rs upon his pallid and writhen brow that Beatrice and her
uncle exchanged glances of wonder and alarm.

But Ishmael, in his fixed agony, did not perceive the looks of anxiety
they turned towards him--did not even perceive the passage of time or
space, until they arrived at home again, and the wedding guests once
more began to alight from the carriages.

The party temporarily separated in the hall, the ladies dispersing each
to her own chamber to make some trifling change in her toilet before
appearing in the drawing room.

"Ishmael, come here, my lad," said the judge, as soon as they were left
alone.

Ishmael mechanically followed him to the little breakfast parlor of the
family, where on the sideboard sat decanters of brandy and wine, and
pitchers of water, and glasses of all shapes and sizes.

He poured out two glasses of brandy--one for himself and one for
Ishmael.

"Let us drink the health of the newly-married couple," he said, pushing
one glass towards Ishmael, and raising the other to his own lips.

But Ishmael hesitated, and poured out a tumbler of pure water, saying,
in a faint voice:

"I will drink her health in this."

"Nonsense! put it down. You are chilled enough without drinking that to
throw you into an ague. Drink something, warm and strong, boy! drink
something warm and strong. I tell you, I, for one, cannot get through
this day without some such support as this," said the judge
authoritatively, as he took from the young man's nerveless hand the
harmless glass of water, and put into it the perilous glass of brandy.

For ah! good men do wicked things sometimes, and wise men foolish ones.

Still Ishmael hesitated; for even in the midst of his great trouble he
heard the "still, small voice" of some good angel--it might have been
his mother's spirit--whispering him to dash from his lips the Circean
draught, that would indeed allay his sense of suffering for a few
minutes, but might endanger his character through all his life and his
soul through all eternity. The voice that whispered this, as I said, was
a "still, small voice" speaking softly within him. But the voice of the
judge was bluff and hearty, and he stood there, a visible presence,
enforcing his advice with strength of action.

And Ishmael, scarcely well assured of what he did, put the glass to his
lips and quaffed the contents, and felt at once falsely exhilarated.

"Come, now, we will go into the drawing room. I dare say they are a