The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1896-06-06
PART III.

He crossed the room and picked one OF
them up with hand that was not very
steady and began to read 1t. There could
be no doubt as to what 1t was. 1t was a
fragment Of one of Sylvia's dream -stOr-
les written by a master hand. He read
the page through, and then picked up
some more at random, and went and sat
down In his armchair by the ashes Of last
nights fire, and read page after page, dis
| connected as they were, and yet most
evidently parts Of one beautiful whole.
Then he laid them on the floor beside him
and strove to collect his thoughts SO that
he might read the riddle, and bit by bit
the remembered fragments of his vision
came together and took shape, and then
the truth dawned upon him.
What the Calcutta doctor had said
about the drug was true Under its In
fluence he had been the exact reverse Of
his normal mental self, and the net result
| Of his experiment, as far as he could see,
had been the division Of bis being into
| two separate entities, one Of which Was
| still the sober, practical, commonplace
man of AFFAIRS and the other the dreamer
| Of gorgeous dreams, the genius lowered
with the supreme gift of literary express
| sion in its highest form and most perfect
capacity--and yet for all that an unreal
ity, a specter that came out Of the DARK
ness of drug-induced slumber to work
| its wondrous spells and then vanish back
| into the shadows.
Only too clearly did he see this, for the
more he read of his own work the more
horribly apparent became the truth that,
not to save his soul alive could he In his
natural self put two of those glowing.
perfectly worded sentences together.
He got up and collected the sheets, and
put them in order. and then read the
story through from beginning to end.
He had learned enough Of the art by read
ing to see that it was a literary gem.
enough even Of itself to found a reputa-
ton upon, and this was his work-Or at
least the work Of that other self Of his
| which the potent magic Of the drug had
called into being.
And If it had done this once why should
1t not do it many times? Here was Syl-
Was own story glorihed into splendid
reality and by him! Was not this proof
that this other self of his was in truth
that twin soul which hers had, by her own
confession, been waiting to meet and
| mate with?
He folded up the sheets and put them
into his pocket. At II his brougham came
as usual to the door, and he took them to
the city and gave them to his confidential
clerk 10 tTaHScTlDe on MS typewriter.
That evenig he paid visit to the studio,
| and asked Sylvia to read his first essay
| In fiction.
Not quite year had passed since John
Sturman had made his first experiment
in visions, and during those swiftly pass
| ing months he had lived on earth and in
heaven, and not infreQuently he had de-
scended into the nethermOst hell Of hu-
| man suffering. He had carried on his
| business affairs as of second nature, yet
with an ever lessening interest In them.
That specter genius of his had won him
fame with all it's intoxicating accompani-
| ments, and he bad no cause to envy Mar
Gus Algar now, either in his new art or his
| old love, for his own fame was fresher
and brighter than his, and Sylvia. all in
nocent of its terrible origin, had welcomed
| the awakening of his long-dormant genius
| as a heaven-sent revelation; and SO ais
latest wooing had not been in vain.
Sydney's picture, finished at last under
his inspiration. was hanging on the line at
| Burlington house. the wonder and ad-
miration of the thousands who had read
| the marvellous romance which he had
woven around it, and for him the whole