u
wilt not despise.'"

She had risen from her chair, and stood with her eyes lifted in a
singular condition of mental exaltation, which gave a lyrical tone and
flow to her words.

"That is Summerfield," said Lawrence Newt. "Yes, he is a wonderful youth.
I have heard him myself, and thought that I saw the fire of Whitfield,
and heard the sweetness of Charles Wesley. I have been into the old John
Street meeting-house, where the crowds hung out at the windows and doors
like swarming bees clustered upon a hive. He swayed them as a wind bends
a grain-field, Miss Amy. He swept them away like a mountain stream. He
is an Irishman, with all the fervor of Irish genius. But," continued
Lawrence Newt, turning again to Aunt Martha, "it is a very different
man I want you to hear."

She looked at him inquiringly.

"His name is Channing. He comes from Boston."

"Does he preach the truth?" she asked.

"I think he does," answered Lawrence, gravely.

"Does he drive home the wrath of God upon the sinful, rebellious soul?"
exclaimed she, raising both hands with the energy of her words.

"He preaches the Gospel of Christ," said Lawrence Newt, quietly; "and I
think you will like him, and that he will do you good. He is called--"

"I don't care what he is called," interrupted Aunt Martha, "if he makes
me feel my sin."

"That you will discover for yourself," replied Lawrence, smiling. "He
makes me feel mine."

Aunt Martha, whose ecstasy had passed, seated herself, and said she would
go, as Mr. Newt requested, on the condition that neither he nor Amy, if
they were there, would betray that they knew her.

This was readily promised, and Amy and Lawrence Newt left the room
together.

CHAPTER XLIII.

WALKING HOME.

"Miss Amy," said Lawrence Newt, as they walked slowly toward Fulton
Street, "I hope that gradually we may overcome this morbid state of mind
in your aunt, and restore her to her home."

Amy said she hoped so too, and walked quietly by his side. There was
something almost humble in her manner. Her secret was her own no longer.
Was it Lawrence Newt's? Had she indeed betrayed herself?

"I didn't say why I was going out of town. Yet I ought to tell you," said
he.

"Why should you tell me?" she answered, quickly.

"Because it concerns our friend Hope Wayne," said Lawrence. "See, here is
the note which I received this morning."

As he spoke he opened it, and read aloud:

"MY DEAR MR. NEWT,--Mrs. Simcoe write