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“Here he is, Bill! Here he is!” resumed his wife, again shaking him violently.

“Who? Who?” inquired the dying man.

“Why, the rum-seller, who robbed you of your hard earnings, that he might roll in wealth and feast daily on luxuries, while your wife and children were starving! Here he is. Curse him now, with your dying breath! Curse him, I say, Bill Riley! Curse him!”

“Who? Who?” eagerly asked the wretched being, a thrill of new life seeming to flash through his exhausted frame–“Old Graves? Where is he?”

“Here he is, Bill! Here he is! Don’t you see him?”

“Ah, yes! I see him now!” And Riley fixed his eyes, that seemed, to the rum-seller, to burn and flash like balls of fire, sending off vivid scintillations, upon him with a long and searching stare.

“Ah, yes,” he continued, “this is old Graves, the rum-seller, who has sent more men to hell, and more widows and orphans to the poor-house, than any other man living. How do you do, sir?” rising up still more in his bed, and grasping the unwilling hand of the tavern-keeper, which he clenched hard, and shook with superhuman strength. “How are you, old fellow? I’m glad to see you once more in this world. We shall have a jolly time in the next, though, shan’t we?”

A smile of malignant triumph flitted for a moment over the livid face of Riley. Then its expression brightened into one of intelligence.

“Look here,” he said, and brought his lips close to the ear of Graves. Then in a deep whisper, he breathed the words,

“Sub-Treasury!”

The rum-seller started, suddenly, and grew paler than ever.

Instantly a loud, unearthly laugh rang through the room, causing the blood to curdle about his heart.

“Ha! ha! ha! I thought that chord could be touched! Ha! ha! That was a capital idea, wasn’t it, old fellow? But you were too late for Bill Riley. You thought the temperance men had him. But that was a little mistake.”

The sweat already stood in large drops on the pale face of the tavern-keeper, and his limbs trembled like the quivering aspen.

“Horrible!” he murmured, closing his eyes, to shut out the scene.

“Not half so horrible as the place where I was, just before you came in, Mr. Graves,” said Riley in a calmer voice. “And where do you think that was?”

“In hell, I suppose,” replied the rum-seller, with the energy of desperation.

“Exactly,” was the calm reply. “And what do you think I heard and saw there? Let me tell you. I was dead for a little while, and found myself in strange quarters, as you will say, when you get there. I always thought devils had long tails, and cloven feet, horns, and all that kind of thing. But that’s a vulgar error. They are nothing but wicked men like you, who in this world have taken delight in injuring others. You will make a first-rate devil! Ha! ha! I heard ’em say so, and wishing you were only there to help them work out their evil intentions.

“There are a great many little hells there, all grouped into one immense hell, like societies here, grouped into one larger society or nation. And there, as here, every smaller society is engaged in doing some particular thing, and all are in one society who love to do that thing. As for instance, all who, while here, have taken delight in theft, are there associated together, and are all the while busy in inventing reasons to put into the heads of thieves here to justify them in stealing. Murderers, in like manner; and so rum-sellers. They have a hell all filled with rum-sellers there! I was let into it for a little while to see what was going on, and who do you think I saw there. Why, old Adams, that died about a month ago. The old fellow was as lively as a cricket, and as busy as a bee.