her
own hand which I had clasped at the altar--and with our Lucy at her
knees--she gave me that loathsome draught of shame and sorrow:--I drank
it to the dregs--and it is burning all through my being--now--as if it
had been hell-fire from the hands of a fiend in the shape of an angel.
In what page of the New Testament am I told to forgive her? Let me see
the verse--and then shall I know that Christianity is an imposture; for
the voice of God within me--the conscience which is His still small
voice--commands me never from my memory to obliterate that curse--never
to forgive her, and her wickedness--not even if we should see each
other's shadows in a future state, after the day of judgment."

His countenance grew ghastly--and staggering to a stone, he sat down and
eyed the skies with a vacant stare, like a man whom dreams carry about
in his sleep. His face was like ashes--and he gasped like one about to
fall into a fit. "Bring me water"--and the old man motioned on the
child, who, giving ear to him for a moment, flew away to the Lakeside
with an urn she had brought with her for flowers; and held it to her
father's lips. His eyes saw it not;--there was her sweet pale face all
wet with tears, almost touching his own--her innocent mouth breathing
that pure balm that seems to a father's soul to be inhaled from the
bowers of paradise. He took her into his bosom--and kissed her dewy
eyes--and begged her to cease her sobbing--to smile--to laugh--to
sing--to dance away into the sunshine--_to be happy!_ And Lucy afraid,
not of her father, but of his kindness--for the simple creature was not
able to understand his wild utterance of blessings--returned to the
glade but not to her pastime, and couching like a fawn among the fern,
kept her eyes on her father, and left her flowers to fade unheeded
beside her empty urn.

"Unintelligible mystery of wickedness! That child was just three years
old the very day it was forsaken--she abandoned it and me on its
birthday! Twice had that day been observed by us--as the sweetest--the
most sacred of holidays; and now that it had again come round--but I not
present--for I was on foreign service--thus did she observe it--and
disappeared with her paramour. It so happened that we went that day into
action--and I committed her and our child to the mercy of God in fervent
prayers; for love made me religious--and for their sakes I feared
though I shunned not death. I lay all night among the wounded on