ce that the scheme proposed was of the
most unmingled treachery and baseness. Sick, chilled, withering at
heart, Glendower leaned against the damp wall; as every word which the
tempter fondly imagined was irresistibly confirming his purpose, tore
away the last prop to which, in the credulity of hope, the student had
clung, and mocked while it crushed the fondness of his belief.

Crauford ceased, and stretched forth his hand to grasp Glendower's. He
felt it not. "You do not speak, my friend," said he; "do you deliberate,
or have you not decided?" Still no answer came. Surprised, and half
alarmed, he turned round, and perceived by a momentary flash of
lightning, that Glendower had risen and was moving away towards the
mouth of the arch.

"Good Heavens! Glendower," cried Crauford, "where are you going?"

"Anywhere," cried Glendower, in a sudden paroxysm of indignant passion,
"anywhere in this great globe of suffering, so that the agonies of my
human flesh and heart are not polluted by the accents of crime! And such
crime! Why, I would rather go forth into the highways, and win bread by
the sharp knife and the death-struggle, than sink my soul in such mire
and filthiness of sin. Fraud! fraud! treachery! Merciful Father! what
can be my state, when these are supposed to tempt me!"

Astonished and aghast, Crauford remained rooted to the spot.

"Oh!" continued Glendower, and his noble nature was wrung to the utmost;
"Oh, MAN, MAN! that I should have devoted my best and freshest years to
the dream of serving thee! In my boyish enthusiasm, in my brief day of
pleasure and of power, in the intoxication of love, in the reverse of
fortune, in the squalid and obscure chambers of degradation and poverty,
that one hope animated, cheered, sustained me through all! In temptation
did this hand belie, or in sickness did this brain forego, or in misery
did this heart forget, thy great and advancing cause? In the wide world,
is there one being whom I have injured, even in thought; one being who,
in the fellowship of want, should not have drunk of my cup, or broken
with me the last morsel of my bread?--and now, now, is it come to this?"

And, hiding his face with his hands, he gave way to a violence of
feeling before which the weaker nature of Crauford stood trembling
and abashed. It lasted not long; he raised his head from its drooping
posture, and, as he stood at the entrance of the arch, a prolonged flash
from the inconstant skies shon