“Have we not wandered,” said Mr. Markland, after a few moments of thoughtful silence, “from the subject at first proposed?”

“I have said more than I intended,” was answered, “but not, I think, irrelevantly.  If you are not happy, it is because, like an inflamed organ in the human body, you are receiving more blood than is applied to nutrition.  As a part of the larger social man, you are not using the skill you possess for the good of the whole.  You are looking for the millennium, but not doing your part toward hastening its general advent.  And now, Mr. Markland, if what I have said be true, can you wonder at being the restless, dissatisfied man you represent yourself to be?”

“If your premises be sound, your conclusions are true enough” answered Markland, with some coldness and abstraction of manner.  The doctrine was neither flattering to his reason, nor agreeable to his feelings.  He was too confirmed a lover of himself to receive willingly teaching like this.  A type of the mass around him, he was content to look down the dim future for signs of the approaching millennium, instead of into his own heart.  He could give hundreds of dollars in aid of missions to convert the heathen, and to bring in the islands of the sea, as means of hastening the expected time; but was not ready, as a surer means to this end, to repress a single selfish impulse of his nature.

The conversation was still further prolonged, with but slight change in the subject.  At parting with his neighbour, Markland found himself more disturbed than before.  A sun ray had streamed suddenly into the darkened chambers of his mind, disturbing the night birds there, and dimly revealing an inner world of disorder, from which his eyes vainly sought to turn themselves.  If the mental disease from which he was suffering had its origin in the causes indicated by Mr. Allison, there seemed little hope of a cure in his case.  How was he, who all his life long had regarded himself, and those who were of his own flesh and blood, as only to be thought of and cared for, to forget himself, and seek, as the higher end of his existence, the good of others?  The thought created no quicker heart-beat—­threw no warmer tint on the ideal future toward which his eyes of late had so fondly turned themselves.  To live for others and not for himself—­this was to extinguish his very life.  What were others to him?  All of his world was centred in his little home-circle.  Alas! that its power to fill the measure of his desires was gone—­its brightness dimmed—­its attraction a binding-spell no longer!

And so Markland strove to shut out from his mind the light shining in through the little window opened by Mr. Allison; but the effort was in vain.  Steadily the light came in, disturbing the owls and bats, and revealing dust, cankering mould, and spider-web obstructions.  All on the outside was fair to the world; and as fair, he had believed, within.  To be suddenly shown his error, smote him with a painful sense of humiliation.