In the art of the singer, when the rudiments of his art are his, perception, sympathy, sentiment, exaltation of emotional ideas, are the basis upon which his success must rest. In the art of the doctor, rigid, frigid examination, and mathematical deductions must lead to the only results which he desires. Lavirotte was torn anew with the conflict which years ago had raged within him. His resolution of that morning, although it then seemed firm as the solid earth on which he stood, now waved and swayed as though it were no more than an instable ship upon an unstable sea. Eugene's letter had brought back to him vividly all his dreams of the past, and in that vision of Eugene's future he had done little more than reproduce the dreams in which he had himself indulged as to his own career. His heart, as far as love was concerned, lay in the tomb, and to judge by his present frame of mind, there was no likelihood the sight of woman would ever again move him as it had when Dora was the guiding star of his existence. Yet he knew that with time the acuteness of his present suffering would pass away. He felt at that moment it would be cruel that his woe should leave him. But his reason told him it would. He knew that as years went by these love troubles of man's early life grew less and less until they seemed insignificant, paltry, ludicrous. But in this, the very height of his affliction, the notion his sorrow might die was an additional cause of torture to him. He knew that in his present state of mind the future was sure to display a gloomy and forbidding aspect. He knew that people, in the presence of great personal grief, were usually indifferent to any considerations but those of their grief. He knew that when a man loses all his fortune, it is no great additional blow to that man to hear that a horse of his is killed. He was quite prepared that the whirligig of time would, to some extent, set him right in the main affairs of life. But now he was in no humour to discount his present situation. His woe seemed to soothe him. It was the only consolation he had. Still he could not banish from his mind the influence of that glorified vision. He could not get out of his mind the fact that some day, soon, the voice of Eugene O'Donnell would burst upon English ears and take them captive. To be a great tenor was one of the most glorious privileges given to man during his lifetime. The general, the statesman, the painter, had all during their lifetime periods of great triumph. There was no period when, like the statesman, he was out of power; when, like the general, his sword was sheathed in the days of peace; or when, like the painter, he was busy at his easel at the work which, when completed, would bring him applause.