s warm and gushing impulses, that
caused the tear to suffuse her eye at every wound occasioned his
sensitive heart by the thoughtless Willie? Was it naught but a generous
interest that led her every day to his humble home, with her books or
drawings, to ask aid of her uncle's _protegee_? Or was he inflicting
upon himself a needless suffering, besides quenching the brightness of
that young spirit which he would fain die to save from sorrow? Could it
be that by one spoken word his life and health might flow back upon him
with new and refreshing vigor? The risk was too great. It might banish
forever from his sight the only object that made that life endurable;
and so it remained unsaid, preying upon the vitals and pressing him
onward to the blessed haven of rest--rest from all doubts, rest from all
infirmities and sufferings, rest from all painful labor, both physical
and mental, glorious, perfect, enduring rest!

He felt the change that was drawing him from earth, and rejoiced in it.
It were better that she should think of him as a spirit, divested of the
covering that made him a loathsome mortal! Even if he could know that
her every affection clung to him, he would pray to go hence before her
eyes could be so cleared of the mists of love as to see the hideousness
of his imperfections. He had seen her shudder as her cousin's arm was
placed around her; and was he not more repulsive still? Oh, how could he
ever dream of allying himself to an angel?

The very thought of his "vanity" and forgetfulness was humiliating, and
Archibald Mackie shut himself up in his chamber, and suffered, and
prayed, and struggled alone; and came forth with a radiant brow, and a
cheerful, peaceful heart. He had done with the things of this life. The
dearest and best he had dropped from his grasp, and now it was so easy
to part with the rest. The dreams of his youth had made his pathway
green, and kept his mind off the real evils. What if they were but
transient and fading visions? They had been of sufficient duration and
brightness to cheer him in many an otherwise dreary walk; and they had
not been without their influence upon the inner soul that perchance
would have sunk into an utter despondency and gloom but for these
incentives to energy and action.

No more dreaming now; but a constant looking forward to the end of
life's journey, and a steady and unwearied preparation for the final
summons.

CHAPTER XIII.

The summer was unspe