at ill-looking
stranger who lodged one night at your uncle's, and departed so
mysteriously, came up in my mind; and almost at the same moment, I
fancied myself riding with you, dear Ella, through a dark and lonely
wood--when all of a sudden there came a fierce yell--several dark,
hideous forms, with him among them, swam around me--I heard you shriek
for aid--and then all became darkness and confusion; from which I was
aroused by some one inquiring if I were ill? What I answered I know not;
but the querist immediately took his leave."

"It all seems very strange, Algernon," observed Ella, thoughtfully; "but
it was probably nothing more than a feverish dream, brought about by
your exercise acting too suddenly and powerfully upon your nervous
system, which doubtless has not as yet recovered from the prostration
caused by your wound."

"So I tried to think, dear Ella," returned Algernon, with a sigh; "but
I have not even yet been able to shake off the gloomy impression, that,
whatever the cause, it was sent as a warning of danger. But I am
foolish, perhaps, to think as I do; and so let us change the subject.
You spoke a few moments since of destiny. You said, if I mistake not,
you believed each individual capable of shaping his own."

"I did," answered Ella; "with the exception, that I qualified it by
saying in a measure. No person, I think, has the power of moulding
himself to an end which is contrary to the law of nature and his own
physical organization; but at the same time he has many ways, some good
and some evil, left open for him to choose; else he were not a free
agent."

"Ay," rejoined Algernon, "by-paths all to the same great end. I look
upon every one here, Ella, as a traveler placed upon the great highway
called destiny--with a secret power within that impels him forward, but
allows no pause nor retrograde. Along this highway are flowers, and
briars, and thistles, and weeds, and shady woods, and barren rocks, and
sterile bluffs, and glassy plots; but proportioned differently to each,
as the Maker of all designs his path to be pleasant or otherwise. Beside
this highway are perhaps a dozen minor paths, all running a similar
course, and all finally merging into it--either near or far, as the case
may be--before its termination at the great gate of death. The free
agency you speak of, is in choosing of these lesser paths--some of which
are full of the snares of temptation, the chasms of ruin, and the
pitfalls