"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, "_Né_ 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 was almost too much for him, but the indignation that surged up in his breast gave him strength to withstand the shock; and then, singular to relate, he laughed. "To think that I should be born a Yankee and at my time of life become a peer surrounded by everything that wealth can procure, and loaded down with 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 back in my own coin." Here Hopkins laughed till the room echoed with his mirth, and as his laugh 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 three weeks, 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 like to see my face in the mirror." The glass was brought and Hopkins looked into it. The face of Barncastle in 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 your illness 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. "I have worked too hard. I shall now retire from public life and devote my remaining 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," said Toppleton, falling back to his pillow once more, and again losing consciousness in sleep.