Toppleton's Client; Or, A Spirit in Exile

by John Kendrick Bangs

  CHAPTER XV.

  BARNCASTLE CONFIDES IN HOPKINS.

  TOPPLETON had not long to wait. His nerves had hardly resumed theirnormal condition when he heard a tottering step in the hall outside,followed by a soft tapping at the door.

  "Who's there?" he cried.

  "It is I, Toppleton--Barncastle. Let me in and be quick. I havesomething very important to say to you."

  Hopkins ran to the door and opened it, and Barncastle entered, his facepale and his general aspect that of a man who had passed through aterrible ordeal.

  "By Jove! I've landed my man!" said Toppleton to himself. Then he addedaloud, "My dear Barncastle, you don't know what a turn you gave medownstairs. I sincerely hope you are not ill?"

  "I am ill, Toppleton; ill almost unto death, and it is you who have mademe so."

  "I?" cried Hopkins, with well-feigned surprise. "I don't quite catchyour drift."

  "Your accursed faculty for reading character in the face, and searchingout the soul of man in the depths of his eyes has made you the only manI have ever feared. We must come to some understanding in this matter. Iwant to know what your object is in coming here to expose me before myfriends, to lay bare--"

  "Object? What is my object?" returned Hopkins, with capitaldissemblance. "Why, my dear fellow, what object could I have? I readyour face and searched your eyes for indications of your character atyour own request, and with your permission made known what I sawthere--for it is there, Barncastle, plain as any material object in thisroom."

  "It is dreadful! dreadful!" said Barncastle, covering his eyes with hishands and quivering with emotion and fear. "I had no idea your power wasso great. Do you suppose for an instant that had I known how unerringlyaccurate you are as a reader of mind and face, that I would ever haveasked you to lay bare to those people--"

  "Dear me, Barncastle," said Toppleton, rising and putting his hand onthe other's shoulder in a caressing manner, "really you ought to liedown and rest. This thing will all pass off with a night's sleep.You--you don't seem to be quite yourself to-night. You mustn't mindwhat I have said."

  "You do not know, Toppleton, you do not know. You have done thatto-night which has shown me that a dreadful secret which I have carriedlocked in my breast for thirty years, is as easily to be wrested from meby you as my jewels by a house-breaker."

  "But, my dear fellow," said Toppleton, his spirit growing with pride athis success in bringing down his game with so little effort, "I--Iunderstand that this is only one of the exceptions to the rules whichgovern the mind-reader's art. I do not really believe, of course, thatwhat I seem to see beneath the surface is actually there. I--"

  "Do not try to deceive me, Mr. Toppleton," sobbed Barncastle. "I, too,am something of a reader of character, as I told you, and I know exactlywhat you believe and what you do not believe. Had I been in such aposition at dinner as would have permitted me to look as deeply intoyour eyes as you looked into mine, I should not have asked you todivulge what you saw. In fact, Toppleton, as you have probably seen foryourself, I have all along under-estimated your abilities, which do not,I confess, show up as advantageously as they might. You Americans are acleverer people than you appear to be, and you have a faculty ofdissemblance that is baffling to us in the older world, who haveacquired candour through our conceit. We are so conscious of oursuperiority and ultimate ability to gain the upper hand in all that weundertake, that we do not consider it necessary to cloak our realfeelings. The whole world speaks of the Briton's brutal frankness, andspeaks justly. We are candid often against our best interests. We areimpulsively frank where you Americans are diplomatically reserved. It isthis trait in my people that makes it difficult for our Government tofind suitable diplomats to fill the various foreign missions that mustbe filled, while your Government finds it difficult to find missions forall the diplomats who must be provided for. We have to train ourMinisters and Ambassadors in the hard school of experience, as_attaches_ to legations, while you have only to go to your newspaperoffices, to your great political organizations, or to your flourishingbusiness concerns to find all the Envoys Extraordinary you need with acomfortable reserve force standing always ready to step into any shoesthat death, advancement, or revulsion of popular sentiment may makevacant. You are a great people; greater far than you seem on thesurface, and it is this fact, unheeded by me who should have knownbetter, that deceived me. I judged you from the standpoint of yourexterior; I saw that you were a character, but beyond the green umbrellaand carpet-bag indications I failed to look, and I thought I mightsafely venture the act which has come so nearly to my undoing. I see younow as you are. I apologize for underrating your ability, and I say toyou frankly, that I rejoice all the more greatly in your profferedfriendship since I have come to see that it is an honour not lightly tobe worn."

  "My dear Barncastle," ejaculated Hopkins, breathless with wonder andpride. "I assure you that your words overwhelm me. Your kind heart, Ifear, has led you into over-estimating my poor character as much as youclaim to have under-estimated it. I am by no means all that--"

  "Ah, Toppleton!" said Barncastle, "let us not waste words. I know you asyou are at last, and you need cloak your real self from me no more. Ifeared for an instant that you might be my enemy, though why you shouldbe I do not know, and to have you read my secret as though it wereprinted upon an open page before you, filled my soul with terror. Youhave found me out, but you do not and you cannot know what has broughtme to this unless I tell you, and I must insist that you becomeacquainted with my story, that you may the better judge of my innocencein the matter. When I have told you this story, I wish to exact from youa promise never to reveal it, for once revealed it would be my ruin."

  "I do not wish, my dear Barncastle," said Toppleton, burning withanxiety to hear the other's story, and yet desirous of appearingunconcerned in order that Barncastle might throw himself unreservedly inhis hands. "I have no desire to pry into another man's secrets, to wrestunwilling confidences from any man. If I have discovered one of yoursecrets, I have done so unwittingly, and I do not wish you to feel thatI am holding you up, to use one of our Western expressions, forconfidences. Keep your secret if it is one you wish to hold inviolate. Ishall never tell what I have seen or what you have said to me."

  "You are a generous, high-minded person, Toppleton. A poet at soul and agentleman as well; but you must hear my story, for it is myjustification in your eyes, and that is as necessary to my happiness,now that I know you for the man you are, as justification in the eyes ofthe world would become were the world to suspect what you have seen. Idid not mind any portion of what you said at the table to-night,Toppleton, until you delivered yourself of the opinion that the soul ofa man of a hundred and more years was dwelling in this body of mine, abody many years younger. Mr. Toppleton, I do not want you to think memad. I want you to believe me when I say that what you saw is absolutelya fact. My soul has lived precisely one hundred and twenty-six years, mybody sixty-one!"

  Toppleton's expression of surprise as Barncastle spoke would have donecredit to a tragedian of the highest rank.

  "Excuse me, Barncastle," he said, kindly. "I really think you'd betterlet me send for Lady Alice and have the family physician summoned. Yourmind is somewhat affected."

  "Come with me," said Barncastle, rising from his chair and leadingToppleton out through the door into and along the hallway until theyreached his private apartment. "I want you on entering this room toswear never to divulge what you shall see within, for I shall prove thetruth of my assertion respecting my soul before you leave it, and,Toppleton, the maintenance of my secret is a matter of life and death tome."

  "Of course, my lord, I shall not tell anyone of this interview exceptfor your good. It is truly painful to me, for in spite of your apparentclearness of head I cannot help feeling that the excitement of thisevening, together with the responsibilities a man of your position mustnecessarily assume, have made you feverish and slightly delirious."

  "I shall dispel all such ideas as that
," said Barncastle, opening thedoor and ushering Hopkins into his room. "Pray be seated," he said, "anddo not leave your seat until I request you to."

  "I hear and obey," quoted Toppleton, his mind reverting to the ArabianTales, the splendour of his surroundings and the generally uncannyquality of his experience reminding him forcibly of the land of theGenii.

  "I am going to prove to you now," said Barncastle, "that what I havesaid about my soul is true. Excuse me for being absent from the room forjust five minutes, and also pardon me if I extinguish the light here.Darkness is necessary to convince you that what I say is truth; and,above all, Toppleton, look to your nerves."

  Barncastle suited his action to his words. He extinguished the light anddisappeared. In five minutes, during which time Hopkins sat in the inkydarkness alone trying to formulate a plan for future action, a panel inthe wainscot was moved softly to one side and Toppleton found himselfface to face with the fiend.

  For a moment he was numb with fear, but when the green shadow movedtoward him and spoke in soft insinuating tones and appeared to fear himquite as much as he feared it, his courage returned.

  "What the deuce is this?" he cried, springing to his feet.

  "I am the soul of Barncastle. Barncastle lies prostrate as in death inthe den beyond the wall. I am also the soul of Horace Calderwood whodied forty-five years ago at the age of eighty, whose body lies buriedin the yard of Monckton Chapel, at Kennelly Manor, Kent."

  "What is the meaning of it--how--how has it come that you--that you arehere?" cried Hopkins, with well-feigned terror. "What awful power haveyou that you can leave your body and appear as you do now?"

  "Calm yourself, Toppleton. There is no awful power about it," said thefiend. "It is a simple enough matter when you understand it. I am simplyan immortal soul with mortal cravings. I love this world. It delights meto live in this sphere, and it is given to the soul to return here if itsees fit. That is what makes heaven heaven. The soul is free to dowhatsoever it wills."

  "But how is it," said Toppleton, "that this has never happened before?"

  "It has happened before. It is happening all the time, only you mortalsnever find it out. You want instances? The soul of Macchiavelli returnedto earth and entered the body of a Jew; result, Beaconsfield. The soulof Caesar returned to earth and entered the body of a puny Corsican;result, Bonaparte. The soul of Horace returned to earth and entered thebody of an English boy; therefore, Thackeray. The soul of Diogenesreturned to earth and entered the body of another English boy; result,Thomas Carlyle. Six souls, those of Terence, Plato, AEsculapius, Cicero,Caesar, Chaucer, combined and, returning to earth, took possession of thebody of a wayward child of Warwickshire; whence, Shakespeare."

  "And the real souls of these men?" cried Hopkins.

  "Became a part of space, and still so remain. How else account for theevolution of genius? Did you ever know a genius in his infancy?"

  "No; I can't say that I ever did," said Toppleton.

  "Well, with very rare exceptions geniuses are the stupidest of babies,or, supposing that in youth they give great promise, the valedictorianof his college class ends his life oftener than not without distinction,a third-rate lawyer, perhaps a poor doctor, a prosy clergyman, or asMrs. Somebody's husband. The man who is graduated at the foot of hisclass has oftener won the laurels than he. How is it accounted for? Howdid Keats, son of a stableman, become the sweetest of our sonneteers? Inyour own country, how did Lincoln and Grant spring from nothing togreatness? Was the germ of greatness discoverable in them in theiryouth? Would the most reckless of prophets have dared assert that theheavy tanner's boy would become the immortal hero of the Wilderness, thesaviour of the Republic, the uncrowned ruler of fifty millions of peopleeven with a thousand years of life to live? I tell you, Toppleton, themystery of this life is more mysterious than you think. There are thingshappening every minute of the day, every second of the minute, theknowledge of which would drive a mortal mind--that is, a mind which hasnever put on immortality by passing into the other world--to despair."

  "But, Barncastle," said Hopkins, his knees growing weak and his bloodrunning cold, this time in actual terror, "how comes it that I, amortal, inspire you, an immortal, with fear, as you claim I have done?"

  "There is a point beyond which an immortal mind cannot with safetyindulge in mortal habiliments. Have you never observed how men ofgenius outlive their genius? Did Bonaparte die at the height of hisglory? Did Grant die at the zenith of his power?"

  "D'Israeli did."

  "D'Israeli embodied Macchiavelli, and Macchiavelli made no mistakes. Ihave made a mistake. I have lived too long as Barncastle, and every daybeyond the day on which I should have left this body has lessened mygreatness, my power, until I am become as weak as though I had never puton immortality. It is my craving to be among men, that has been myweakening, if not my ruin. The love of contact with mankind is as strongwith me as is the love of drink with others. I cannot give it up."

  "And the poor soul whose place you took?" said Toppleton.

  "Don't speak of him," said the fiend. "I have made his name a great one.I have suffered more than he in my efforts to lift his personality to aplane it would never have reached had he been left to go his own way, tooccupy his own person. He is my debtor, Toppleton. I have no feelings ofregret for him. I went to him in a spirit of fairness and honesty, andoffered to make him a famous man. He declined the offer. I assumed therisk of compelling him, and after the first compulsion he wasacquiescent but not candid. When Horace Calderwood died, and I, hissoul, for the first time learned that it was possible for a spirit toreturn to earth and do these things, the idea of depriving a fellow-soulof material existence was repellent to me, and seemed not to be strictlyhonest. He should enjoy, it seemed to me, something more than theconsciousness of his greatness. He should be permitted to taste _inpropria persona_ the delights of fame. And I resolved that I would notdo as these others before me had done, and drive the real spirit ofmy,--ah--well, call him my victim if you choose--I resolved that I wouldnot drive the real spirit of my victim out into space, leaving him tosigh and bewail his unhappy estate throughout all eternity. My plan wasto go shares. To assume possession only so far as was necessary toinsure the winning of the laurel; to let the other return to hiscorporeal estate in hours of leisure. I should have continued of thismind until to-day had I not had the misfortune to select for myoperations an uncandid person, who had no genius, save that for tearingdown what I was up-building. It became necessary for me to exile him forever to save him from himself. He had been made a great man, and had Ideserted him he would have become a conspicuous failure; his name wouldhave been disgraced in proportion to the greatness it had had thrustupon it, and the soul of that one would have lived a life of humiliationand misery. What I did was the humane thing. I exiled him from himself,and I have no regrets for having done so."

  "Well, of course," said Toppleton, "you know more about it than I do,but it seems to me it's a mighty rough thing to condemn a soul toperpetual existence on this earth deprived of the only means which canput him in a position to enjoy that life. If you are not joking with me,Barncastle, and your present appearance is pretty good proof that youare not, it seems to me that you have been guilty of a wrong, althoughyour reasons for believing that you have done right are worthy ofconsideration. It strikes me that an omniscient, such as you pretendedto be, ought not to have been bothered by the lack of candour of apurely finite mind; and, after all, it was but a bit of superb conceiton your part to think that you could do things differently from thosewho had gone before you."

  "But my motive, Toppleton. Credit me with a proper motive," pleaded thefiend.

  "Yes, I do," said Hopkins. "But out in the Rocky Mountains, my lord, wehave lynched several thieves who stole to keep their families fromstarving. Their motives were all right, but they were suspended just thesame. But let me ask you one question. To what extent do you retain thatremarkable omniscient quality? I want to know, for candidly, much as Iadmire you, Ba
rncastle, it rather awes me to think that you canpenetrate to the innermost recesses of my brain--"

  "I can no longer do that," said Barncastle. "My power through longconfinement to mortal habitations has materially lessened, as I havealready told you. Do you suppose, my dear sir, that, were it not so, Ishould be here, at this moment, unbosoming myself to you, and beggingyou in the name of humanity never to utter one word of what has passedbetween us? Do you think that I, who was once able to destroy a mortal'sreason by one glance of my eye, would be so overcome by the words of amind-reading American poet if I still had the power to subject his willto mine?"

  "No one would believe me were I to tell him your horrible secret," saidHopkins. "Indeed, I don't know that I believe it myself. There is, ofcourse plenty of evidence of which I have had ocular demonstration, butthis may be all a dream. I may wake up to-morrow and find myself in myhammock in Blue-bird Gulch."

  "No, it is no dream," said the fiend. "It is all too real, but you willnot expose me, Toppleton. There are those who would believe it, some whohalf suspect me even now would gain re-enforcement in their suspicions.My daughter would be shocked beyond expression and--"

  "That, my lord," said Hopkins "is your convincing argument. Lady Alice'speace of mind must be held inviolate, and I shall be dumb; but I thinkyou might let the exiled spirit enter once more into bodily life. Theallotted days of the body you have wrested from him must be growing fewin number. Why not atone for the past by admitting him once more?"

  "There are two reasons, Toppleton," said Barncastle, fixing his eye withgreat intensity upon Hopkins, who maintained his composure with greatdifficulty. "In the first place, there are responsibilities which stilldevolve upon the Lord of Burningford which he would be utterly unable toassume. You might assume them, for you are a clever man. You have themaking of a brilliant man in you, but he has not, and never will have.He is the most pusillanimous soul in the universe, and with him incharge, that body would die in less than six months. In the second placeI have lost sight of him of late years, or rather lost consciousness ofhim, for he has been visible at no time since he departed from hisnormal condition, and since the day of my marriage, whose happiness hemade a mad public endeavour to destroy, I have had no dealings with him.Where he is now, I have not the slightest idea."

  "Well, I know!" ejaculated Toppleton, forgetting himself and throwingcaution to the winds.

  "You know what? Where he is?" returned the fiend, with a look thatrestored Toppleton's senses and showed him that he had made a mistake.

  "Oh, no!" he replied, his face getting red with confusion. "Oh, no, notthat. You interrupted me. I was going to say that I know--er--I know howdifficult your--er--your position is in the matter, and--er--that Ihardly knew what to advise."

  "Ah!" returned the fiend, with a smile that to Toppleton's eyesbetokened relief. "You have taken a load off my mind. Do you know, mydear fellow, that for one instant I half believed that you really knewof the original Chatford's whereabouts, and that perhaps you were inleague with him against me. I see, however, how unfounded the impressionwas."

  "How could you suspect me of that?" said Toppleton, reproachfully, hisheart beating wildly at the narrowness of the escape. "But you don'tintend to let him back?"

  "Not if I can help myself, Toppleton," said the fiend. "I shall hang onhere as long as I can, not only for my own sake and for that of mydaughter, but also for the peace of mind of the exiled soul. You willrespect my confidence, will you not?"

  "I shall, Barncastle. You may count on me," said Toppleton.

  "Good. Now I will resume the mortal habitation for which I have so longbeen a trustee, and we can rejoin the ladies."

  Ten minutes later Barncastle and the Poet of the Rockies entered thedrawing-room.

  "Did you enjoy your walk, Mr. Toppleton?" queried Lady Alice.

  "Well, I guess!" returned Toppleton. "Your father has one of the finestestates I have ever seen since I left Colorado, and as for your moon, itfairly out-moons any moon I've seen in the Rockies in all my life."

  "It's the same moon that everybody else has," said the Duchess ofBangletop with a smile.

  "Yes, Duchess," returned Toppleton, sitting beside her. "But you'vefurnished it better than we have. That Barbundle River gives it asetting beside which the creek in Blue-bird Gulch is as a plate-glasswindow to a sea of diamonds."

  CHAPTER XVI.

  MR. HOPKINS TOPPLETON MAKES A DISCOVERY.

  IT is hardly to be wondered at that Toppleton did not sleep much thatnight at Barncastle Hall. The state of his nerves was not calculated topermit him to sleep even had he been willing to do so. The experiencesof the day were not of a nature to give him such confidence in hissurroundings as would have enabled him to woo rest with a serene senseof safety. Furthermore, it was his desire to push his endeavour throughto as immediate a conclusion as was possible, and time was too preciousto waste in rest. Hence it was that the dawning of another day found himutterly fagged out, awake, and still meditating upon the means mostlikely to crown his efforts with success.

  "I am afraid," he said, as he turned the matter over and over in hismind, "I am afraid it's going to be a harder task than I thought. Myplan has worked admirably up to a certain point, but there it has ceasedto result as I had anticipated. He is frightened, that is certain; buthe cannot be frightened into a restitution. He is too selfish to give upChatford's body and take his chances of getting another, and his rathernatural distrust of Chatford's ability to sustain the greatness of thename of Barncastle re-enforces his selfishness. I can't blame himeither. I haven't a doubt that Chatford's spirit would prove too weak tokeep the body going a year at the outside, and yet it is his, and heought to have it. He ought to--have--"

  Here wearied Nature asserted herself, and Hopkins' head dropped back onthe soft cushion of his couch, and he lost consciousness in a sleep thatknew no dreams.

  The morning hours passed away and still he slept. Afternoon gave placeto night, and as the moon rose over the Barbundle and bathed thebeautiful scene as with silver, Hopkins opened his eyes again and lookedabout him. He was annoyed to find that his vision had in some mannerbecome slightly obscured; he seemed to see everything through a faintsuggestion of a haze, and an object ten feet distant that he rememberedadmiring as he lay on his couch the afternoon before, its every detailclear cut and distinct to the eye, was now a confused jumble of linesonly, suggestive of nothing in particular, though the moonlightstreaming in through the window shone directly upon it.

  "Dear me!" he said, passing his hands over his eyes as if to sweep awaythe filmy web that interfered with his sight. "I seem to have a slightvertigo, and yet I cannot understand why I should. I hardly drankanything last night, and as for what I ate it was simplicity itself. ButI wonder how long I have been asleep; let me see." Here he consulted hiswatch, the great silver timepiece he had brought with him.

  "Humph," he said; "half-past seven. I must have slept nearly thirteenhours; unlucky number that. No wonder I have vertigo."

  He rose from the couch and walked, or rather tottered, to the window tolook out upon the beautifully serene Barbundle.

  "Mercy! How weak I am!" he cried, grasping the sill for support. "Thistrouble seems to have gone to my knees as well. I can hardly stand,and--ow--there is a touch of rheumatism in my right arm! I shall have toring for Parker to bring me a little resolution in the form of a stiffhorn of whiskey. These old English homes I'm afraid are a little damp."

  He touched the bell at the side of the doorway and staggered back to thecouch, falling upon it in a heap in sheer weakness, and as he did so heagain became conscious of someone gazing at him from the other side ofthe room, and as he looked, the fiend in his emerald disembodiment tookshape and approached him.

  "Ah, Barncastle," said Toppleton, to whom custom had rendered thefiend's appearance less terrible. "I am glad to see you. I'm afraid I amill. I have the most unaccountable weakness in my knees. My eyesightseems to have grown dim, and I am conscious of my head which is re
ally anew sensation to me. I wish you'd send your butler up here with somewhiskey."

  "All right, I'll send him," returned the fiend with, or so it seemed toToppleton, a lack of friendly interest in his tone which rathersurprised him, for Barncastle had hitherto been the quintessence ofpoliteness. "I fancy you'll be better in the morning; and between youand me I'd let whiskey alone. Brandy and soda is my drink, and I thinkit will do you more good in your present state than whiskey."

  "Very well, Barncastle," Hopkins began.

  "Don't call me Barncastle," returned the fiend, impatiently. "Yourdiscovery of my secret has made all that intolerable to me, and I intendhereafter to spend as little of my time in that form as is consistentwith propriety. I did not realize until you came here how longconfinement within anatomical limits had weakened my powers, and to findmyself at this period of my existence almost, if not quite, asincompetent to meet the grave crises of life as any mortal, is gallingin the extreme. Call me anything you please, but drop Barncastle."

  "Very well," again replied Toppleton. "I will call you my friendGreene."

  "Humorous to the last, Toppleton," laughed the fiend. "That's a trulyAmerican characteristic. I believe you'll jest with your dying breath."

  "Quite likely," said Hopkins, lightly. "That is if I ever draw it."

  "Ah! Have you discovered an Elixir of Life, then?" queried the fiend.

  "Not yet," returned Hopkins. "But I am sure I cannot see why, with yourassistance, I should not do so. If you know all the secrets of theuniverse, I think you might confide at least one of them to me, and theonly one I ask is, what shall I do to live for ever?"

  "You are an insinuating young man," returned the fiend. "And I must sayI like you, Toppleton, in spite of your abominable poetry, for now I amgoing to be candid with you."

  "So much, then, is gained," said Hopkins, cheerfully. "If you like me,give me the recipe of life."

  "I would, my boy," the fiend replied with a harsh laugh, "I would do itgladly, if I hadn't forgotten it. Some day I shall take a day off fromthese mundane operations of mine, and return to the spirit vale andfreshen up my formulae. Then perhaps I can help you. But I have somethingvery important to say to you, and if you will come with me to my ownquarters I will say it. This room is too chilly for a spirit withnothing on."

  Toppleton readily acquiesced. His other sensations had been so acutesince his awakening, that he did not realize until the fiend spoke ofthe chill in the atmosphere that he was himself cold to the very marrowof his bones; that his blood seemed hardly to run in his veins, socongealed had it become. He followed the fiend, who led the way fromToppleton's room to Barncastle's own quarters, where a log fire blazedfiercely on the hearth. There was no other light than that of the firein the room, and Hopkins was glad of it, his eyes were too weary for anyillumination save the one which made the darkness in which he now sateven blacker than was natural.

  "Lie down there on my bed, Toppleton," said the fiend. "Lie down andlisten to me."

  Toppleton obeyed, and gladly.

  "You are a sick man," began the fiend, "though you may not know it. Youhave no more than an even chance of living beyond this night. If you dolive until to-morrow morning I see no reason why you should not continueto do so for many years to come; in fact I confidently anticipate thatsuch will be the case, but you have got to be careful."

  "If you were not one of the supernatural element, Mr. Greene," saidToppleton, nervously tapping his fingers together, "I should be inclinedto laugh at your notions respecting my health. A man of my habits andphysique doesn't go to pieces after a single late supper, to be broughtup standing at the doors of death uncertain as to whether he will beinvited in or requested to move on, all in a single night."

  "For an acute man you are an obtuse sort of a person," returned thefiend, gravely. "I do not mean that you are in immediate danger ofphysical collapse, though that will come shortly unless you take care ofyourself. It is a worse than physical death that I refer to. You are onthe verge of intellectual death, Toppleton. You need twenty-four hoursof wakefulness to put you in an insane asylum, an incurable, hopelesslymad for the balance of your days. You remarked a moment since that youwere conscious of your head. By that you meant that you felt the weightof it, and it is a leaden weight unless my eyes deceive me. I haveexperienced it, and I know what it means."

  Hopkins' face blanched as the fiend spoke. It was too easy for him tobelieve all that had been said; and why should it not be so, he askedhimself. Here was a case of mortal arrayed in combat against asupernatural being, and in the nature of things it was a contest of theintellectuals and not one of the sort in which Toppleton's trainingwould have made him an easy victor. In a bout at arms Barncastle wouldhave been a prey to Toppleton with scarce an effort on the American'spart, but mind for mind, the young lawyer was fighting against terribleodds. He had proven to a very considerable extent a winner, and yet hisvictory was quite as hollow as the victory of a trotting horse who haswon only the preliminary heats and still has the final test to undergo;but to win even the trial heat was a great thing, and that his mindshould be well-nigh used up was to have been expected. Realizing this,and realizing also that it was his defeated adversary who was advisinghim as to what was necessary to be done for the preservation of hissanity, he was quite overcome. He nearly fainted, in fact he would havedone so had not the fiend seeing his condition applied restoratives tohis head and feet, and poured between his open lips a concoction whichmade every drop of blood in his body glow as with health, which impartedstrength to his weary limbs, and which seemed to clear his aching headwith its magical potence.

  "You have had a narrow escape, my dear fellow," said the fiend, asHopkins revived. "If I hadn't saved you, you would have stepped over theline."

  "You--are--very--very kind," murmured Hopkins, raising himself on hiselbow and then dropping wearily back into the pillows again. "You placeme under very deep obli--"

  "Don't speak of that," said the fiend with a smile. "The obligation youhave placed me under is still greater. But now, Toppleton, you mustsleep, or you will be beyond all hope to-morrow."

  "I will," said Toppleton, faintly, and then he closed his eyes andconsciousness departed from him.

  The fiend regarded him for a moment and turned away with a sigh.

  "If I had had the good fortune to operate on you instead of uponChatford," he said, "well, there'd have been a president of the UnitedStates in your family by this time, or, better still, a railway kingwith an amount of brains equal to the possessions of the best of them.Oh, well! he wasn't to be had, and I haven't done badly with Chatford."

  With which reflection the fiend passed from the room, and left Toppletonbreathing heavily in sleep.

  When next Toppleton opened his eyes consciously to himself, he was lyingon a great oak bed with a tapestry canopy over his head. The sun wasstreaming in through the broad mullioned windows. The world without waswhite with snow, the tall evergreens down by the now ice-coveredBarbundle presenting the only vestige of green in sight.

  "Ah!" he sighed, as he looked wearily out of the window. "We shall havea white Christmas after all, but," he added, gazing about him, "how thedickens did I ever come to be here, I wonder? In Barncastle's ownroom--oh, yes, I remember. I fell asleep here last night and I supposehe has--Hello!--Who's that?"

  The last words were addressed to whomsoever it was that entered the roomat the moment, for the door had opened and closed softly.

  "It is I," came a soft, sweet voice, and before Hopkins had time toplace it, Lady Alice entered the room.

  "Good morning!" said Toppleton, slightly embarrassed at the unexpectedappearance of his hostess.

  "Good morning!" she replied, coming to his side and stroking hisforehead lightly. "And I can say with all my heart, after these awfuldays of suspense, that it is a good morning. You have been very ill."

  "Oh, it was nothing," said Hopkins, endeavouring to conceal his surpriseat the way things were going. "Only a little headache and racketyf
eeling generally. It will pass off. Barncastle was very good to let mehave his quarters."

  Lady Alice's face took on a troubled look.

  "How beautiful it is out," said Toppleton, turning his eyes toward thesnow-clad landscape again. "I was just thinking that we should have awhite Christmas after all."

  "Why, my dear, Christmas is over by two weeks. You have been ill herefor three weeks yesterday."

  "What?" cried Toppleton. "I?"

  "Why, certainly," said Lady Alice. "Of course, you didn't know it, butit is so. You haven't had a lucid moment in all that time."

  A sudden fear clutched at Toppleton's heart.

  "But--but tell me, have I--what do--what have the doctors said--that Ihad lost my mind, was in danger of a living death; that--"

  "Don't get so excited," returned Lady Alice, softly, still retaining thelook of anxiety on her face. "Here, read this. It is a letter from yourRocky Mountain friend, I think, and I fancy it will amuse you. It hasonly just come."

  "My Rocky Mountain friend!" ejaculated Hopkins under his breath. "Whatdevilish complication does this mean, I wonder?"

  "Shall I open it for you?" asked Lady Alice.

  "Yes," said Hopkins mechanically; "I'll be very much obliged to you ifyou will do so. Thank you," he added, staring wildly at the foot of thebed as the young woman opened and handed him the letter.

  "While you are reading it," said she, "I'll run downstairs a moment, andtell Parker to prepare you a little breakfast."

  "You are very kind," said Toppleton, faintly; and then as Lady Alicewent softly from the room he began to read the letter. "'17, The Temple,London, January 2nd. My dear Barncastle--' Why, she must have made amistake," he said; "this is for Barn--by Jove! it's in my handwriting,and signed--Hopkins--Top--ple--ton. What in the name of Heav--"

  Here he ceased his soliloquizing and began to read the letter which wasas follows:--

  "MY DEAR BARNCASTLE,--I understood your game from the beginning. It was audacious, but unavailing, as the attack of a finite upon an infinite mind must always be. I led you on to your own undoing if you so regard it. I removed gladly every obstacle from your path, and let you think in your own conceit that you were an easy victor in the fight. By so doing I put your caution asleep, and when your caution slept you became a victim to my ambition just as did Chatford, with this exception, that I have left you in a position to enjoy life, while circumstances made it necessary for me to place him in perpetual exile. Perhaps when you get this letter and realize what I have done, you will curse me. Do not do so. You are not a loser in the premises. You have gained the Burningford estates, you have gained the enjoyment of the honours which I have won, at the expense of the difference of strength between the body I have put off and this one of yours which I now occupy. The latter, let me say to you, is a superb specimen, the ideal habitation for a soul like mine. Aided by it a still greater future than the one, to be paradoxical, I have left behind me, will be mine, and not mine only, but yours also, since it is under your name that my future greatness is to be achieved. I repeat, do not curse me, for in cursing me you but curse yourself, and when you get over the first sensation of horror at the changes I have wrought in our respective destinies, and can think upon it calmly and dispassionately, you will not find me so much to blame. Nor are you to be deprived of any of your years by my act. The infusion of a younger spirit into the corse of Barncastle will make it young again, and gradually you will recover the physical ground you now seem to have lost.

  "I sail for New York on the _City of Paris_ to-morrow, and you may rest assured that the name that now flies at the mast-head in the firm of Toppleton, Morley, Bronson, Mawson, Perkins, Harkins, Smithers and Hicks will no longer be a mere figurehead, a minimum among maxima; it will become once more what it used to be, a tower of strength in the legal profession, and, permit me to say, a tower of such height that beside it the famous structure erected by your illustrious father will become but as an ant hill to the pyramid of Cheops.

  "Good-bye, Barncastle, for that is now your name. In the years to come we may meet again, and when we do, may it be in friendship, for as Barncastle I loved myself, and as Toppleton I love you. May you go and do likewise, and above all, give up masquerading as a Broncho poet, and get down to the business for which you were fitted by nature, if not by birth: that of a member of the noblest aristocracy in the world; that of a peer of the British realm.

  "Faithfully yours, "HOPKINS TOPPLETON, _alias_ BARNCASTLE, "_Ne_ CALDERWOOD.

  "P.S.--I have had an interview with the original Chatford, and have informed him that it is impossible for him to return to his former corporeal state, because Barncastle no longer knows the formula by which the re-entrance can be effected, which is true. He believes it, and has gone off into space with his whistle and his sigh."

  For a moment Toppleton was overcome. This unexpected denouement wasalmost too much for him, but the indignation that surged up in hisbreast gave him strength to withstand the shock; and then, singular torelate, he laughed.

  "To think that I should be born a Yankee and at my time of life become apeer surrounded by everything that wealth can procure, and loaded downwith every honour that man can devise; oh, nonsense! it's all a joke,and a good one. Barncastle saw through my trick, and is paying me backin my own coin."

  Here Hopkins laughed till the room echoed with his mirth, and as hislaugh died away the door opened and the heiress of Burningford entered.

  "Why, father!" she cried, exultantly, "do you feel as well--"

  At the word "father," Hopkins' heart gave a great throb.

  "My dear," he said in a moment, "I have been ill you say for threeweeks, and with no lucid intervals?"

  "Yes."

  "And my hallucination was what?"

  "That you were that ridiculous American poet."

  "Bring me the glass, my child," said Hopkins, gravely. "I--I'd just liketo see my face in the mirror."

  The glass was brought and Hopkins looked into it. The face of Barncastlein very truth gazed back at him from its silver depths.

  "Ah!" he said. "I have changed; have I not?"

  "Yes, indeed," said the Lady of Burningford. "But really I think yourillness has done you good, for I do believe you look ten years younger."

  "It is well," said the new Barncastle, with a sigh of resignation. "Ihave worked too hard. I shall now retire from public life and devote myremaining years to--to the accomplishment of my one great ambition."

  "And what is that?" asked his daughter.

  "To becoming a leader in the busy world of leisure, my child," saidToppleton, falling back to his pillow once more, and again losingconsciousness in sleep.

  This time fortunately the sleep was that of one who had fought a goodfight, had lost, but whose conscience was clear; and to whom, after manydays, had been restored a sound mind in a body sound enough to lastthrough many years of unremitting rest.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  EPILOGUE.

  A SINGLE year has passed since the episode which brought our lastchapter to a close.

  The new Barncastle of Burningford is well and happy in the paths ofpleasantness and peace, into which he was so unexpectedly and sounwittingly brought. His daughter has become engaged to a promisingscion of a neighbouring house of large means and high estate in thesocial world. Hopkins Toppleton is in New York, busy at the practice ofthe law, develop
ing a genius in the profession he had adopted for theconvenience of his partners at which they stand amazed; steadily forginghis way to the front, his energy, his aggressiveness, and extraordinaryfertility of resource dazzling all beholders.

  As for the weary spirit,--alas for him! He still whistles, wearily,through space, hopeless and forlorn, but at all times a welcome visitorto Burningford, whither he personally went, shortly after Toppleton'sdeparture for New York, to lay his petition at the feet of Barncastlehimself. He knows now what has happened to his young counsel, and hisregret for himself is tempered by his regret for what he has broughtupon him who so nobly undertook to champion his cause, for the quondamToppleton has concealed from his first client the happiness that hefeels over the strange metamorphosis in his fortunes, lest, comparing itwith his own miserable condition, the exile may become more unhappy thanever.

  THE END.

  * * * * *

  Transcriber's Notes:

  Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

  Page viii, Table of Contents, "232" changed to "233" to reflect actualplace of Chapter XV.

  Page 11, "depature" changed to "departure" (preparations for departure)

  Page 60, "irrefragible" changed to "irrefragable" (an absolutelyirrefragable)

  Page 96, "n" changed to "in" (in the face of)

  Page 177, "stong" changed to "strong" (a strong point)

  Page 188, "sentitiments" changed to "sentiments" (to be, withsentiments)

  Page 229, "thousand" changed to "thousands" (has travelled thousands)