f the altar-like piles of wood, near
the margin of the brook. Here he leaned his head on his hand, and
seemed lost in meditation. He was in this posture when the exclamation
was made by the Judge, who, on looking round, discovered the missing
man, and immediately advanced toward him. So deep was his abstraction,
that it was not until his friend's hand rested on his shoulder that
he was aware of the other's presence. He arose, and the two retraced
their steps together. The sun, by this time, had sunk behind the
horizon, and, as they passed, Gladding threw his axe on his shoulder
and joined their company.

"I'm glad," said the wood-chopper, as they stepped out of the
clearing, and turned to look back upon what he had accomplished, "that
job's done, and I can turn my hand to something else more like summer
work."

"Do you mean to proceed no further with your chopping?" inquired
Armstrong.

"Not at present. All has been done that I desired, and I ought to
respect Gladding's conscientious scruples."

Armstrong looked inquiringly from one to the other, but asked no
question.

The hospitable invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Perkins was too pressing to
be resisted, and it was not until the full moon had risen, that the
gentlemen departed. The soft beauty of the delicious evening, or some
other cause, exercised an influence over Armstrong, that disposed
him to silence and meditation, which his companion perceiving, they
returned home without exchanging scarcely a dozen words.

CHAPTER XL.

Man is a harp, whose cords elude the sight,
Each yielding harmony disposed aright;
The screws reversed (a task which if he please,
God in a moment executes with ease),
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose,
Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use.

COWPER

The aberration of mind of the unhappy Mr. Armstrong was at last with
inevitable and steady step approaching its dreaded culminating point.
To the outward eye he exhibited but little change. He was indeed, at
times more restless, and his eyes would wander round as if in quest
of some object that was trying to elude his sight; at one moment
listless, silent, and dejected, and again animated, almost gay, like
one who, ashamed of an exhibition of moody temper, tries to atone
by extraordinary efforts of amiability for the error. His intimate
friends had some knowledge of these changes, and to Faith, above all,
living with him in the same house, and