again; but I had awoke Mrs. Wharton in the next room, and she knocked at my door to ask me what was the matter."Nothing, thank you," I said; "only a dream; don't be alarmed." 
So Mrs. Wharton retired to her room again. 
The monster who had never left me during all this time, at length spoke. 
"I have summoned you here to-night, because I have need of you. I am that Baron Ralph, the ruthless, whose deeds of bloodshed you have already heard of, and for which deeds he is condemned nightly to inhabit the form of a flea. You have experienced my power, and your paltry scepticism has been shaken. Listen now to me. I do not always inhabit the contemptible form in which you first saw me. In the daytime I wander to and fro on the earth, and inhabit by turns the bodies of such men whose natural propensities are in harmony with my own. Wretch! do you know that the man, who, through your inability to save, was executed for some few paltry murders, was none other than myself in the flesh? That it was my body that suffered the pain and disgrace of execution, my spirit that was driven back by your incapacity, to inhabit the form of one of the vilest of insects? Think not to escape my resentment. I have need of you again, it is true, but I do not ask you a favour, I command you to obey. Spirits of my order do not ask; they command and threaten, and if disobeyed, punish." 
Aware of the awful power of this fell being and knowing all resistance vain, I thought it best to assume as humble a position as I could, in order to milden the severity of his look and manner--that fearful look that I had experienced only a few minutes ago, and which might kill me outright a second time. Therefore I prostrated myself before him on the bed, and in the most abject tones began. 
"Illustrious flea! I will do all----" 
"Irreverent varlet!" exclaimed the Baron, fiercely, darting at me a glance from his evil eye that froze my very marrow. "That name is offensive to me, another such title as that, and I'll--I'll"--here the Baron's face went through the most hideously savage contortions that it is possible to imagine. The Baron's portrait taken in the flesh was ugly enough, but it was an ideal of manly beauty compared with the infernal aspect of this demon flea before me. 
"Mercy! mercy!" cried I, gasping. 
"Oh, yes, 'Mercy, mercy,'" retorted the Baron, with a sneer. "Very well, then, this time, but mind----" Here his countenance again assumed a ferocious expression. "Ha! ha!" he cried. "You thought to outwit me by taking opium to deaden my bite. Fool! know it was I who made you buy that opium; not to make you sleep, but to awaken your dull senses to such a pitch that the gross material clay that clogs your vision might be, as it were, doffed for a moment, and that your keener eyesight 

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