The wild and excited rapidity with which
he spoke, and, above all, the indefinable horror which stamped his
features, afforded a contrast to his ordinary cool and unimpassioned
self-possession, striking and painful in the last degree. "My dear sir," said Doctor Macklin, after a brief pause, "I fear you
have been suffering much, indeed; but I venture to predict that the
depression under which you labour will be found to originate in purely
physical causes, and that with a change of air and the aid of a few
tonics, your spirits will return, and the tone of your mind be once more
cheerful and tranquil as heretofore. There was, after all, more truth
than we are quite willing to admit in the classic theories which
assigned the undue predominance of any one affection of the mind to the
undue action or torpidity of one or other of our bodily organs. Believe
me, that a little attention to diet, exercise, and the other essentials
of health, under competent direction, will make you as much yourself as
you can wish." "Doctor Macklin," said Barton, with something like a shudder, "I
_cannot_ delude myself with such a hope. I have no hope to cling to but
one, and that is, that by some other spiritual agency more potent than
that which tortures me, _it_ may be combated, and I delivered. If this
may not be, I am lost--now and for ever lost." "But, Mr. Barton, you must remember," urged his companion, "that others
have suffered as you have done, and--"

"No, no, no," interrupted he with irritability; "no, sir, I am not a
credulous--far from a superstitious man. I have been, perhaps, too much
the reverse--too sceptical, too slow of belief; but unless I were one
whom no amount of evidence could convince, unless I were to contemn the
repeated, the _perpetual_ evidence of my own senses, I am now--now at
last constrained to believe I have no escape from the conviction, the
overwhelming certainty, that I am haunted and dogged, go where I may,
by--by a Demon." There was an almost preternatural energy of horror in Barton's face, as,
with its damp and death-like lineaments turned towards his companion, he
thus delivered himself. "God help you, my poor friend!" said Doctor Macklin, much shocked. "God
help you; for, indeed, you _are_ a sufferer, however your sufferings may
have been caused." "Ay, ay, God help me," echoed Barton sternly; "but _will_ He help me? will He help me?" "Pray to Him; pray in an humble and trusting spirit," said he. "Pray, pray," echoed he again; "I can't pray; I could as easily move a
mountain by an effort of my will. I have not belief enough to pray;
there is something within me that will not pray. You prescribe
impossibilities--literal impossibilities." "You will not find it so, if you will but try," said Doctor Macklin. "Try! I _have_ tried, and the attempt only fills me with confusion
and terror. I have tried in vain, and more than in vain. The awful,
unutterable idea of eternity and infinity oppresses and maddens my
brain, whenever my mind approaches the contemplation of the Creator;
I recoil from the effort, scared, confounded, terrified. I tell you,
Doctor Macklin, if I am to be saved, it must be by other means. The idea
of the Creator is to me intolerable; my mind cannot support it." "Say, then, my dear sir," urged he, "say how you would have me serve
you. What you would learn of me. What can I do or say to relieve you?" "Listen to me first," replied Captain Barton, with a subdued air, and
an evident effort to suppress his excitement; "listen to me while I
detail the circumstances of the terrible persecution under which my
life has become all but intolerable--a persecution which has made me
fear _death_ and the world beyond the grave as much as I have grown to
hate existence." Barton then proceeded to relate the circumstances which we have already
detailed, and then continued,--

"This has now become habitual--an accustomed thing. I do not mean the
actual seeing him in the flesh; thank God, _that_ at least is not
permitted daily. Thank God, from the unutterable horrors of that
visitation I have been mercifully allowed intervals of repose, though
none of security; but from the consciousness that a malignant spirit is
following and watching me wherever I go, I have never, for a single
instant, a temporary respite: I am pursued with blasphemies, cries of
despair, and appalling hatred; I hear those dreadful sounds called after
me as I turn the corners of streets; they come in the night-time while I
sit in my chamber alone; they haunt me everywhere, charging me with
hideous crimes, and--great God!--threatening me with coming vengeance
and eternal misery! Hush! do you hear _that_?" he cried, with a horrible
smile of triumph. "There--there, will that convince you?" The clergyman felt the chillness of horror irresistibly steal over him,
while, during the wail of a sudden gust of wind, he heard, or fancied he
heard, the half articulate sounds of rage and derision mingling in their
sough. "Well, what do you think of _that_?" at length Barton cried, drawing a
long breath through his teeth. "I heard the wind," said Doctor Macklin; "what should I think of it? What is there remarkable about it?" [Illustration: "THE PRINCE OF THE POWERS OF THE AIR!" MUTTERED BARTON.] "The prince of the powers of the air," muttered Barton, with a shudder. "Tut, tut! my dear sir!" said the student, with an effort to reassure
himself; for though it was broad daylight, there was nevertheless
something disagreeably contagious in the nervous excitement under which
his visitor so obviously suffered. "You must not give way to those wild
fancies: you must resist those impulses of the imagination." "Ay, ay; 'resist the devil, and he will flee from thee,'" said Barton,
in the same tone; "but _how_ resist him? Ay, there it is: there is the
rub. What--_what_ am I to do? What _can_ I do?" "My dear sir, this is fancy," said the man of folios; "you are your own
tormentor." "No, no, sir; fancy has no part in it," answered Barton, somewhat
sternly. "Fancy, forsooth! Was it that made _you_, as well as me, hear,
but this moment, those appalling accents of hell? Fancy, indeed! No,
no." "But you have seen this person frequently," said the ecclesiastic; "why
have you not accosted or secured him? Is it not somewhat precipitate, to
say no more, to assume, as you have done, the existence of preternatural
agency, when, after all, everything may be easily accountable, if only
proper means were taken to sift the matter." "There are circumstances connected with this--this _appearance_," said
Barton, "which it were needless to disclose, but which to _me_ are
proofs of its horrible and unearthly nature. I know that the being who
haunts me is not _man_. I say I _know_ this; I could prove it to your
own conviction." He paused for a minute, and then added, "And as to
accosting it, I dare not--I could not!