fe. But do not be troubled. To-morrow
will make a change."

He was near the door when he uttered the last words; and now, as
if not daring to trust himself in a longer conversation, he hastily
opened it, and proceeded to his chamber. Faith followed his example,
pondering sadly over the conversation. It did not escape her, that it
was more incoherent than usual, but she had seen persons before under
great religious distress of mind, whose peace was afterwards restored,
and she doubted not that, in like manner, her father's doubts would
be solved, and his spirit calmed. With, her heart full of him, and her
last thought a petition on his behalf, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER XLI.

'Tis necessity
To which the gods must yield; and I obey,
Till I redeem it by some glorious way.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

The next morning was beautiful, like most June mornings. Armstrong,
who had not closed his eyes during the whole night, rose with the dawn
to wander through his garden, which was a favorite resort. His walk,
at first rapid and irregular, as if he were trying to work off a
nervous excitement, gradually slackened, until it became a firm,
composed step. With folded arms and compressed, resolved lips, he
paced up and down the paths. He was living in an interior world.
He heard not the singing of the birds, which, in great numbers,
frequented the spacious gardens and orchards lying around; he saw not
the beautiful flowers, burdening the air with sweetness; nor the young
fruit, whose progress, through the various stages of its growth, he
had once watched with so much pleasure. His mind went back to the time
when he was a school-boy with his brother George; when they slept in
the same bed, and associated in the same sports; it then advanced to
their college days, and the face of the beautiful girl, who became his
wife, flitted by him. He thought of that fair face now for many a
long day, mouldering in the grave, into which he had seen the coffin
lowered; then his thoughts reverted to his brother George, so brave,
so generous, so strong once, but who presented himself to his vision
now, a livid corpse, dripping with water. Next came his mother, of
whom his recollection was faint; and then his father, with insanity in
his eyes. He felt, as it were, their presence around him, but it was a
companionship which afforded no pleasure. There seemed to be something
about himself that invincibly held the