ll breed wisdom.

Thus Rowland remained for some time, with unkind and unholy thoughts and
feelings rushing through his mind, like the howling winds through the
air in a great storm. Afterwards, he prayed humbly to be forgiven those
devilish feelings of anger, pride, hatred of life and mistrust of God's
goodness that assailed him in that hour of misery. But for the time,
they were darting to and fro, and casting out every good thought, and
hopeful purpose from his soul, like demons as they were.

But strength came at last, and like one arising out of a horrid dream,
Rowland got up from his anguish, and looked out into the night. The moon
was too tender and beautiful for his mood at that time; he roughly drew
down the blind, took a box of matches from the table, and lighted a
candle. Then he paced up and down the room, and suddenly thought of
Howel and Netta. He knew not how the transition took place, but he
immediately accused himself of having been hard to them. Does any one
ever fully sympathise with another, until he has felt as he does? No, we
should not judge our weak fellow mortals so harshly, if we knew all
their temptations and trials.

Then, again, Miss Gwynne returned to him, with her pride and coldness.
How could he love such a woman? he, whose beau ideal of feminine
perfection was a creature of gentleness, love, and pity? but he would
think of her no more. She, at least, should discover that he was as
proud as herself.

Yes, he was proud, he knew it, and now, he would glory in his pride
instead of trample it down, as he had been of late trying to do, as an
arch tempter; he should be justified in showing pride for her pride.

Again a gentler and better mood came. Was he not vain, ambitious,
ridiculous in her eyes, for venturing to speak to her as he had done?
Doubtless he had been wrong, but she needed not to spurn him as she had
done; she might have told him so as a friend. Friend! she thought him
beneath her friendship.

But we will not pursue these musings further; every kind and degree of
feeling alternated for nearly two hours, when, as if by some sudden
impulse or resolution, Rowland sat down and determined to write his
sermon. It should be upon pride, and should touch her as well as
himself. He found pleasure in thinking of all the texts in which the
word occurs, in looking for them, and considering which was the most
biting.

A hasty knock at his door interrupted this study. It was Owen, who