So soon as our first hearty greetings were over I proceeded to ascertain how the last year had treated Carriston. I was both delighted and astonished at the great change for the better which had taken place in his manner, no less than his appearance. He looked far more robust; he seemed happier, brighter; although more like ordinary humanity. Not only had he greeted me with almost boisterous glee, but during our drive through the wonderful scenery he was in the gayest of spirits and full of fun and anecdote. I congratulated him heartily upon the marked improvement in his health, both mentally and physically.
“Yes, I am much better,” he said. “I followed a part of your advice; gave up moping, tried constant change of scene, interested myself in many more things. I am quite a different man.”
“No supernatural visitations?” I asked, anxious to learn that his cure in that direction was complete.
His face fell. He hesitated a second before answering.
“No—not now,” he said. “I fought against the strange feeling, and I believe have got rid of it—at least I hope so.”
I said no more on the subject. Carriston plunged into a series of vivid and mimetic descriptions of the varieties of Scotch character which he had met with during his stay. He depicted his experiences so amusingly that I laughed heartily for many a mile.
“But why the change in your name?” I asked, when he paused for a moment in his merry talk.
He blushed, and looked rather ashamed. “I scarcely like to tell you; you will think my reason so absurd.”
“Never mind. I don’t judge you by the ordinary standard.”
“Well, the fact is, my cousin is also in Scotland. I feared if I gave my true name at the hotel at which I stayed on my way here, he might perchance see it, and look me up in these wild regions.”