The criminal delay had done its work--young Beazely was no more.

His spirit had taken its flight to a land where all anxieties shall be charmed away, all desires gratified, all ambitions realized.

Poor lad, they laid him to his rest with a turnip in each hand." So ended Erickson, and lapsed again into nodding, mumbling, and abstraction.

The company broke up, and left him so....

But they did not say what drove him crazy.