icated to God from his youth; that he had struggled
all his days to be prepared for such a moment as this, did not affect
him to the least degree.

The seasoning of the bow does not invariably prevent it from snapping.
The drill on the parade ground does not always insure, courage for the
battle. Nothing is more terrible than this futility of the past.

Such scenes as this discredit the value of experience, and attach a
terrible reality to the conclusion of Coleridge, that "it is like the
stern-light of a vessel--illuminating only the path over which we have
traveled."

Nor did the future possess any more power over their destinies than the
past. Not a conscious foreboding disturbed their enjoyment of that brief
instant which alone can be called the present.

And yet, no moment in their after lives came up more frequently for
review than this one, and in the light of subsequent events they were
forced to recognize that during every instant of this scene there was an
uneasy but unacknowledged sense of danger and wrong thrilling through
all those emotions of bliss.

It is seldom that any man or woman enters into the region of danger
without premonitions. The delicate instincts of the soul hoist the
warning signals, but the wild passions disregard them.

It was to this moment that their consciences traced their sorrows; it
was to that act of their souls which permitted them to enjoy that
momentary rapture that they attached their guilt; it was at that moment
and in that silent place that they planted the seeds of the trees upon
which they were subsequently crucified.

CHAPTER X.

A POISONED SPRING

"It was the saying of a great man, that if we could trace our
descents, we should find all slaves to come from princes and all
princes from slaves!"--Seneca.

Early the next morning the two adventurers took their departure.

The jovial quack lavished his good-byes upon the landlord and the
"riff-raff" who gathered to welcome the coming or speed the parting
guest at the door of the country tavern. He drove a pair of beautiful,
spirited horses, and had the satisfaction of knowing that he excited the
envy of every beholder, as he took the ribbons in his hand, swung out
his long whip and started.

If her husband's heart was swelling with pride, Pepeeta's was bursting
with anxiety. An instinct which she did not understand had prevented her
from telling the doctor of her interview with the Quaker.