acted her
attention, but in vain. The moment was nigh which was to accomplish
a deed, at the bare contemplation of which his whole being revolted;
but, to whose execution he felt drawn by a power, as irresistible by
him as is that force which keeps the worlds in their places, by those
rolling spheres. Engrossed, absorbed by one dominating idea, there was
no room in his mind for another. The musical tones of Faith's voice;
the smiles evoked for his sake, that played around those lips sweeter
than the damask rose, clustered inevitably about that one thought.
But, he felt them as a swarm of angry bees, that eagerly settle upon
a living thing to sting it into torture. That living thing was his
burning, sensitive heart, quivering, bleeding, convulsed, longing for
the bliss of annihilation. And thus, in an agony far greater than that
which the martyr endures in the chariot of flame which is to waft him
to heaven, as the sufferings of the immortal spirit can exceed those
of the perishable body, the insane man pursued his way. How unending
seemed that road, and yet, how he longed that it might extend on for
ever! Within the time of each revolution of the wheels, an age of
torment was compressed; yet, how he dreaded when they should stop!

But this could not last, and, at length, the coach reached a spot
where Armstrong proposed they should alight. Accordingly, he assisted
Faith out, and, preceding her, they took their way across the fields.
Faith, unable to resist the attraction of the wild-flowers scattered
beneath her feet, stooped occasionally to pick them, and soon had her
hands full.

"What a pity it is, father," she said, "that we should step upon these
beautiful things! They seem little fairies, enchanted in the grass,
that entreat us to turn aside and do them no harm."

"It is our lot, in this world, cursed for our sakes," said Armstrong,
hoarsely, "to crush whatever we prize and love the dearest."

"The flower is an emblem of forgiveness," said Faith. "Pluck it, and
it resents not the wrong. It dies, but with its last breath, exhales
only sweetness for its destroyer."

"O, God!" groaned Armstrong. "Was this, too, necessary? Wilt thou
grind me between the upper and the nether millstone?"

"What is the matter, father?" inquired Faith, anxiously, catching some
words between his groans. "O, you are ill, let us return."

"No, my daughter, there is no return. It was a pang like those to
which I am subject. Will they