egretted that he had been tempted at all, he also
regretted that he had not been tempted further.

All day long his agitated spirit alternated between remorse that he had
enjoyed so much, and regret that he had enjoyed so little. Never had he
experienced such a tumult in his soul. He struggled hard, but he could
not tell whether he had conquered or been defeated.

It was not until he had retired to his room at night and thrown himself
upon his knees, that he began to regain peace. There, in the stillness
of his chamber, he strove for the control of his thoughts and emotions,
and fell asleep after long and prayerful struggles, with the sweet
consciousness of a spiritual triumph!

CHAPTER VI.

THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT

"Every man living shall assuredly meet with an hour of temptation,
a critical hour which shall more especially try what metal his
heart is made of"--South.

It was long after he had awakened in the morning before the memory of
the adventure of yesterday recurred to David's mind. His sleep had been
as deep as that of an infant, and his rest in the great ocean of
oblivion had purified him, so that when he did at last recall the
experience which had affected him so deeply, it was with indifference.
The charm had vanished. Even the gypsy's beauty paled in the light of
the Holy Sabbath morning. He could think of her with entire calmness,
and so thoroughly had the evil vanished that he hoped it had disappeared
forever. But he had yet to learn that before evil can be successfully
forgotten it must be heroically overcome.

He did not yet realize this, however, and his bath, his morning prayer,
a passage from the gospel, the hearty breakfast, the kind and trustful
faces of his family, dispelled the last cloud from the sky of his soul.
Having finished the round of morning duties, he made himself ready to
visit the lumber camp, there to discharge the sacred duty revealed to
him in the vision.

The confidence reposed by the genuine Quaker in such intimations of the
Spirit is absolute. They are to him as imperative as the audible voice
of God to Moses by the burning bush.

"Farewell, mother, I am off," he said, kissing her upon the white
forehead.

"Thee is going to the lumber camp, my son?" she asked, regarding him
with ill-concealed pride.

"I am, and hope to press the truth home to the hearts of those who shall
hear me," replied the young devotee, his face lighting up with the
bl