the doctor, blandly; "and that I am sure my
young friend would not advance it unless he was
firmly persuaded of its reality."

"Much obliged, doctor; and you would not
contradict me so rashly in a matter I know all
about and you know nothing about, if it was not
your fixed habit to found facts on theories instead
of theories on facts."

"There, that is enough," said Mr. Abbott. "I
have brought you both to an issue at last. I shall
send to Barkington, and examine the policemen
and the Dodds."

"Oh, thank you, sir," cried Alfred with
emotion. " If you once apply genuine tests like that
to my case, I shall not be long in prison."

"Prison?" said Wycherley, reproachfully.

"Have you any complaint, then, to make of
your treatment here?" inquired Dr. Eskell.

"No, no, sir," said Alfred warmly. "Dr.
Wycherley is the very soul of humanity. Here
are no tortures, no handcuffs or leg-locks, no
brutality, no insects that murder Sleep—without
offence to Logic. In my last asylum the
attendants inflicted violence, here they are only
allowed to endure it. And, gentlemen, I must
tell you a noble trait in my enemy there. Nothing
can make him angry with madmen; their lies,
their groundless and narrow suspicions of him,
their deplorable ingratitude to him, of which I
see examples every day that rile me on his
account; all these things seem to glide off him,
baffled by the infinite kindness of his heart, and
the incomparable sweetness of his temper; and
he returns the duffers good for evil with scarcely
an effort."

At this unexpected tribute the water stood in
the doctor's eyes. It was no more than the truth;
but this was the first man he had met intelligent
enough to see his good qualities clearly and
express them eloquently.

"In short," continued Alfred, "to be happy in
his house all a man wants is to be insane. But,
as I am not insane, I am miserable: no convict,
no galley slave is so wretched as I am, gentlemen.
And what is my crime?"

"Well, well," said Dr. Eskell kindly, "I
think it likely you will not be very long in
confinement." They then civilly dismissed him;
and on his departure asked Dr. Wycherley his
candid opinion. Dr. Wycherley said he was now
nearly cured; his ability to discuss his delusion
without excitement was of itself a proof of that.
But in another month he would be better still.
The doctor concluded his remarks thus:

"However, gentlemen, you have heard him:
now judge for yourselves whether anybody can
be as clever as he is, without the presence of more
or less abnormal excitement of the organs of
intelligence."

It was a bright day for Alfred: he saw he had
made an excellent impression on the Commissioners,
and, as luck does not always come single,
after many vain attempts to get a letter posted
to Julia, he found this very afternoon a nurse
was going away next day. He offered her a
guinea, and she agreed to post a letter. Oh the
happiness it was to the poor prisoner to write it,
and unburden his heart and tell his wrongs. He
kept his manhood for his enemies; his tears fell
on the paper he sent to his forlorn bride. He
had no misgivings of her truth: he judged her
by himself: gave her credit for anxiety, but not
for doubt. He concluded a long, ardent, tender
letter by begging her to come and see him, and,
if refused admission, to publish his case in the
newspapers, and employ a lawyer to proceed
against all the parties concerned in his detention.
Day after day he waited for an answer to his
letter; none came. Then he began to be sore
perplexed, and torn with agonising doubts.
What if her mind was poisoned too! What if
she thought him mad! What if some misfortune
had befallen her! What if she had believed him
dead, and her heart had broken! Hitherto he
had seen his own trouble chiefly: but now he
began to think day and night on hers; and
though he ground on for his degree not to waste
time, and not to be driven mad, yet it was almost
superhuman labour; sighs issued from his labour
ing breast while his hard, indomitable brain
laboured away, all uphill, at Aristotle's Divisions
and Definitions.

On the seventh day, the earliest the mad
statute allowed, the two Commissioners returned,
and this time Mr. Abbott took the lead, and told
him that the policeman Reynolds had left the
force, and the Dodds had left the town, and were
in London, but their address not known.

At this, Alfred was much agitated. She was
alive, and perhaps near him.

"I have heard a good deal of your story," said
Mr. Abbott, " and coupling it with what we have
seen of you, we think your relatives have treated
you, and a young lady of whom everybody speaks
with respect—"

"God bless you for saying that! God bless
you!"

"—treated you both, I say, with needless
severity."

Dr. Eskell then told him the result of the
Special Commission, now closed. "I believe you
to be cured," said he; "and Mr. Abbott has
some doubts whether you were ever positively
insane. We shall lay your case before the Board
at once, and the Board will write to the party
who signed the order, and propose to him to
discharge you at once."

At this magnificent project Alfred's countenance
fell, and he stared with astonishment.
"What! have you not the power to do me
justice, without soliciting Injustice to help you?"

"The Board has the power," said Dr. Eskell;
"but for many reasons they exercise it with
prudence and reserve. Besides, it is only fair to
those who have signed the order, to give them the
graceful office of liberating the patient: it paves
the way to reconciliation."

Alfred sighed. The Commissioners, to keep up
his heart, promised to send him copies of their
correspondence with the person who had signed