incident. She was a reality--an abiding reality--a concrete fact impinging sharply upon the horizon of my life. I was not alarmed to know that I loved her, and I wondered at this. Perhaps there really was no occasion for alarm, but there were plenty of disturbing elements attending such a state of feeling; a number of persons and things to be weighed and considered, to be classified and given their relative places. When all was summed up I was confronted with the result: Did I love her well enough to marry her? I was of good family and had the highest social standing. She was almost nameless. And here a sinister, insinuating thought came stealing along a lower corridor in my brain; a creeping, skulking, devilish thought which I caught and choked as I would have a mad dog on my threshold. When I had killed the noxious thing I knew that I did love her well enough to marry her.