ried misdoings,
which he had thought long lost in the mists of recollection, started up
menacingly from their forgotten graves, and made him shrink with a sense
of their awful reality. Behind him, like a wilderness, lay years which
the locust had eaten; the intrusted hours which had passed away, and
been reckoned to him as they past.

And the thought of Russell mingled with all--Russell, as he fondly
imagined him now, glorified with the glory of heaven, crowned, and in
white robes, and with a palm in his hand. Yes, he had walked and talked
with one of the Holy Ones. Had Edwin's death, quenched his human
affections, and altered his human heart? If not, might not he be there
even now, leaning over his friend with the beauty of his invisible
presence? The thought startled him, and seemed to give an awful lustre
to the moonbeam which fell into the room. No; he could not endure such a
presence now, with his weak conscience and corrupted heart; and Eric hid
his head under the clothes, and shut his eyes.

Once more the pang of separation entered like iron into his soul. Should
he ever meet Russell again? What if _he_ had died instead of Edwin,
where would he have been? "Oh, no! no!" he murmured aloud, as the
terrible thought came over him of his own utter unfitness for death, and
the possibility that he might never, never again hear the beloved
accents, or gaze on the cherished countenance of his school friend.

In this tumult of accusing thoughts he fell asleep; but that night the
dew of blessing did not fall for him on the fields of sleep. He was
frightened by unbidden dreams, in all of which his conscience obtruded
on 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 open arms 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, sink