"I will trust you," he said rapidly. "You are weak, but honest. Save my life and I will pay you well." "I will do what I can," replied Nestley simply. The squire, with an effort, sat up in bed, and waved his hand imperatively. "Turn them all out," he said sharply, pointing to the women. "I must tell you what I wo'nt tell them. A physician is more of a confessor than a priest. Go away and leave me with my confessor." Nestley was about to remonstrate, but Una placed her finger on her lips, and all three women noiselessly withdrew, bearing their candles. When the door closed after them the immense room was quite in darkness, save for the feeble glimmer of the taper by the bed, which shed its light on the pallid countenance of the old man now lying back exhausted on his pillows. It was certainly a very strange situation, and Nestley, modern physician though he was, felt little thrills of superstitious awe running through him. He was about to speak when the squire, turning on his side, looked at him earnestly and commenced to talk. "I do not want you to diagnose my case," he said, in a low, feverish voice. "I can tell you all about it. Your task is to supply remedies. I am an old man, seventy-five years of age. It's a long life, but not long enough for what I want. The sword has worn out the scabbard--my soul is encased in a worn-out body and I want you to sustain the vital forces of the body. I can look after the soul; you mind the body." "I understand perfectly," observed Nestley, feeling his pulse. "Nerve exhaustion." "Aha! yes, that is it. I have been working too hard and overtaxed my nerves. You must restore them to their normal state. Tonics, electricity, rest--what you will, but give me back my vital powers in their pristine vigour." "It is impossible to do that," said Nestley, quickly, "you are not young, remember, but I will give you some medicine that will replace the wasted tissues and afford you relief, if not health; but you will never be strong again." "Not in this body," exclaimed Garsworth, raising himself on his elbow, "no, but in my next incarnation I shall be--ah, you look surprised, but you, no doubt, have heard of the mad squire. Mad! Poor fools, my madness is their sanity. I shall be young and vigorous in my next body, and I shall be rich. All this life I have been working for the next, but I have not gained enough money. No, not half enough. Make me well again, that I can complete my work, then I will gladly leave this worn-out body for a new one. I will pay you--oh yes--I will pay you."