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A RED FLOWER.

faded flower under his foot, and, picking up the remains from the floor, took them into the bathroom. He threw the shapeless plant into the red-hot stove, and he gazed long thereon as his enemy hissed, shriveled and finally became transformed into fine, snow-white ashes. He blew with his mouth, and it all disappeared.

On the next day the patient grew worse. Horribly pale in his hollow cheeks, his burning eyes sunk deeply in his head, he began to reel and stumble when he walked. But he continued to stroll impetuously, and he talked and talked without end.

"I should not like to employ force," remarked the senior physician to his assistant.

"But it is absolutely necessary to stop this thing. To-day he only weighed ninety-three pounds. If this goes on any farther, he'll die in the course of a day or two."

The senior physician fell into deep thought. "Morphine? chloral?" said he, half-questioningly.

"Even yesterday the morphine refused to act."

"Have him bound; otherwise he is to remain unmolested."