Father Mulrenin started up, and, shaking hands with him, said,—­

“I know now, sir, that you have got my letter.”

“I have got it,” replied the other, “and I am here accordingly.”

As he spoke, his eye glanced around the room, the most distinguished figure in which, beyond comparison, was that of Woodward, who instantly recognized him as the gentleman whom he had met on the morning of his departure from the hospitable roof of Mr. Goodwin, on his return home, and, we may add, between whom and himself that extraordinary trial of the power of will, as manifested by the power of the eye, took place so completely to his own discomfiture.  They were both gentlemen, and bowed to each other very courteously, after which they approached and shook hands, and whilst the stranger held Woodward’s hand in his during their short but friendly chat, it was observed that Woodward’s face got as pale as death, and he almost immediately tottered towards a seat from weakness.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the stranger; “you now feel that the principle of good is always able to overcome the principle of evil.”

“Who or what are you?” asked Woodward, faintly.

“I am a plain country gentleman, sir; and something more, a man of wealth and distinction; but who, unlike my friend Cooke here, do not make myself ridiculous by absurd eccentricities, and the adoption of the nonsensical doctrines of Pythagoras, so utterly at variance with reason and Christian truth.  You know, my dear Cooke, I could have cured you of your rheumatism had you possessed common-sense; but who could cure any man who guards his person against the elements by such a ludicrous and unsubstantial dress as yours?”

“I am in torture,” replied Cooke; “I was tempted to dance with a pretty woman, and now I am suffering for it.”

“As for me,” exclaimed Topertoe, “I am a match, and more than a match, for you in suffering.  O, this accursed gout!”

“I suppose you brought it on by hard drinking, sir,” said the stranger.  “If that be so, I shall not undertake to cure you unless you give up hard drinking.”

“I will do anything,” replied Topertoe, “provided you can allay my pain.  I also was tempted to dance as well as the philosopher; and now the Christian parson and the pagan Pythagorean are both suffering for it.”

“What is all this about?” exclaimed Manifold.  “O Lord! is he going to put them on a vegetable diet, relieved by toast and water—­toast and water?”

The stranger paid but little attention to Manifold, because he saw by his face and the number of his chins that he was past hope; but turning towards Topertoe and the Pythagorean, he requested them both to sit beside each other before him.  He then asked Topertoe where his gout affected him, and having been informed that it was principally in his great toe and right foot, he deliberately stripped the foot, and having pressed his hands upon it for about the space of ten minutes, he desired his patient to rise up and walk.  This he did, and to his utter astonishment, without the slightest symptom or sensation of pain.