the matter?"

I decided, without hesitation, to take the responsibility on myself.
Where the question of guiding Eustace's decision was concerned, I
considered my influence to be decidedly superior to the influence of Mr.
Playmore. My choice met with Benjamin's full approval. He arranged to
write to Edinburgh, and relieve the lawyer's anxieties by that day's
post.

The one last thing now left to be settled related to our plans for
returning to England. The doctors were the authorities on this subject.
I promised to consult them about it at their next visit to Eustace.

"Have you anything more to say to me?" Benjamin inquired, as he opened
his writing-case.

I thought of Miserrimus Dexter and Ariel; and I inquired if he had heard
any news of them lately. My old friend sighed, and warned me that I had
touched on a painful subject.

"The best thing that can happen to that unhappy man is likely to
happen," he said. "The one change in him is a change that threatens
paralysis. You may hear of his death before you get back to England."

"And Ariel?" I asked.

"Quite unaltered," Benjamin answered. "Perfectly happy so long as she
is with 'the Master.' From all I can hear of her, poor soul, she doesn't
reckon Dexter among moral beings. She laughs at the idea of his dying;
and she waits patiently, in the firm persuasion that he will recognize
her again."

Benjamin's news saddened and silenced me. I left him to his letter.

CHAPTER L.

THE LAST OF THE STORY.

In ten days more we returned to England, accompanied by Benjamin.

Mrs. Macallan's house in London offered us ample accommodation. We
gladly availed ourselves of her proposal, when she invited us to stay
with her until our child was born, and our plans for the future were
arranged.

The sad news from the asylum (for which Benjamin had prepared my mind at
Paris) reached me soon after our return to England. Miserrimus Dexter's
release from the burden of life had come to him by slow degrees. A few
hours before he breathed his last he rallied for a while, and recognized
Ariel at his bedside. He feebly pronounced her name, and looked at her,
and asked for me. They thought of sending for me, but it was too late.
Before the messenger could be dispatched, he said, with a touch of his
old self-importance, "Silence, all of you! my brains are weary; I am
going to sleep." He closed his eyes in slumber, and never awoke again.
So for this man too the end came mercifully