"I am glad I came here," said Dr. Rumsey. "Believe me, my dear sir, the symptoms you have just described are by no means uncommon in the cases of singularly fortunate individuals like yourself. The fact is, you have got too much. You want to empty yourself of some of your abundance in order that contentment and health of mind may flow in." Awdrey stared at the doctor with lack-lustre eyes. Then he shook his head. "I am past all that," he said. "I might at the first have managed to make a superhuman effort; but now I have no energy for anything. I have not even energy sufficient to take away my own life, which is the only thing on all God's earth that I crave to do." "Come, come, Awdrey, you must not allow yourself to speak like that. Now sit down. Tell me, if you possibly can, exactly what you feel." "Why should I tell you? I am not your patient." "But I want you to be." "Is that why you came here this evening?" Dr. Rumsey paused before he replied; he had not expected this question. "I will answer you frankly," he said, with a pause. "Your wife came to see me about you. She did not wish me to mention the fact of her visit, but I believe I am wise in keeping nothing back from you. You love your wife, don't you?" "I suppose I do; that is, if I love anybody." "Of course, you love her. Don't sentimentalize over a fact. She came to see me because her love for you is over-abundant. It makes her anxious; you have given her, Awdrey, a great deal of anxiety lately. "I cannot imagine how. I have done nothing." "That is just it. You have done too little. She is naturally terribly anxious. She told me one or two things about your state which I do not consider quite satisfactory. I said it would be necessary for me to have an interview with you, and asked her to beg of you to call at my house. She said you did not consider yourself ill, and might not be willing to come to me. I then resolved to come to you, and here I am." "It is good of you, Rumsey, but you can do nothing; I am not really ill. It is simply that something--I have not the faintest idea what--has killed my soul. I believe, before heaven, that I have stated the case in a nutshell. You may be, and doubtless are, a great doctor, but you have not come across living men with dead souls before." "I have not Awdrey; nor is your soul dead. You state an impossibility." Awdrey started excitedly. His face, which had been deadly pale, now blazed with animation and color. "Learned as you are," he cried, "you will gain some fresh and valuable experience from me to-night. I am the strangest patient you ever attempted to cure. You have roused me, and it is good to be roused. Perhaps my soul is not dead after all--perhaps it is struggling with a demon which crushes it down." CHAPTER XII. Dr. Rumsey did not reply to this for a moment, then he spoke quietly.