n him his sinfulness, and his affection called up the haunting
lineaments of the dear dead face. He was wandering down a path, at the
end of which Russell stood with beckoning hand inviting him earnestly to
join him there; he saw his bright ingenuous smile, and heard, as of old,
his joyous words, and he hastened to meet him; when suddenly the
boy-figure disappeared, and in its place he saw the stern brow, and
gleaming garments, and drawn flaming sword of the Avenger. And then he
was in a great wood alone, and wandering, when the well-known voice
called his name, and entreated him to turn from that evil place; and he
longed to turn,--but, whenever he tried, ghostly hands seemed to wave
him back again, and irresistible cords to drag him into the dark forest,
amid the sound of mocking laughs. Then he was sinking, sinking, sinking
into a gulf, deep and darker even than the inner darkness of a
sin-desolated heart; sinking, helplessly, hopelessly, everlastingly;
while far away, like a star, stood the loved figure in light infinitely
above him, and with pleading hands implored his deliverance, but could
not prevail; and Eric was still sinking, sinking infinitely, when the
agony awoke him with a violent start and stifled scream.

He could sleep no longer. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the pale,
dead, holy features of Edwin, and at last he fancied that he was praying
beside his corpse, praying to be more like _him_, who lay there so white
and calm; sorrowing beside it, sorrowing that he had so often rejected
his kind warnings, and pained his affectionate heart. So Eric began
again to make good resolutions about all his future life. Ah! how often
he had done so before, and how often they had failed. He had not yet
learned the lessons which David learned by sad experience: "Then I said,
it is mine own infirmity, _but I will remember the years of the right
hand of the Most High_."

That, too, was an eventful night for Montagu. He had grown of late far
more thoughtful than before; under Edwin's influence he had been laying
aside, one by one, the careless sins of school-life, and his tone was
nobler and manlier than it had ever been. Montagu had never known or
heard much about godliness; his father, a gentleman, a scholar, and a
man of the world, had trained him in the principles of refinement and
good taste, and given him a high standard of conventional honour; but he
passed through life lightly, and had taught his son