<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></SPAN></span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
<div class='chaptertitle'>THE CROWNING ACT OF INFAMY.</div>
<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">Hear</span> me to the end, Hopkins, I beseech
you," said the exile earnestly. "Of course
the fiend strikes you as a being to be avoided,
but I do not believe that he is now as powerful
and as terrible as he was in the days gone by.
Long confinement to a purely mortal sphere
must necessarily have weakened his supernatural
powers, and it strikes me that properly
managed by a young and aggressive lawyer, our
case against him would be won in an instant.
At all events, do not compel me to leave my
story unfinished. I am sure that when you
hear of the crowning act of infamy of which my
evil genius was guilty, you will not hesitate a
moment in making up your mind that duty
summons you to aid me."</div>
<p>"Very well," rejoined Hopkins. "Go on
with the tale, only do not be too sanguine as
to its results in convincing me that I am the
man to extricate you from this horrid plight."<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"After I had attended one or two meetings
of the House of Commons," said the exile,
resuming the thread of his story, "I enjoyed
the experience so much that I almost forgave
the fiend for having so nearly ruined me with
all my old friends; and having written, in
accordance with his promise, a truly beautiful
letter to my mother, explaining away the harsh
treatment she had suffered at the hands of her
now illustrious son on the ground of his not
being quite himself on that occasion—a state
of mind due to too close attention to work and
study—I quite forgave him for that unpleasant
episode in my campaign. My mother too overlooked
the affront, and wrote me a most affectionate
epistle, stating that I might trample
upon her most cherished ideals with her entire
acquiescence if my taking that course would
ensure to her the receipt of so loving and
touching a letter as the one I had sent her.
The fiend and I both had to smile, on receiving
my mother's note, to observe that the dear old
lady attributed my ability to express myself in
such beautiful terms to the poetic traits I had
inherited from her.</p>
<p>"'She's very proud of her dear boy,' sneered
the fiend.</p>
<p>"'In spite of his brutality at the committee-room,'
I retorted; and then we both grinned,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></SPAN></span>
for each truly believed that he had got the
better of the other."</p>
<p>"It was a pretty close contest," said Hopkins.
"But on the whole the laugh seems to be on
you."</p>
<p>"It certainly was the first time I tried to
speak in Parliament," returned the spirit.
"Such a failure was never seen. I was to take
part in a very important debate, and when the
hour came for me to get on my feet and talk, I
was my weak-kneed self and utterly unacquainted
even with the side I was expected to
take. The fiend had promised to do all the
talking, and on this occasion failed to materialize.
I spoke for ten minutes in an incoherent fashion,
mouthing my words so that no one could understand
a syllable that I uttered. It was a fearful
disappointment to my friends in the House and
in the galleries; the latter being packed when it
was understood that I was to speak. Of course,
when the fiend appeared later on, he straightened
it all out, and the printed speech which
he dictated and which I wrote was really a fine
effort and did our party much good. But these
little embarrassments were tragedies to me, and
at every new success I quailed before the possibilities
of disastrous failure at the next effort.
In but one respect was I entirely free from the
fiendish influence, and that was in the matter<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></SPAN></span>
of my love. From that phase of my life the
fiend kept himself apart, and it was the only
joyous oasis to be found in the boundless desert
of my misery. To the fiend, Sunday was
literally a day of rest, for upon that day he
never approached me, and I devoted it to
calling upon the woman I loved.</p>
<p>"She was a beautiful woman, the only
daughter of a retired city merchant, and fond
of the admiration of successful men. That
she loved me before I attained to eminence in
the various professions in which the fiend had
compelled me to dabble, I had much reason to
believe; but I had never ventured to make
love to her in dead earnest, because I feared
for the result. She had often said to me that
while she should never marry for riches and
position, she did not intend to fall in love with
any man just because he had neither, and that
no man need ever propose marriage to her who
was not reasonably sure of a successful career.
It was not selfishness that led her to think and
speak in this manner, but a realizing sense of
the unhappy fact that mediocrity married is
as hopeless as a broken-winded race-horse in
harness. There is plenty of ambition but
no future, and as she often said, 'Where
hopelessness comes, happiness dwelleth
not!'"<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"A daughter of Solomon, I wot," interrupted
Toppleton.</p>
<p>"Yes," said the spirit, with a sigh for her he
had lost, "and rather superior to the old
gentleman in a great many ways. Of course I
understood, and, lacking achievement in my
profession, discreetly held my tongue on the
subject of matrimony, taking good care, however,
when I called never to let any other
fellow outstay me, unless perchance he was
some poor drivelling idiot from whose immediate
present the laurel was further removed than
from my own. She understood me, I think,
though I never put that point to a practical
test by a proposal of marriage. This was the
state of affairs at the time of my first meeting
with the fiend, and for a year subsequent to
that ill-starred night upon which he first crossed
my path I let matters take their own course,
waiting a favourable opportunity to ask the
great question, upon the answer to which hung
all my future happiness. I could see that with
my increasing fame, her interest in me waxed;
but as every passing day brought new and undreamed-of
distinctions she grew more and
more reserved toward me—a most feminine
trait that, Hopkins. When a woman begins to
love a man in dead earnest, in nine cases out of
ten she will make him feel that he is utterly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></SPAN></span>
abhorrent to her, and it's a good thing she does,
because it makes him look carefully into his
own character in an endeavour to discover and
to root out all the undesirable features thereof.
It is this that enables love to redeem men whom
the world considers irredeemable, so, of course,
I had no feeling of discouragement at her growing
coldness, for, understanding women, I knew
exactly what it meant. I think I was more or
less of an enigma to her."</p>
<p>"I should think it likely," said Toppleton.
"If she really knew you, she must have been
mightily surprised at your sudden strides towards
universal genius. It's a wonder to me
that she did not suspect the enigma, and give it
up."</p>
<p>"Yes," returned the spirit. "It was very
embarrassing to me when she expressed her surprise
at my progress, and asked me how I did
it, and other questions equally hard to answer.
And then her father, who was always more or
less insufferable, now became absolutely insulting—that
is, his new found appreciation of my
virtues led him into making assertions which
galled me, he little knew how much—assertions
to the effect that to look at me no one would
suspect that I had more than ordinary intelligence;
that to hear me talk one would never
suppose I could make a speech of any kind,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></SPAN></span>
much less set the world on fire by my
eloquence; and finally, that no man after this
could tell him that it was possible to judge of
the future by the past, or the past by the present,
for he had always thought me foredoomed
to failure, and I had achieved success, and,
having achieved success, gave no present
evidence that I deserved it."</p>
<p>"He had the making of the accepted mother-in-law
in him," said Hopkins. "What could
have induced you to fall in love with the
daughter of a man like that?"</p>
<p>"She was a superb woman, that's what,"
rejoined the spirit with enthusiasm, "and when
I think of the happiness that the Nile-green
shade first placed within my reach and then
snatched from me, I regret that the soul is immortal,
and that I am not all-powerful, for it
would please me to grind his soul into absolute
nothingness.</p>
<p>"It was at least a year and two months
subsequent to my first meeting with him," continued
the spirit as soon as his overwrought
feelings would permit, "that he first broached
the subject of matrimony. He had attended a
grand ball at the house of the Earl of Piccadilly
and was the lion of the occasion owing to his
stand in certain recent Parliamentary crises.
His readiness in debate had gained him a high<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></SPAN></span>
position, and his natural grace of manner—that
is, <i>my</i> natural grace of manner—had helped him
to a hold on the affections of those with whom
he was associated, for, as he grew more accustomed
to my figure and got his angles comfortably
rounded off to fit my curves, he managed
to subdue that horrible aspect he had assumed
with such fearful effect in the trial of Baskins <i>v.</i>
Baskins, and when geniality was the attribute
most likely to help him on he was geniality
personified. The ball was ostensibly one of the
Earl of Piccadilly's usual series of annual functions,
but in reality it was given for the purpose
of introducing me into society. From all
accounts, it was a grand affair, and I seemed
to have made as fine an impression as a social
debutant as I had in the law courts, in the field
of literature, and in the House of Commons.
If the fiend spoke truly that night, when he
returned and handed my fatigued body over to
me for a rest, I made a marked success; all the
ladies were raving about me; I was a divine
dancer, though before that night my feet had
never tripped to the strains of a waltz, polka,
or any other terpsichorean exercise. I pleased
the dowagers as well as the maids, and had, in
short, become an eligible—that is I had become
as desirable a matrimonial <i>parti</i> as an untitled
person could hope to be, and the fiend remarked<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></SPAN></span>
with a sly wink that it was not beyond the
range of possibilities that the Premier would
bestow upon me one of the peerages at his disposal
when the proper time came.</p>
<p>"'Bachelorhood is pardonable in a young
man,' said my evil genius upon this occasion,
'but we must marry if we are to reach the
pinnacle of success. There is a solidity about
the married man's estate that bachelorhood
lacks, and I rather think I can make a match
that will push us ahead.'</p>
<p>"'I don't think I need your assistance,' I
replied. 'In fact I prefer that some of the
things which pertain to myself shall be left
entirely in my own hands. In matters of the
affections I can take care of myself.'</p>
<p>"'Very well,' was the fiend's response.
'Have your own way about it, only take my
advice and get married. We need a wife.'</p>
<p>"'We?' I cried. 'We! I just want you
to understand, my dear sir, that the pronoun
doesn't fit the case. <i>I</i> may need a wife and <i>you</i>
may need a wife, but if you think I'm going into
any co-operative scheme with you in that matter
you are less omniscient than usual. Remember
that please and let us have nothing more to say
on the subject.'"</p>
<p>"That was a very proper stand for you to
take," said Hopkins, gravely. "Though I think<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></SPAN></span>
that, under the circumstances, you should have
given up all ideas of marriage. No woman
would have you, knowing that you were not
yourself at times; and then having as little control
over your other self as you seem to have
had, you would often have found yourself
in hot water for flirting with other women,
when, in reality, your own self was as innocent
as a mountain daisy."</p>
<p>"I know I did wrong in thinking of marriage,
Hopkins," returned the spirit, "but if you had
ever met the woman I loved, you would have
loved her too—yes, even if you were a confirmed
celibate. I don't believe a Cardinal, sir, would
have hesitated between his hat and her. My
sole justification was her loveliness, and then
the fiend's ready acquiescence in my statement
that in that matter he must hold aloof gave me
confidence that I might safely take the step I
had so long and so ardently desired to take.</p>
<p>"Weeks passed by, and in everything save
the courtship of Miss Hicksworthy-Johnstone
I gave myself unreservedly over to the fiend,
who began suddenly to take an interest in my
personal appearance which he had never before
manifested. He laid in a fine supply of
clothes—dress suits, walking suits, lounging
suits—suits in fact of every description and of
the finest texture. Shirts and collars, and ties<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></SPAN></span>
of the choicest sort were imported by him from
Paris, and on my hands I now observed he was
beginning to wear kid gloves of fashionable
type. His hats and shoes were distinctly in
the mode, and his jewelry, as far as it went,
was of unexceptionable taste and quiet elegance.
In fact, Toppleton, I began to be
something of a dandy. This I attributed to
the natural vanity of my other self. I, too, was
proud of that graceful form, but I never
thought enough about it to go about arraying
it in a fashion which neither Solomon nor the
lily of the field could ever have approached. I
cared nothing for gloves save as a means to a
warm finger's end, and it made no difference to
me whether my hat was of the style of '48, or
plucked fresh from the French Emperor's own
block. As long as my head was covered I was
satisfied. Patent leather shoes I could never
bring myself to buy, because they had always
seemed to me to go hand in hand either with
poverty or laziness. To a man who cannot
afford shoe blacking or who is too lazy to
black his own boots, patent leathers, I thought,
were a boon; but I never classed myself under
either head, and wore the regular foot gear of
the plain but honest son of toil.</p>
<p>"But now all was changed. My other self
was vain, and unexpectedly gave himself over<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></SPAN></span>
to dandyism. At first he rather disturbed
my equanimity by wearing somewhat loud
patterns, but he soon got over that, and between
us, after a very little while, two or three
months perhaps, my body had the best clothes
there were to be had in all London. I had not
realized all this time that I was fast becoming a
millionaire, and when my tailor's bill for fifteen
hundred pounds came home one night I was in
a great stew, but the fiend came in and relieved
my conscience very much by showing me my
balance in the bank. It amounted, Toppleton,
to one hundred and seventy-five thousand
pounds, with an income still running evenly
along from my law practice of ten thousand
pounds per annum, not to mention the
revenues from my books, which in six months
had amounted to two thousand pounds. I was
a rich man, and when I observed that this was
my condition, I made up my mind to ask Miss
Hicksworthy-Johnstone's hand in marriage the
very next time I saw her. I hoped this would
be soon, but, alas for human expectations, it
was not. The Christmas holidays were about
to begin, and I bethought me that at the
season of goodwill toward men I might ask
the possessor of my heart to accept it as a
permanent gift, a decision which I unfortunately
kept to myself, for from one end of the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></SPAN></span>
holidays to the other I never laid eyes upon my
mortal habitation. The fiend was off with it
for one whole month, Hopkins."</p>
<p>"Didn't you know where?" asked Toppleton.</p>
<p>"I did not," returned the spirit. "He
went off with it as usual one night late in
November to attend a meeting of the leaders
of our party, telling me not to worry if he did
not return for twenty-four hours, since there
was important business on hand. What the
business was he did not inform me, nor did I
seek to know it, since under our arrangement
it was not necessary that I should familiarize
myself with parliamentary matters, which were
usually as dry as they were weighty anyhow,
and hence distasteful to me.</p>
<p>"Well, I waited twenty-four hours and no
fiend appeared. Another day passed with no
sign of him. A third day moved into the
calendar of the past; a week elapsed, then a
second, a third, a fourth, and finally a month
had gone. I was growing sick with apprehension.
What if something dreadful had
happened and my lovely, only body was lying
dead somewhere, too shattered for the fiend to
remain longer within it, and gone for ever from
me? What if the present occupant of my
corse had again yielded to the seductive<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></SPAN></span>
influence of the cup, and was off somewhere
upon a prolonged spree? I floated uneasily in
and about my quarters here, sleepless, worried to
distraction. I searched my papers, as best I
could without hands, to see if there was not
some clue as to my whereabouts among them,
and found none. I went through the contents
of the waste basket even, and found nothing to
relieve my dreadful anxiety, and then I went
to the wardrobe to search the pockets of
my clothes for possible evidence to calm my
agitated soul.</p>
<p>"Toppleton, there was not one vestige of a
garment in that clothes press from top to bottom.
Not a shoe, not a coat, absolutely nothing.
It was bare even as Mother Hubbard's cupboard
was bare. This was an additional
shock, and I became giddy with fear. I floated
madly across to the bureau and peered into the
drawers thereof. Beyond the ties I had
formerly worn and the collars, frayed at the
edges, of my negligée days, nothing remained,
and then for the first time I noticed that my
trunk was gone from the room.</p>
<p>"'What can it mean?' I asked myself,
though I might as well have spared the question,
for it was one I could not answer. Days
came and went, leaving me still pondering.
Christmas Eve came and found me here moping<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></SPAN></span>
in a cheerless apartment, friendless, forlorn,
clothesless and bodiless—a fine way to pass
what should have been the happiest night of
the year."</p>
<p>"Elegant!" said Toppleton. "It might
have been worse though. If you had had your
body and still been clothesless you would have
found it rather cold, I fancy."</p>
<p>"I had almost given up all hope of ever
seeing myself again," continued the exile,
ignoring Hopkins' interruption, "when on the
evening of January second I heard a step
coming along the hall which I at once recognized
as my own, my latch-key was inserted in
the lock and the door was opened, and at last I
stood before myself again, the picture of health
and happiness.</p>
<p>"'Are you there?' my lips said with a broad
smile, as my body entered the room.</p>
<p>"'I am,' I replied shortly; 'and I've been
here, Heaven knows how long, worried sick to
know what had become of you. I don't think
you are the most considerate fiend in the world
to take me off for weeks without letting me
know anything of my whereabouts.'</p>
<p>"'I am very sorry,' said the fiend, throwing
himself down on the lounge. 'I meant to have
told you, but you were not here when I returned.
Lord Smitherton invited me out to his house<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></SPAN></span>
at Snorley Farms for the Christmas holidays
along with the Earl of Pupley, General Carlingberry-Jimpson,
and a half-dozen members of
the Birmingham Society of Fine Arts. It was
an invitation I could not well refuse, and,
besides, our carcass here was beginning to feel
the need of an outing, so I accepted. I came
back here to tell you about it, but you must
have been floating about somewhere else. At
all events, you are much better for the outing,
and your purely mortal self has had a good
time. And, by the way, I want to warn you
about one point. When you are the occupant
of this corse, I think you would better not walk
down Rotten Row, or go anywhere in fact
where I am accustomed to going, because you
don't know my friends any more than I know
yours, and that is apt to lead to misunderstanding.
Lady Romaine Cushing, who was
visiting Lady Smitherton, told me that I had
cut her dead in the Row one afternoon, although
she had stopped her carriage particularly to
speak to me. It was you who cut her, but, of
course, you were not to blame, because you
never saw Lady Romaine Cushing; but it is
hard to explain away little matters of that sort,
and I had the deuce of a time getting her to
believe that her eye must have deceived her.
We can't afford to offend our friends of the fair<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></SPAN></span>
sex, you know; they can make or mar a man
these days.'</p>
<p>"'And I am to be kept away from the haunts
of polite society,' I said, with some natural indignation,
'just because it embarrasses <i>you</i> to
explain why I don't bow to people I don't
know.'</p>
<p>"'But it's all for your good,' he replied.
'You seem to forget that I am actuated entirely
by the best of motives.'</p>
<p>"'No doubt,' I said, 'but I think it's rather
hard on me to be excluded from the most
attractive quarter of London.'</p>
<p>"'You are not excluded. You can walk
there if you choose at night or very early in the
morning, or when Society is out of town, or,
better still, you can float there in your invisible
state at anytime. In fact,' added the fiend, 'it
would be very enjoyable for you, I should think,
to do that last. You can poise yourself over a
tree for instance, and watch yourself hobnobbing
with the illustrious. You can sit in your invisibility
in any one of the carriages that roll
to and fro, and, as long as you do not obtrude
yourself on the occupants, there is not an
equipage in London, high or low, in which you
cannot ride. You are better off than I am in
that respect. While I have no particular shape
I am visible like a bit of sea-fog, but you being<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></SPAN></span>
invisible can go anywhere without making
trouble. The theatres are open to you free of
charge. The best seats are at your disposal.
If you choose to do it you could even sit on the
throne of England, and nobody would be the
wiser.'</p>
<p>"'That's all very well,' I said; 'but I don't
care to travel about in that impersonal fashion.
I prefer the incarnate manner of doing things,
and if you will kindly permit me to assume
bodily form once more, I'll be very much
obliged.'</p>
<p>"'Certainly!' he replied, and with that we
changed places.</p>
<p>"The sensation of getting back to my accustomed
figure once more was delightful, and there
was no denying the fact that I was better off
for the outing I had so unceremoniously taken.
My step was elastic, my head felt clear as a
bell, and, altogether, I had never before enjoyed
the consciousness of so great a physical strength
as now was mine.</p>
<p>"This feeling gave me courage to do many
things which I had hitherto put off, and among
them was the making of a proposal of marriage
to the admired Miss Hicksworthy-Johnstone.
It was seven o'clock when the fiend had left me
to the personal enjoyment of my complete self,
and at eight o'clock I was in a hansom cab<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></SPAN></span>
speeding out to the dwelling-place of the woman
I loved. At eight thirty I was on my knees
before her, and by eleven o'clock I was her
accepted suitor. Such happiness as was mine,
Hopkins, no man ever knew. The only
trouble known to my soul at the moment
was the consciousness that Arabella, as I was
now permitted to call Miss Hicksworthy-Johnstone,
was in the dark as to the methods by
which my greatness had been achieved. I
could not confess my dreadful secret to her, for
that would have put an end entirely to our relations,
and I loved her so that I could not bring
myself to give her up. She asked me numberless
questions of a most embarrassing sort, as
if she suspected there was something wrong,
but I managed in some way, I know not how, to
give a plausible answer to every one of them."</p>
<p>"Possibly the fiend left a little of his brain
in your head when he got out," suggested
Toppleton.</p>
<p>"Perhaps so," returned the exile. "However
it was, I managed to make out a satisfactory
case for myself, and at the close of a cross-examination
such as no man ever went through
before, lasting two and a half hours, Arabella
threw herself into my arms and called me by
my first name. She was mine, and all the
world seemed bright.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"I walked home," continued the spirit,
"and in a condition of ecstasy that almost
compensates for all I have suffered since. My
feet seemed hardly to touch the ground, and I
whistled from the time I left Arabella until I
entered my room here,—a reprehensible habit,
perhaps, but one which had always been my
method of expressing satisfaction with the
world. As I entered this room I was brought
down from my ecstatic heights to an appreciation
of my actual state, for the first thing to
greet my eyes was the fiend, greener than ever,
sitting by the fire ruminating apparently, for it
was at least five minutes before he took note
of my presence, although I addressed him
politely as soon as I saw him.</p>
<p>"'Hallo,' he said finally. 'Where have
you been?'</p>
<p>"The question was as unexpected as it was
natural, and I was unprepared for it, so I made
no reply, covering my silence by taking off my
shoes and preparing for bed.</p>
<p>"'Where have you been?' he asked again,
this time in a tone so peremptory that I
decided in an instant not to tell him.</p>
<p>"'Out,' I answered. 'Where have you?'</p>
<p>"At this he laughed.</p>
<p>"'Don't be impudent,' he said. 'I do not
wish to pry into your affairs. I only wanted to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></SPAN></span>
know where you had been because I am
interested in you, and I want to help you to
avoid pitfalls.'</p>
<p>"'That's all right,' I responded graciously.
'I appreciate your kindness, but you need not
be interested in where I have been to-night,
because I have been engaged in a little matter
that concerns you not at all.'</p>
<p>"'Very well,' he replied, turning once more
to the fire. 'I'll take your word for it; only
you and I must be perfectly candid with each
other, or complications may arise, that's all.
By the way, I'll have to borrow you again to-morrow
morning. There are a half-dozen
members of Parliament coming here to discuss
certain matters of state, and you would be
somewhat embarrassed if you undertook to
meet them.'</p>
<p>"'That suits me,' I said, happy enough to
acquiesce in anything. 'Only I'll want to get
back here to-morrow evening. I have an
engagement.'</p>
<p>"The fiend eyed me narrowly for a moment,
and I winced beneath his gaze.</p>
<p>"'All right,' he said, 'you can get back, but
this Parliamentary business is very important,
and I <i>must</i> have the semblance of a mortal
being every morning this week.'</p>
<p>"'That can be arranged,' I replied. Arabella<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></SPAN></span>
could have my evenings, and he could
have my mornings. That was fair enough, I
thought, and so it happened. Every night for
a week I spent in the company of my <i>fiancée</i>,—whose
name, by the way, I never mentioned in
the fiend's presence—and every morning for
the same period he was in charge, conducting
negotiations which only served to make me
more famous.</p>
<p>"Finally the dreadful morning came. It
was Saturday, and the fiend and I were sitting
together in my quarters. We had just
changed places. I was in my present disembodied
state, and the fiend had taken possession
for the day, when there was heard in the
corridor a quick nervous step which stopped as
he who directed it came to my door, and a
voice, which to my consternation I recognized
at once as that of Arabella's father following
close upon a resounding knock, cried out,—</p>
<p>"'This is the place. This is the kennel in
which the hound lives. Open the door!'</p>
<p>"There was not time for the fiend and me to
change places. Indeed, I had hardly recognized
the old gentleman's voice, when the fiend
in answer to his demand opened the door.</p>
<p>"A madder man than my prospective
father-in-law appeared to be I never saw,
Hopkins," said the spirit, his voice trembling<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></SPAN></span>
with emotion. "He was livid, and when the
door opened, and he saw the man he supposed
to be me standing before him showing absolutely
no signs of recognition, he fairly foamed
at the mouth.</p>
<p>"'How do you do, sir?' said the fiend, polite
as Chesterfield.</p>
<p>"'Don't speak to me, you puppy,' roared the
old gentleman. 'Don't you dare to address
me until I address you.'</p>
<p>"'This is most extraordinary,' said the fiend,
seemingly nonplussed at Mr. Hicksworthy-Johnstone's
inexplicable wrath; for he could
understand it no better than I, and to me it
was absolutely incomprehensible, for I was not
aware of anything that I had done that could
possibly give rise to so violent an ebullition of
rage. 'I am at a loss, sir, to understand why
you enter the office of a gentleman in a fashion
so unbecoming to one of your years; you must
have made some mistake.'</p>
<p>"'Mistake!' shrieked Arabella's father.
'Mistake, you snivelling hypocrite? What
mistake can there be? Do you see that note
in this week's <i>Vanity Fair</i>, you vile deceiver?
Do you see me? Do you see anything?'</p>
<p>"'I see you,' replied the fiend calmly, 'and
I wish I didn't.'</p>
<p>"'I'll go bond you wish you didn't,' howled<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></SPAN></span>
the enraged visitor. 'And when I get through
with you you'll wish I hadn't brought this oak
stick along with me. Now I want to know
what explanation you have to make of that
paragraph in the paper.'</p>
<p>"'I cannot explain what I have not read,'
returned the fiend. 'Nor shall I attempt to
read what you wish to have explained until I
know who you are, and what possible right you
can have to demand an explanation of anything
from me. What are you, anyhow, a retired
maniac or simply an active imbecile?'</p>
<p>"As the fiend spoke these words," said the
spirit, "I tried to arrest him; but he was so
angry that he either could not or would not
hear my whispered injunction that he be silent.
As for the old gentleman, he sat gasping in his
chair, glaring at my poor self, a perfect picture
of apoplectic delirium. The fiend returned the
glare unflinchingly.</p>
<p>"'Well!' gasped Mr. Hicksworthy-Johnstone
after a minute's steady glance, 'if you
aren't the coolest hand in Christendom. Who
am I, eh? What am I here for, eh? What's
my name, eh? What claim have I on you,
eh? Young man, you are the most consummate
Lothario on the footstool. You are a Don
Juan with the hide of a rhinoceros and the
calmness of a snow-clad Alp, but I can just<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></SPAN></span>
tell you one thing. You can't trifle with
Arabella!'</p>
<p>"And then, Hopkins, that infernal fiend
looked my father-in law elect square in the eye
and asked,—</p>
<p>"'Who the devil is Arabella?'</p>
<p>"As the words fell from my lips, the old
gentleman with an oath started from his chair,
and grasping the inkstand from the table, hurled
it with all his force at my waistcoat, which
received it with breathless surprise; and then,
Toppleton, it breaks my heart to say it, but my
foot—the foot of him who loved Arabella to
distraction,—was lifted against her father, and
the man to whom he had promised his daughter's
hand, appeared to kick him forcibly, despite his
grey hairs, out into and along the corridor to
the head of the stairs. Then, as I watched,
the two men grappled and went crashing down
the stairs, head over heels together.</p>
<p>"Sick with fear and mortification, I flew
back into the room, where, lying upon the floor,
I saw the copy of <i>Vanity Fair</i> that Mr. Hicksworthy-Johnstone
had brought, and marked
with blue pencil upon the page before me was
printed the announcement of the engagement
of myself to Ariadne Maude, second daughter
of John Edward Fackleton, Earl of Pupley, of
Castle Marrowfat, Sauceton Downs, Worcestershire."</p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />