"No," he said, savagely, "and whose face do you think the jailor's was
in my dream?" "I have no idea," I replied. "Why, _yours_, doctor!" said the young man, suddenly starting up with
extreme energy, and darting a look of ferocity towards me. "Yes, doctor, you are my jailor; it is you who have closed my spirit up
in its prison-house of flesh, so that it can no longer soar together in
the company of the higher intelligences. It is you who have driven me
back again to earth and made me an equal of such minds as your own. _You_ have robbed me of the only woman I ever loved in my life,
_you_----"

"Stay, young man, one moment," I said, "and calm yourself. Is this your
gratitude for the relic I brought you yesterday? If I, as you say, have
robbed you of one of your lives, don't I offer you another which to a
young man of your age and position is a state of existence that I can't
say how many would _envy_, and which, after all, is doing nothing more
than my duty as a medical man. Then, as to robbing you of the lady you
love, haven't I the power of making you acquainted with her some day in
the flesh, if all goes well, and I succeeded in curing you both?" "If such a meeting should take place, do you think," he said, "that we
should experience in the same intense degree those chaste joys of love,
as if we were in the spirit, when our souls, unfettered from any
particle of clay, are raised to that sublime pitch that we are enabled
to understand the profound and lofty discourse of angels and become
ourselves for the time a part of the heavenly bodies?" "My dear young man," I observed, "life is short. If the paradise you are
in the habit of entering in your dreams be indeed that place where all
good souls hope to go after death, you have but to wait for a few
years----"

"Wait a few years!" he exclaimed, impatiently, "when every minute spent
away from _her_ appears a century! It's very plain _you_ are not in
love." "In the meantime," I said, "content yourself with a life of flesh like
any other rational mortal." He began to reflect upon my words, so I thought I would improve the
opportunity, and, if possible, try and make him turn human, so I
observed,

"I shall not be here to-morrow; I am going to visit Miss Edith. Shall I
take her any message?" "Oh, yes, doctor, certainly, by all means; that is, I'll write. Give me
some paper, pen and ink." Having handed him these materials, he sat up in bed and penned an
epistle to his lady-love in the flesh, which he sealed and handed to me. I assured him of its safety in my hands, and took my leave of him for
some days, hoping to find him more reconciled to humanity on my return. Having given the parents of Charles further instructions with regard to
their son, I took my departure, and shortly afterwards taking the stage,
was _en route_ for my friend's country seat, where I arrived early the
next morning. "And how is our patient?" I asked, as I shook hands with my friend at
the threshold. "I fancy she sleeps sounder, doctor," he replied. "We are not so often
disturbed by her talking in her sleep." "Good," said I; "her nerves will be getting a little stronger. Can I see
her?" "Oh, yes; walk straight to her room." As I entered, my patient was sitting up in bed, reading. "Ah!" said I, after the customary salutations, "we are better this
morning, eh?" "Oh, doctor, is that you? I am glad you have come." "What book is that?" I asked, at the same time looking at the title. "Ah! Shakespeare. That is Charles' favourite author." "I know it, doctor. Oh, how often have we read it together; but now,
alas!" "Why alas?" asked I. "Ah, doctor," she replied, shaking her head slowly, "I never see him
now. You are curing him, and me, too. Of what value to me is a body in
perfect health, when it imprisons within it a wounded soul?" "Come, let me see if I can't bring some balm to the wounded soul," I
said, producing from my pocket Charles' letter. "From him?" she exclaimed. "Oh, doctor, I shall be for ever grateful to
you. I dreamt I received a letter from him last night. How is
he--better? Stay, let me read." She tore open the letter and read in an undertone, just loud enough for
me to hear:

"Angel of my dreams--Charles in the flesh pens thee these poor lines,
greeting. How art thou, now shut from me! The doors of the body have
closed upon my spirit, and I feel that I no more belong to the same
order of beings as a few nights ago. For me now thou may'st wait in vain
in the garden, by the trysting tree, in the wild forest, by the sea
shore, in the desert, by the foaming cataract, on the bleak mountain
top, or by moonlight on the crags of the wild glacier, wherever the
wings of thy spirit may carry thee. I cannot follow thee. I linger in
chains of clay, and languish from day to day in my prison-house of
flesh, whilst thou---- But, stay, perhaps the lot I bear may be thy own;
perhaps the doors of the flesh may have closed upon _thy_ spirit also. Oh, if it be that our souls are for ever banished from that Paradise
which they have so often revelled in together! What have we further to
look forward to but those earthly joys known to the most grovelling
mortal? This is a melancholy prospect, my Edith, for us who remember
(however, indistinctly--from the growth of that clay--over _thy_ spirit
perchance, as well as my own) those divine joys we experienced together
when our spirits walked untrammelled from our bonds of clay and our
souls melted into the harmony of those spheres which are their proper
element. How the weight of this mortal coil oppresses me as I write! I
can think of nothing that is untainted with the gross material nature
that surrounds me. My dreams of late confirm my horrible suspicions. When, the other night, I sought thee at the garden gate, where enter
only spirits untrammelled by the flesh, didst thou hear that voice that
turned me away, and bid me return to earth? Oh! Edith, let us both make
another effort before it is too late. Perhaps even now----"

Here the patient dropped her voice, and her eye scanned the paper in
silence, from which I inferred that there was something about myself in
it that she did not wish me to know; but I had heard enough. Charles
wanted to persuade his lady-love to battle against all my efforts to
bring her round to a proper state of health, and intended doing the same
himself. Here was a regular conspiracy--two patients already all but on
the point of death, had leagued together to starve themselves outright,
and so baffle all the doctor's efforts to save them. Oh, it was
downright suicide. I did not know exactly what to do.