They had parted in the prime of youthful manhood--they met in the autumn
of life; and the snows of winter had prematurely descended upon the head
of the miser. The wear and tear of evil passions had made such fearful
ravages in his once handsome and stern exterior, that his twin brother
would have passed him in the streets without recognition.

The spasms at length subsided, and after several ineffectual efforts,
Algernon at length spoke.

"Mark, I am here, in compliance with your request; I am very sorry to
find you in this sad state; I hope that you may yet recover."

The sick man rose slowly up in his bed, and shading his eyes with his
hand, surveyed his brother with a long and careful gaze, as though he
scarcely recognised in the portly figure before him the elegant
fashionable young man of former days. "Algernon! can that be you?"

"Am I so much altered that you do not know me?"

"Humph! The voice is the voice of Algernon--but as for the rest, time
has paid as little respect to your fine exterior as it has done to mine;
but if it has diminished your graces, it has added greatly to your bulk.
One thing, however, it has not taught you, with all its hard
teachings."

"What is that?" said Algernon, with some curiosity.

"To speak the truth!" muttered the miser, falling back upon his pillow.
"You wish for my recovery!--ha! ha! that is rich--is good. Do you think,
Algernon, I am such a fool as to believe that?"