"Begone!"
"Nay, an invalid should not always have his own way. Ah, sir, reflect how untimely this distrust in one like you. How weak you are; and weakness, is it not the time for confidence? Yes, when through weakness everything bids despair, then is the time to get strength by confidence."
Relenting in his air, the sick man cast upon him a long glance of beseeching, as if saying, "With confidence must come hope; and how can hope be?"
The herb-doctor took a sealed paper box from his surtout pocket, and holding it towards him, said solemnly, "Turn not away. This may be the last time of health's asking. Work upon yourself; invoke confidence, though from ashes; rouse it; for your life, rouse it, and invoke it, I say."
The other trembled, was silent; and then, a little commanding himself, asked the ingredients of the medicine.
"Herbs."
"What herbs? And the nature of them? And the reason for giving them?"
"It cannot be made known."
"Then I will none of you."
Sedately observant of the juiceless, joyless form before him, the herb-doctor was mute a moment, then said:—"I give up."
"How?"
"You are sick, and a philosopher."
"No, no;—not the last."
