swallowed a glass of gin sling, prepared
by the loving hand of his wife, and saying to her, with a firm, clear
voice, and a grateful smile, "Good Amy! always good!" So the weak man's
soul passed away. And as Amy told me about it, with sorrowful sobs, I
was not ready to say or think she had done wrong, although both her
conduct and my opinion were entirely uncanonical.

Before Mrs. Lewis returned, Amy was one day at my room and asked me when
I expected her back.

"Is Mr. Lewis with her, Ma'am?" said she, hesitatingly.

"Of course; at least, I suppose so. Why, what makes you ask?" said I,
with surprise at her downcast eyes and flushed face.

"I heard he had gone away. And that--_that_ Mr. Remington was there with
her. But you know about it, most likely."

"No, I know nothing about it, Amy."

"It was their old cook told me, Mrs. Butler. And she said,--oh! all
sorts of things, that I am sure couldn't be true, for Mrs. Lewis is such
a kind, beautiful woman! I couldn't believe a word she said!"

In my quality of minister's wife, and with a general distrust of cooks'
opinions, I told Amy that there was always scandal enough, and it was a
waste of time to listen to it. But after she left me, I confess to a
whole hour wasted in speculations and anxious reflections on Amy's
communication, and also to having taken the Dominie away from his sermon
for a like space of time to consider the matter fully.

I was relieved when the whole party came back, and when the blooming,
happy face of Lulu showed that she, at least, had neither thought nor
done anything very bad.

The summer was becoming warm and oppressive in Boston, and we prepared
to take the children and go to Weston for a few weeks. While we should
be among the mountains, the Lewises proposed a voyage to Scotland, and
we hoped that sometime in the early autumn we should all be together
once more. The evening before our departure Mr. Remington and Lulu
spent with us, Mr. Lewis coming in at a later hour. I remember vividly
the conversation during the whole of that last evening we ever passed
together.

XIII.

While Mrs. Lewis and I were chatting in one corner on interests
specially feminine, the Dominie had got Mr. Remington into a
metaphysical discussion of some length. From time to time we heard,
"Pascal's idea seems to be," and then, "The notion of Descartes and all
that school of thinkers"; and feeling that they were plunging quite
beyond our depth, we contin