The seven disciples contemplated each other with visages of sevenfold blankness.  They next unanimously directed their gaze towards their preceptor, hoping to detect some symptom of jocularity upon his venerable features.  Nothing could be descried thereon but the most imperturbable solemnity, or, if perchance anything like an expression of irony lurked beneath this, it was not such irony as they wished to see.  Lastly, they scanned the phials, trusting that some infinitesimal distinction might serve to discriminate the elixir from the poisons.  But no, the vessels were indistinguishable in external appearance, and the contents of each were equally colourless and transparent.

“Well,” demanded Aboniel at length, with real or assumed surprise, “wherefore tarry ye thus?  I deemed to have ere this beheld six of you in the agonies of death!”

This utterance did not tend to encourage the seven waverers.  Two of the boldest, indeed, advanced their hands half-way to the table, but perceiving that their example was not followed, withdrew them in some confusion.

“Think not, great teacher, that I personally set store by this worthless existence,” said one of their number at last, breaking the embarrassing silence, “but I have an aged mother, whose life is bound up with mine.”

“I,” said the second, “have an unmarried sister, for whom it is meet that I should provide.”

“I,” said the third, “have an intimate and much-injured friend, whose cause I may in nowise forsake.”

“And I an enemy upon whom I would fain be avenged,” said the fourth.

“My life,” said the fifth, “is wholly devoted to science.  Can I consent to lay it down ere I have sounded the seas of the seven climates?”

“Or I, until I have had speech of the man in the moon?” inquired the sixth.

“I,” said the seventh, “have neither mother nor sister, friends nor enemies, neither doth my zeal for science equal that of my fellows.  But I have all the greater respect for my own skin; yea, the same is exceedingly precious in my sight.”

“The conclusion of the whole matter, then,” summed up the sage, “is that not one of you will make a venture for the cup of immortality?”

The young men remained silent and abashed, unwilling to acknowledge the justice of their master’s taunt, and unable to deny it.  They sought for some middle path, which did not readily present itself.

“May we not,” said one at last, “may we not cast lots, and each take a phial in succession, as destiny may appoint?”

“I have nothing against this,” replied Aboniel, “only remember that the least endeavour to contravene the conditions by amending the chance of any one of you, will ensure the discomfiture of all.”

The disciples speedily procured seven quills of unequal lengths, and proceeded to draw them in the usual manner.  The shortest remained in the hand of the holder, he who had pleaded his filial duty to his mother.