ery quickly. But he could bear him, or anything, now. It
was such ineffable relief to find himself looking out upon the world
of mortals instead of into the black phantasmal abysses of his own
complicated frightful structure. "My mind doesn't so much seem to haunt
itself, now," said Hippias, nodding shortly and peering out of intense
puckers to convey a glimpse of what hellish sufferings his had been: "I
feel as if I had come aboveground."

A poor Dyspepsy may talk as he will, but he is the one who never
gets sympathy, or experiences compassion: and it is he whose groaning
petitions for charity do at last rout that Christian virtue. Lady
Blandish, a charitable soul, could not listen to Hippias, though she
had a heart for little mice and flies, and Sir Austin had also small
patience with his brother's gleam of health, which was just enough to
make his disease visible. He remembered his early follies and excesses,
and bent his ear to him as one man does to another who complains of
having to pay a debt legally incurred.

"I think," said Adrian, seeing how the communications of Hippias were
received, "that when our Nemesis takes lodgings in the stomach, it's
best to act the Spartan, smile hard, and be silent."

Richard alone was decently kind to Hippias; whether from opposition, or
real affection, could not be said, as the young man was mysterious. He
advised his uncle to take exercise, walked with him, cultivated cheerful
impressions in him, and pointed out innocent pursuits. He made Hippias
visit with him some of the poor old folk of the village, who bewailed
the loss of his cousin Austin Wentworth, and did his best to waken him
up, and give the outer world a stronger hold on him. He succeeded in
nothing but in winning his uncle's gratitude. The season bloomed scarce
longer than a week for Hippias, and then began to languish. The poor
Dyspepsy's eager grasp at beatification relaxed: he went underground
again. He announced that he felt "spongy things"--one of the more
constant throes of his malady. His bitter face recurred: he chewed the
cud of horrid hallucinations. He told Richard he must give up
going about with him: people telling of their ailments made him so
uncomfortable--the birds were so noisy, pairing--the rude bare soil
sickened him.

Richard treated him with a gravity equal to his father's. He asked what
the doctors said.

"Oh! the doctors!" cried Hippias with vehement scepticism. "No man of
sense believe