“Touch me, if I groan,” said he to the astonished John.  “Keep awake yourself, and hold your tongue.  If you go to sleep or leave me, I’ll murder you.”

Then wrapping himself in his dressing-gown, he settled down in his easy-chair for the night.

The night passed, as all nights will, and in the morning Mr. Bullion was calmer.  The first intelligence he received after breakfast was in a message from Tonsor, delivered by a servant.

“Plaze, Sur, Mr. Tonsor’s compliments, and he says the banks is suspinded and money’s to be asier.”

“Send after Mr. Tonsor; overtake him, and ask him to come back.  I want to see him.”

Tonsor returned, and they had a long conference.  It now seemed probable that stocks would be more buoyant and the “bulls” would have their turn.  Any considerable rise in shares would place Bullion on his feet and enable him to resume payment.  Most of his time-contracts had been met, and the change would be of the greatest service to him.  He placed his shares, therefore, in Tonsor’s hands with instructions to sell when prices advanced.  He then looked over the amount of his liabilities, and saw, with some of his old exultation, that, if he could effect sales at the rates he expected, he should have at least two hundred thousand dollars after paying all his debts.  Ambition again whispered to him, that he might now take his old place in the business world, and perhaps might more than retrieve his losses.  But he thought of the last night, and shrank from encountering a new brood of horrors.  Firm in his new purpose, he dismissed the broker and sent for his counsellor.

“My son,” he meditated, “is a lawyer in good practice.  He needs no fortune.  Twenty thousand will be enough for him; more than I had, which wasn’t a penny.  My daughter is married rich.  Didn’t mean to have any pauper son-in-law to be plaguing me.  The same for her.  The rest will square those old accounts,—­and the new one, too, on the book up yonder!  Best to fix it now, while I can muster the courage.  If I once get the money, I’m afraid I shouldn’t do it.  So my will shall set all these matters right; and it shall be drawn and signed to-day.”

That night Mr. Bullion needed no servant to watch with him.  The ghosts were laid.

[To be concluded in the next number.]

* * * * *

INSCRIPTION

FOR AN ALMS-CHEST MADE OF CAMPHOR-WOOD.

  This fragrant box that breathes of India’s balms
  Hath one more fragrance, for it asketh alms;
  But, though ’tis sweet and blessed to receive,
  You know who said, “It is more blest to give”: 
  Give, then, receive His blessing,—­and for me
  Thy silent boon sufficient blessing be! 
  If Ceylon’s isle, that bears the bleeding trees,
  With any perfume load the Orient breeze,—­
  If Heber’s Muse, by Ceylon as he sailed,
  A pleasant odor from the shore inhaled,—­
  More lives in me; for underneath my lid
  A sweetness as of sacrifice is hid.