pages, that I
strained my dazzled eyes in vain; I could not read a line.--I sat up,
and bent nearer to him. He stood still, with a look of love and pity in
his face; which presently changed to anxiety when he saw that I was
trying to read, and could not. Then, blinded by the brightness, my eyes
ran over, and he vanished slowly, leaving me in tears."--

He went to the window again, and Clement saw him shudder. "Father!" he
said, and took his hand as it hung down limply by his side--he found it
cold and damp--"dear Father, you distress me! You are ill--you should
send for a doctor."

"A Doctor?" cried his father, almost violently, drawing himself up to
his full height--"I am well, and that is the worst of it. My soul
feels, longs for, approaching death, while my body is still obstinately
rebellious."

"These dreams are destroying you, father."

"Dreams! I tell you, I was as wide awake as I am now."

"I do not doubt it, father; you were awake, and that is just what makes
me so uneasy. It is fever that given you those waking dreams, the very
memory of which distresses you enough to quicken your pulse and make
you ill. I need not be a doctor to know that last night you were in a
fever, as you are now."

"To know! and what do you think you know, poor mortal that you are! Oh
admirable wisdom!--Grace-giving science!--but after all, whom do I
accuse? What do I deserve?--for babbling of God's most precious
mysteries, and baring my aching heart as a mark for scorners. Are these
the fruits of all your studies? What grapes do you hope to gather from
thorns like these? I know you well, poor vain creatures that you are,
who would set up new Gods for others, while in your hearts you worship
no gods but yourselves; I tell you, your days are numbered."--His bald
brow was flushed crimson as he turned to go, without one look at
Clement, who stood shocked and silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Suddenly he felt his father's hand upon his shoulder:

"Speak truth, my son; do you really hold to those of whose opinions I
have read with horror? Are you among those bright votaries of matter,
who jest at miracles; to whom the Spirit is as a fable which nature
tells, and man listens to with scorn. If your youth could not choke
these weeds, was the seed of gratitude sown by the Lord in your heart
in vain?"

"Father," said the young man after some consideration, "how shall I
answer you? I am ready to stake my life on the solution of these