e could not, he dared
not, dwell on the billows that swept above that once beautiful form, yet
he delighted, in fancy, to visit those regions of bliss, now, as he
deemed, her habitation, and to conjecture what the occupation, and what
the enjoyment of its thrice-blessed inhabitants:--

But, "Earth's children cling to earth; the frail companion, the body,
weighs down the soul, and draws it back from the contemplation of high
and holy realities;" and thus there were seasons in Arthur Bernard's
experience, when his very heart seemed to die within him, exhausted by
its vain yearnings for her who, like an angel of light, had shone upon
his path, and then suddenly disappeared; and as he looked forward into
the probable future, and beheld life stretching out before him,
monotonous and solitary, what wonder that Courage sometimes faltered,
and Faith drooped, and Hope almost ceased to cheer the stricken
pilgrim.

And such a moment of anguish he experienced now, as he sat in silence,
with bowed-down head, while "thought went back to the shadowy past." Mr.
Denham's words had thrilled his soul; had presented Agnes's image to him
so vividly, that he could scarcely refrain from giving expression to his
anguish in bitter groans; and this was the most trying remembrance, "it
might have been" otherwise, had he, to whose care she had been solemnly
committed by dying parents, faithfully fulfilled his trust, and instead
of frowning on her, had cheered and encouraged her in the path of duty.

But there was one who suffered more than Arthur,--he who now lay
listless on his couch, burdened with a heavy weight of anguish and
remorse. Ah, it was this that deepened the sting of sorrow, that
heightened with its bitterness every remembrance that "he alone the deed
had done," and that but for his obstinacy and worldliness, she might
even now be standing beside him, bathing his burning brow with gentle
hands, and in her own sweet tones be imparting all needful consolation.

But Mr. Denham could bear these thoughts no longer, and hastily rousing
himself, he addressed Arthur.

"It is growing late. Will you be so kind as turn on the gas a little
brighter, for it seems to burn but dimly. I am sure," he added, in the
querulous tones of an invalid, "it is time Mrs. Denham had returned. She
took advantage of your coming to remain with me to visit a sick
neighbor, but she must be very ill, indeed, to cause her to remain so
long."

"She will be here v