"The other was not so foul as that I have described," replied Darcy, in an altered tone, "inasmuch as it was unintentional, and occasioned by no base motive. My wife, your ancestress, was a most lovely woman, and so passionately was I enamoured of her, that I tried by every art to heighten and preserve her beauty. I fed her upon the flesh of capons, nourished with vipers; caused her to steep her lovely limbs in baths distilled from roses and violets; and had recourse to the most potent cosmetics. At last I prepared a draught from poisons--yes, _poisons_--the effect of which, I imagined, would be wondrous. She drank it, and expired horribly disfigured. Conceive my despair at beholding the fair image of my idolatry destroyed--defaced by my hand. In my frenzy I should have laid violent hands upon myself, if I had not been restrained. Love may again rule my heart--beauty may again dazzle my eyes, but I shall never more feel the passion I entertained for my lost Amice--never more behold charms equal to hers." And he pressed his hand to his face. "The mistake you then committed should serve as a warning," said Auriol. "What if it be poison you have now confected? Try a few drops of it on some animal." "No--no; it is the true elixir," replied Darcy. "Not a drop must be wasted. You will witness its effect anon. Like the snake, I shall cast my slough, and come forth younger than I was at twenty." "Meantime, I beseech you to render me some assistance," groaned Auriol, "or, while you are preparing for immortality, I shall expire before your eyes." "Be not afraid," replied Darcy; "you shall take no harm. I will care for you presently; and I understand leechcraft so well, that I will answer for your speedy and perfect recovery." "Drink, then, to it!" cried Auriol. "I know not what stays my hand," said the old man, raising the phial; "but now that immortality is in my reach, I dare not grasp it." "Give me the potion, then," cried Auriol. "Not for worlds," rejoined Darcy, hugging the phial to his breast. "No; I will be young again--rich--happy. I will go forth into the world--I will bask in the smiles of beauty--I will feast, revel, sing--life shall be one perpetual round of enjoyment. Now for the trial--ha!" and, as he raised the potion towards his lips, a sudden pang shot across his heart. "What is this?" he cried, staggering. "Can death assail me when I am just about to enter upon perpetual life? Help me, good grandson! Place the phial to my lips. Pour its contents down my throat--quick! quick!" [Illustration: The Elixir of Long Life.] "I am too weak to stir," groaned Auriol. "You have delayed it too long." "Oh, heavens! we shall both perish," shrieked Darcy, vainly endeavouring to raise his palsied arm,--"perish with the blissful shore in view." And he sank backwards, and would have fallen to the ground if he had not caught at the terrestrial sphere for support.