"Ah!" he sighed, as he looked wearily out of the window. "We shall have a white Christmas after all, but," he added, gazing about him, "how the dickens did I ever come to be here, I wonder? In Barncastle's own room--oh, yes, I remember. I fell asleep here last night and I suppose he has--Hello!--Who's that?" The last words were addressed to whomsoever it was that entered the room at the moment, for the door had opened and closed softly. "It is I," came a soft, sweet voice, and before Hopkins had time to place it, Lady Alice entered the room. "Good morning!" said Toppleton, slightly embarrassed at the unexpected appearance of his hostess. "Good morning!" she replied, coming to his side and stroking his forehead lightly. "And I can say with all my heart, after these awful days of suspense, that it is a good morning. You have been very ill." "Oh, it was nothing," said Hopkins, endeavouring to conceal his surprise at the way things were going. "Only a little headache and rackety feeling generally. It will pass off. Barncastle was very good to let me have his quarters." Lady Alice's face took on a troubled look. "How beautiful it is out," said Toppleton, turning his eyes toward the snow-clad landscape again. "I was just thinking that we should have a white Christmas after all." "Why, my dear, Christmas is over by two weeks. You have been ill here for three weeks yesterday." "What?" cried Toppleton. "I?" "Why, certainly," said Lady Alice. "Of course, you didn't know it, but it 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 I had lost my mind, was in danger of a living death; that--" "Don't get so excited," returned Lady Alice, softly, still retaining the look of anxiety on her face. "Here, read this. It is a letter from your Rocky Mountain friend, I think, and I fancy it will amuse you. It has only just come." "My Rocky Mountain friend!" ejaculated Hopkins under his breath. "What devilish 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 if you will do so. Thank you," he added, staring wildly at the foot of the bed as the young woman opened and handed him the letter. "While you are reading it," said she, "I'll run downstairs a moment, and tell Parker to prepare you a little breakfast." "You are very kind," said Toppleton, faintly; and then as Lady Alice went softly from the room he began to read the letter. "'17, The Temple, London, January 2nd. My dear Barncastle--' Why, she must have made a mistake," 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 was as follows:--