r a benefit."

Why did he start? Why did he shudder all over? Why did he hastily turn
round, and shut the door, and hasten to his own room, locking it after
him? Why was it he took something from his pocket, and, opening the
window, threw it violently into the dark? But a moment Armstrong
remained in his room. Blowing out the candles, and noiselessly
descending the stairs, he as quietly opened and shut the front door,
and stood in the open air.

The storm was at its height. The rain poured with such violence that
in the flashes of lightning he could see the large drops leap from
the ground. But he felt not that he was wet to the skin. He minded
not that he had left the house without a hat, and that the water was
running in streams from his head to the earth. With a rapid pace,
approaching running, he fled through the streets, until he reached the
grave-yard. Without a ray to guide him, through a darkness that might
be felt, he found his way to a grave, it was his wife's. He threw
himself prostrate on his face, and lay motionless.

When Armstrong raised himself from the ground the storm had ceased,
the clouds had left the sky, and the stars were shining brilliantly.
He gazed around, then looked up into the blue vault. What were those
innumerable shining points? Were they worlds, as the learned have
said? Were they inhabited by beings like himself, doomed to sin and
suffer? Did they suffer, more or less? Could the errors of a few years
be expiated by sufferings of ages, as countless as the grains of
sand on the seashore? He struck the palm of his hand violently on his
forehead; he threw out his arm, as if in defiance, toward heaven, and
groaned aloud. It seemed as though from every heaped-up grave that
groan was echoed, and called to him like an invitation to join the
hosts of darkness. He started, and looked again at the gruel sky. But
no voice of comfort was breathed thence. The silver stars were now
sparks of an universal conflagration. With a gesture of despair, he
left the city of the dead.

Silence and darkness still shrouded the house of Mr. Armstrong on his
return. He closed the door quietly after him, and, cautiously as
he had descended, ascended the stairs, which, in spite of all his
precaution, creaked under his feet. The sounds sent a thrill of
alarm through him as though he feared discovery. It was as if he were
returning from some guilty enterprise. Without striking a light, he
threw off his soaked garm