ately dispatched the faithful Felix for the doctor.

CHAPTER XXV.

How sweetly could I lay my head
Within the cold grave's silent breast,
Where sorrow's tears no more are shed,
No more the ills of life molest.

MOORE

Mr. Armstrong escaped, to all appearance, with a cold, from the
accident. But although this seemed the only effect produced upon his
bodily health, his mind had suffered a severe shock which was not
equally obvious. Fancies, each gloomier than the preceding, took,
henceforth, more and more possession of his imagination. He seemed the
harbinger of misfortune to all connected with him. Frequently rose up
the image of his dead brother, mingling with his dreams and obtruding
itself even into his waking thoughts, at one time dripping with
water as when taken from the pond--ghastly pale--livid--with scarcely
distinguishable lineaments; at another wrapped in the dress of the
tomb, and pointing with bony finger to a new-made grave. Then his wife
would appear, holding their little son by the hand, and standing on
the opposite side of a river that rolled between, beckoning him to
cross. But whenever he made the attempt the waves would close over his
head, and he awoke with a sense of suffocation and gasping for breath.
At another time the scene of the drowning fisherman would be repeated,
but with innumerable variations. Sometimes, in some way or other,
Holden would be mixed up with it, sometimes Faith, and sometimes, most
horrible of all, he himself would be desperately struggling to hold
Sill under water, till finally the yielding body sunk, sunk into
depths no eye could fathom. But never till the face turned and
transfixed him with the despairing glare of those dreadful eyes.

But we are anticipating and rather describing the condition into
which his mind gradually fell, than its state immediately after his
interview with the Solitary. It took some time longer before the idea
that by an inexorable decree he was doomed to entail destruction
on all connected with him, became fixed. For awhile it floated
uncertainly and impalpably before him, and only slowly, like
an approaching spectre, took upon itself shape and presence. A
conversation between himself and his daughter on the second day after
the accident, and his conduct immediately thereafter, may give us some
apprehension of the current of his thoughts and feelings then.

"My dearest father," said Faith, throwing her arms around