ve the wind, and
went away into the night.

He would go home and sleep the fever out of his blood; he took the road;
and as he went, the monotonous engine-throb died off behind him. He
passed through the village; the street was empty, and it echoed loud to
the sound of his footfall. Large shadows fell about him when for an
instant the moon shot clear of a cloud. A light burned in a cottage
window. Poor Mrs. Truesdale's sick life was within that sleepless
chamber lingering out its last days. The wind fell to silence at one
moment, and then a child's little cry came out to him in the night.

He walked on, and plunged again into the darkness of the road beyond.
The dogs were howling at the distant Ghyll. A sable cloud floated in the
sky, and at its back the moon sailed. It was like black hair silvered
with gray. But on one spot on the road before him the moon shone clear
and white. The place fascinated him like a star. He quickened his pace
until he came into the moon's open light. Then it turned to an ashy
tint; it lay over the church-yard. His father's grave was only a few
paces from the road.

What unseen power had drawn him there? Was it meant that he should
understand that all the stings that fate had in store for him were to be
in some unsearchable way the refuse of his father's deed? His mind went
back to the night of his father's death. He thought of his mother's
confession--a confession more terrible to make more fearful to listen
to, than a mother ever made before or a son ever heard. And now again,
was the disaster of this very night a link in the chain of destiny?

Let no man compare the withering effects of a father's curse with the
blasting influence of a father's sin. If the wrath of Providence should
fail in its stern and awful retribution, the world in its mercy would
not forget that the sins of the fathers must be visited upon the
children.

Paul entered the lych-gate and entered the church-yard. The night dew on
his cheeks was not colder than his tears as he knelt by his father's
grave. At one instant he cursed the world and the world's cruel law.
Then there stole into his heart a poison that corroded its dearest
memory: he thought of his father with bitterness.

At that moment a strange awe crept over him. He knew, though still only
by the eyes of his mind, that the vision had returned. He knew it was
standing against the night-sky as a ghastly headstone to the grave. But
when he raised his eyes