ce of approaching danger to his
companions, gradually subdued the excitement of his feelings. His
pace, at first rapid, relaxed, the light began to play upon the clouds
that brooded on his spirits, and he wondered at his fancies and his
conduct.

"How could I," thought he, "be so cruel to my own Faith! Her life
ought to be all sunshine and gladness, and would be but for me, and I
must sadden and darken it with the baleful imaginings of a distempered
mind. I must struggle harder and pray oftener and more fervently to
be preserved from myself. And now my soul feels the need of communing
with the Infinite Spirit. What fitter place for adoration than the
stillness of these old woods? Here worldly interruptions cannot come,
and the veil between Him and His creature is withdrawn."

He stopped. He looked up into the sky, and watched the clouds floating
in the blue. He glanced at the sun flaming in golden magnificence. His
eyes fell on the hoary stems of the giants of the forest. He saw
the trailing arbutus, the delicious herald of warmer suns and softer
winds, creeping to his feet, and raised his hands to heaven and
repeated the lines of Milton--

These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good,
Almighty, thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above the heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine.

He stooped down and picked a few bunches of the arbutus, and put them
in his bosom. "Faith loves flowers," he said, "and the sweetness and
whiteness of these are types of herself."

He was now quite calm, and realized fully where he was. It is strange,
he thought, how I came hither. I am like Philip, whom the Spirit
caught away.

He continued his walk, striving to drive away the gloomy ideas, which,
in spite of his resistance, threatened again to master him. With his
eyes bent upon the ground, he proceeded some distance, when a slight
noise attracted his attention. He raised his eyes, and discovered
the cause. Five or six men were approaching, bearing, between them,
something on some boards. Mr. Armstrong stopped, and, as they came
near, perceived, it was the body of the drowned fisherman.

"Fate," he murmured between his teeth, "has driven me here. It was
meet that the murderer should be confronted by his victim."

The men, when they had surmounted the steep river