im as "a fearless knight of righteousness." A few weeks later Mr. Adams
himself came to Stormfield, and, like all open-minded ministers of the
Gospel, he found that he could get on very well indeed with Mark Twain.

In spite of the good-will and the good wishes Clemens's malady did not
improve. As the days grew chillier he found that he must remain closer
indoors. The cold air seemed to bring on the pains, and they were
gradually becoming more severe; then, too, he did not follow the
doctor's orders in the matter of smoking, nor altogether as to exercise.

To Miss Wallace he wrote:

I can't walk, I can't drive, I'm not down-stairs much, and I don't see
company, but I drink barrels of water to keep the pain quiet; I read,
and read, and read, and smoke, and smoke, and smoke all the time (as
formerly), and it's a contented and comfortable life.

But this was not altogether accurate as to details. He did come
down-stairs many times daily, and he persisted in billiards regardless
of the paroxysms. We found, too, that the seizures were induced by
mental agitation. One night he read aloud to Jean and myself the first
chapter of an article, "The Turning-Point in My Life," which he was
preparing for Harper's Bazar. He had begun it with one of his impossible
burlesque fancies, and he felt our attitude of disappointment even
before any word had been said. Suddenly he rose, and laying his hand
on his breast said, "I must lie down," and started toward the stair.
I supported him to his room and hurriedly poured out the hot water. He
drank it and dropped back on the bed.

"Don't speak to me," he said; "don't make me talk."

Jean came in, and we sat there several moments in silence. I think we
both wondered if this might not be the end; but presently he spoke of
his own accord, declaring he was better, and ready for billiards.

We played for at least an hour afterward, and he seemed no worse for
the attack. It is a curious malady--that angina; even the doctors are
acquainted with its manifestations, rather than its cause. Clemens's
general habits of body and mind were probably not such as to delay its
progress; furthermore, there had befallen him that year one of those
misfortunes which his confiding nature peculiarly invited--a betrayal
of trust by those in whom it had been boundlessly placed--and it seems
likely that the resulting humiliation aggravated his complaint. The
writing of a detailed history of this episode afforded h