"The flower is an emblem of forgiveness," said Faith. "Pluck it, and it resents not the wrong. It dies, but with its last breath, exhales only sweetness for its destroyer."

"O, G.o.d!" groaned Armstrong. "Was this, too, necessary? Wilt thou grind me between the upper and the nether millstone?"

"What is the matter, father?" inquired Faith, anxiously, catching some words between his groans. "O, you are ill, let us return."

"No, my daughter, there is no return. It was a pang like those to which I am subject. Will they ever pa.s.s off?"

They had reached the open s.p.a.ce of ground or clearing made by Gladding, and Armstrong advanced, with Faith following, directly to the pile he had built near the brook.

"What a beautiful stream!" exclaimed Faith. "How it leaps, as if alive and rejoicing in its activity! I always connect happiness with life."

"You are mistaken," said Armstrong. "Life is wretchedness, with now and then a moment of delusive respite to tempt us not to cast it away."

"When your health returns, you will think differently, dear father.

Look! how enchanting this blue over-arching sky, in which the clouds float like angels. With what a gentle welcome the wind kisses our cheeks, and rustles the leaves of the trees, as if to furnish an accompaniment to the songs of the birds which flit among them, while the dear little brook laughs and dances and claps its hands, and tells us, like itself, to be glad. There is only one thing wanting, father, and that is, that you should be happy. But I wonder why this pile of wood was built up so carefully near the edge of the water."

"It is the altar on which I am commanded to sacrifice thee, my child,"

said Armstrong, seizing her by the arm, and drawing her towards it.

There was a horror in the tones of his voice, a despair in the expression of his face, and a lurid glare in his eyes, that explained all his previous conduct, and revealed to the unhappy girl the full danger of her situation; even as in a dark night a sudden flash of lightning apprises the startled traveller of a precipice over which his foot has already advanced, and the gleam serves only to show him his destruction.

"Father, you cannot be in earnest," she exclaimed, dreadfully alarmed at being in the power of a maniac, far from a.s.sistance, "you do not mean so. Oh," she said throwing herself into his arms, "I do not believe my father means to hurt me."

"Why do you not fly? Why do you throw your arms about me? Do you think to defeat the decree? Unwind your arms, I say, and be obedient unto death."

So saying, with a gentle force he loosed the hold of the fainting girl, who with one hand embracing his knees, and the other held up to deprecate his violence, sunk at his feet.

"G.o.d have mercy upon us! Christ have mercy upon us," her pale lips faintly gasped.

"Faith, my precious, my darling," said Armstrong, with a terrible calmness, as he drew a large knife out of his bosom, "You know I do not this of myself, but I dare not disobey the command. It might endanger the soul of my child, which is dearer than her life. Think, dear child, in a moment, you will be in Paradise. It is only one short pang, and all is over. Let me kiss you first."

He stooped down, he inclosed her in his arms, and strained her to his heart--he imprinted innumerable kisses on her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead--he groaned, and large drops of sweat stood on his face, pressed out by the agony.

"You will see your mother and my brother George, Faith. Tell them not to blame me. I could not help it. You will not blame me, I know. You never blamed me even in a thought. I wish it was for you to kill me.

The father, it would seem ought to go first, and I am very weary of life."

He raised the knife, and Faith, with upturned and straining eyes, saw it glittering in the sunshine. She strove to cry out, but in vain.

From the parched throat no sound proceeded. She saw the point about to enter her bosom. She shut her eyes, and mentally prayed for her father. At that moment, as the deadly instrument approached her heart, she heard a voice exclaim, "Madman forbear!" She opened her eyes: the knife had dropped from her father's hand; he staggered and leaned against the altar. A few words will explain the timely interruption.

When Armstrong and his daughter left the carriage to cross the field, the mind of Felix was filled with a thousand apprehensions. He would have followed had he dared to leave the horses, but this, his fear of the consequences if the high-spirited animals were left to themselves, forbade. With anxious eyes he pursued the receding foot-steps of his master and young mistress until they were lost to sight, and then, with a foreboding of evil, hid his face in the flowing mane of one of the horses, as if seeking comfort from his dumb companion. Some little time pa.s.sed, which to the fearful Felix seemed hours, when, whom should he see but the man whom of all the world he dreaded most. It was Holden, bounding along with strides which showed that the habits of his forest-life were not forgotten. At any other time the apparition of the Solitary would have imparted anything but pleasure, but now it was as welcome as a spar to a shipwrecked sailor. Holden advanced straight to the carriage, but before he could speak the black addressed him,

"Oh, Mr. Holden, if you love Mr. Armstrong and Miss Faith, go after them quick; don't stop a minute."

"Where are they?" said Holden.

"They go in that direcshum," answered Felix, pointing with his chin, across the field.

"How long ago?"

"Ever so long; Oh, good Mr. Holden, do hurry," said Felix, whose anxieties made him magnify the progress of time.

Holden asked no further questions, but increasing his speed, hastened on an Indian lope in the direction indicated, following the traces in the gra.s.s.

As he hurried on, his dream occurred to him. The features of the country were the same as of that he had traversed in his sleep: he remembered also, that the day of the week was Friday. As these thoughts came into his mind, they stimulated him to press on with increased speed, as if something momentous depended upon the swiftness of his motions. It was well he did so. A moment later might have been too late; a moment more and he might have seen the fair creature he so loved weltering in her blood. Too late to stay the uplifted hand of the deranged man with his own, he had uttered the cry which had arrested the knife.

Holden stooped down, and taking into his arms the insensible form of Faith, bore her to the brook. Here he lavishly sprinkled her face with the cool water, and sobs and deep drawn sighs began, after a time, to herald a return to consciousness. Armstrong followed, and as he saw the pale girl lying like a corpse in the arms of Holden, he threw himself down by her side upon the gra.s.s, and took her pa.s.sive hand, which lay cold in his own.

"She is not dead, is she?" said he. "O, say to me, she is not dead.

I thought I heard a voice from heaven--I expected to hear it--which commanded me to forbear. Did I disobey the angel? Was he too late?

Too late, too late, too late! Oh, she is dead, dead. My Faith, my daughter, my darling! O, G.o.d, it was cruel in thee!"

But presently, as we have said, sighs and sobs began to heave the bosom of Faith, and as she opened her languid eyes their soft light fell upon the face of her father.

With a cry of delight he sprang from the ground. "She is not dead," he exclaimed, "she is alive! I knew it would be so. I knew it was only a trial of my faith. I knew G.o.d would send his angel. He has angels enough in heaven. What does he want of Faith yet? My darling," he said, getting down and leaning the head of his daughter upon his bosom, "G.o.d did not mean it in earnest. He only meant to try us. It is all over now, and hereafter we shall be so happy!"

Holden, who, when Faith began to revive, had surrendered her to her father, stood looking on, while tears streamed down his face. Faith had now so far recovered as to sit up and look about her, and throwing her arms around her father's neck, she hid her face in his bosom."

"My brain whirls," she said, "and it seems to me as if I had had a dreadful dream. I thought you wanted to kill me, father."

"No, no, no!" cried Armstrong, "I never wanted to. It was my trial,"

he added, solemnly, "and I shall never have another, Faith. G.o.d is too merciful to try a man twice, so."

"James," said Holden, and his voice sounded with unusual magnificence, "dost thou know me?"

"Certainly," said Armstrong; "it is a strange question to ask me. You are Mr. Holden."

"I am thy brother George."

Without a doubt, without a misgiving, Armstrong, still holding his daughter, extended his hand to Holden.

"So, George," he said, "you have risen from the dead to save Faith's life. I knew G.o.d would work a miracle if it was necessary."

"I trust I have risen from the death of sin but I have never been in the grave of which thou speakest. Know that in veritable flesh and blood, I am thy brother George, who hath never tasted of death."

But this was an idea which Armstrong was incapable of receiving. He shook his head, and muttering to himself, "Can the dead lie?" looked suspiciously at Holden.

The announcement of the Solitary struck Faith, at once, as the truth.

Her mind was in no condition to reason and compare proofs. She only felt how sweet had been her intercourse with him, and how he had contrived to make her love and reverence him. She hoped it was true, he was her long lost uncle, and she believed it because she hoped it.

"My Uncle George!" she said, as attempting to rise she received his embrace. She could say no more. The agitation of her feelings choked her voice and vented itself in a flood of tears.

"What, crying, my darling?" said Armstrong. "This is no time for tears. You should rejoice, for is not George here, who left his grave to save your life, and has not our faith received its triumphant crown?"

"Alas!" exclaimed Holden, by a word and look conveying his meaning.

"As soon as you are able to walk, dear Faith, we had better return to your home."

"I think I am sufficiently restored," she replied, "if you will a.s.sist me."