"No,--unfortunately you would not forget!" he said, going to his dressing-case and taking out a small white powder which he dissolved gradually in a glass of water--"That is the worst of what people call dying. I must instruct you in a little science by-and-by, to distract your thoughts. The scientific part of death,--the business that goes on behind the scenes you know--will interest you very much--it is highly instructive, particularly that section of it which I am entitled to call the regeneration of atoms. The brain-cells are atoms, and within these, are other atoms called memories, curiously vital and marvellously prolific! Drink this,"--and he handed me the mixture he had prepared--"For temporary purposes it is much better than death--because it does numb and paralyse the conscious atoms for a little while, whereas death only liberates them to a larger and more obstinate vitality." I was too self-absorbed to heed or understand his words, but I drank what he gave me submissively and returned the glass,--he still watched me closely for about a minute. Then he opened the door of the apartment which adjoined his own. "Throw yourself on that bed and close your eyes,"--he continued in somewhat peremptory accents--"Till morning breaks I give you a respite,--" and he smiled strangely--"both from dreams and memories! Plunge into Oblivion, my friend!--brief as it is and as it must ever be, it is sweet!--even to a millionaire!" The ironical tone of his voice vexed me,--I looked at him half reproachfully, and saw his proud beautiful face, pale as marble, clear-cut as a cameo, soften as I met his eyes,--I felt he was sorry for me despite his love of satire,--and grasping his hand I pressed it fervently without offering any other reply. Then, going into the next room as he bade me, I lay down, and falling asleep almost instantly, I remembered no more. XXXIII With the morning came full consciousness; I realized bitterly all that had happened, but I was no longer inclined to bemoan my fate. My senses were stricken, as it seemed, too numb and rigid for any further outbreak of passion. A hard callousness took the place of outraged feeling; and though despair was in my heart, my mind was made up to one stern resolve,--I would look upon Sibyl no more. Never again should that fair face, the deceitful mask of a false nature, tempt my sight and move me to pity or forgiveness,--that I determined. Leaving the room in which I had passed the night, I went to my study and wrote the following letter;-- Sibyl.