Where had he been during those hours of oblivion? He seemed to have
slept, and to have had terrible dreams. Could he have remembered these
dreams, it seemed to him that the whole mystery of his removal to this
desolate spot would be explained. And he knew that it required but an
effort of his will to remember them. But his soul was too weak: he could
not make the effort.

To get upon his feet and walk was impossible. What, then, was left him
but to perish here, alone, uncared for, unconsoled by a word of love
from any human being? Death he would have welcomed as a relief from his
sufferings. Yet when he thought of his home far away, in the peaceful
community of Friends, of his parents and sisters now anxiously expecting
his return,--and again when he remembered the hospitable roof under
which he lay, so tenderly nursed, but a little while ago, and thought of
the blind old clergyman, of Virginia fresh as a rose, of kind-hearted
Carl, and the affectionate old negro,--he was stung with the desire to
live, and he called feebly,--

"Toby! Toby!"

Was his cry heard? Surely, there were footsteps on the rocks! And was
not that a human form moving dimly between him and the sky? It passed
on, and was lost in the shadows of the pines. Was it some animal, or
only a phantom of his feverish brain?

"Toby!" he called again, exerting all his force. But only the wailing
wind answered him, and, overcome by the effort, he sunk into a swoon. In
that swoon it seemed to him that Toby had heard his voice, and that he
came to him. Hands, gentle human hands, groped on him, felt the blanket,
felt his bare feet, and his head, pillowed on stones. Then there seemed
to be two Tobys, one good and the other evil, holding a strange
consultation over him, which he heard as in a dream.

"We can't leave him dying here!" said the good Toby.

"What dat to me, if him die, or whar him die?" said the other Toby.
"Straight har!" He seemed to be feeling Penn's locks, in order to
ascertain to which race he belonged. "Dat's nuff fur me! Lef him be, I
tell ye, and come 'long!"

"Straight hair or curly, it's all the same," said Toby the Good. "Take
hold here; we must save him!"

"Hyah-yah! ye don't cotch dis niggah!" chuckled Toby the Bad,
maliciously. "Nuff more ob his kind, in all conscience! Reckon we kin
spar' much as one! Hyah-yah!"

Something like a quarrel ensued, the result of which was, that Toby the
Good finally prevailed upon Toby the Malevol