invalid made an effort; he shut his eyes for an instant to recover himself; and then he related at length his first apparent consciousness in Hyde Park, and all that had followed. Father Jervis put a question from time to time, which he answered quite rationally; and at the close the doctor, who was sitting opposite, watching every movement of his face, leaned back, smiling.
"Well, Monsignor," he said, "it seems to me that your memory is sufficiently good. Just put another question, father—a really difficult one—about something that has happened since noon."
"Can you remember the points of Mr. Manners' speech?" asked the priest doubtfully.
The other paused for a moment.
"Psychology, Comparative Religion, the Philosophy of
Evidence, Pragmatism, Art, Politics, and finally
Recuperation. These were the——"
"Now that's astonishing!" said the priest. "I could only remember four myself."
"When did you see the Cardinal last?" asked the doctor suddenly.
"I have never seen him before, to my knowledge," faltered the sick man.
The Cardinal leaned forward and patted him gently on the knee.
"Never mind," he said. "Then, doctor——"
"Would your Eminence put a question to him on some very important matter? Something that would have made a deep impression."
The Cardinal considered.
"Well," he said, "yes. Do you remember the message brought by special messenger from Windsor yesterday evening?"
Monsignor shook his head.
"That'll do," said the doctor. "Don't attempt to force yourself."
He rose from his chair, fetched his bag and opened it. Out of it he took an instrument rather resembling a small camera, but with a bundle of minute wires of some very pliable material, each ending in a tiny disc.
"Do you know what this is, Monsignor?" asked the doctor, busying himself with the wires.
"I have no idea."
"Well, well. … Now, Monsignor, kindly loosen your waistcoat, so that I can get at your breast and back."
"Is it a stethoscope?"
"Something like it," smiled the doctor. "But how did you know that name? Never mind. Now then, please."
He placed the camera affair on the corner of the table near the arm-chair; and then, very rapidly, began to affix the discs—it seemed by some process of air-exhaustion—all over the head, breast, and back of the amazed man. No sensation followed this at all, except the very faint feeling of skin-contraction at each point of contact.
"May I have that blind down, your Eminence? … Ah! that's better. Now then."
He bent closely over the square box on the table, and seemed to peer at something inside. The others kept silence.
"Well?" asked the Cardinal at last.
"Perfectly satisfactory, your Eminence. There is a very faint discoloration, but no more than is usual in a man of Monsignor's temperament at any excitement. There is absolutely nothing wrong, and—Monsignor," he continued, looking straight at the wire-bedecked invalid, "not the very faintest indication of anything even approaching insanity or imbecility."
The man who had lost his memory drew a swift breath.
"May I see, doctor?" asked the Cardinal suavely.
"Certainly, your Eminence; and Monsignor can look himself, if he likes."
When the other two had looked, the sick man himself was given the box.
"(Carefully with that wire, please.) There!" said the doctor.
"Look down there."
In the centre of the box, shielded by a little plate of glass, there appeared a small semi-luminous globe. This globe seemed tinted with slightly wavering colours, in which a greyish blue predominated; but, almost like a pulse, there moved across it from time to time a very pale red tint, suffusing it, and then dying away again.
"What is it?" asked the man in the chair hoarsely, lifting his head.
"That, my dear Monsignor," explained the doctor carefully, "is a reflection of your physical condition. It is an exceedingly simple, though of course very delicate instrument. The method was discovered—"
"Is it anything to do with magnetism?"
"They used to call it that, I think. It's got several names now. All mental disturbance has, of course, a physical side to it, and that is how we are able to record it physically. It was discovered by a monk, of course."
"But … but it's marvellous."
"Everything is marvellous, Monsignor. Certainly this, however, caused a revolution. It became the symbol of the whole modern method of medicine."
"What's that?" The doctor laughed.
"That's a large question," he said.
"But … "
"Well, in a word, it's the old system turned upside down. A century ago when a man was ill they began by doctoring his body. Now, when a man's ill, they begin by doctoring his mind. You see the mind is much more the man than the body is, as Theology always taught us. Therefore by dealing with the mind——"
"But that's Christian Science!"
The doctor looked bewildered.
"It was an old heresy, doctor," put in the Cardinal, smiling, "that denied the reality of matter. No, Monsignor, we don't deny the reality of matter. It's perfectly real. Only, as the doctor says, we prefer to attack the real root of the disease, rather than its physical results. We still use drugs; but only to remove painful symptoms."
"That … that sounds all right," stammered the man, bewildered by the simplicity of it. "Then … then do you mean, your Eminence, that physical diseases are treated—?"
"There are no physical diseases left," put in the doctor. "Of course there are accidents and external physical injuries; but practically all the rest have disappeared. Very nearly all of them were carried by the blood, and, by dealing with this, the tissues are made immune. Our discoveries also in the region of innervation——"
"But … but … are there no diseases then?"
"Why, yes, Monsignor," interrupted the Cardinal, with the patient air of one talking to a child, "there are hundreds of those; and they are very real indeed; but they are almost entirely mental—or psychical, as some call them. And there are specialists on all of these. Bad habits of thought, for example, always set up some kind of disease; and there are hospitals for these; and even isolation homes."
"Forgive me, your Eminence," put in the
