life；　breaking　into　this；　and　beginning　to　destroy　like　fire　the
  inferior　modes　or　garments　of　the　present？　　And　then　disease　would
  be　but　the　sign　of　the　salvation　of　fire；　of　the　agony　of　the
  greater　life　to　lift　us　to　itself；　out　of　that　wherein　we　are
  failing　and　sinning。　　And　so　we　praise　the　consuming　fire　of　life。〃
  〃But　surely　all　cannot　fare　alike　in　the　new　life。〃
  〃Far　from　it。　　According　to　the　condition。　　But　what　would　be　hell
  to　one；　will　be　quietness；　and　hope；　and　progress　to　another；
  because　he　has　left　worse　behind　him；　and　in　this　the　life　asserts
  itself；　and　is。But　perhaps　you　are　not　interested　in　such
  subjects；　Mr。　Sutherland；　and　I　weary　you。〃
  〃If　I　have　not　been　interested　in　them　hitherto；　I　am　ready　to
  become　so　now。　　Let　me　go　with　you。〃
  〃With　pleasure。〃
  As　I　have　attempted　to　tell　a　great　deal　about　Robert　Falconer　and
  his　pursuits　elsewhere；　I　will　not　here　relate　the　particulars　of
  their　walk　through　some　of　the　most　wretched　parts　of　London。
  Suffice　it　to　say　that；　if　Hugh；　as　he　walked　home；　was　not　yet
  prepared　to　receive　and　understand　the　half　of　what　Falconer　had
  said　about　death；　and　had　not　yet　that　faith　in　God　that　gives　as
  perfect　a　peace　for　the　future　of　our　brothers　and　sisters；　who；
  alas！　have　as　yet　been　fed　with　husks；　as　for　that　of　ourselves；　who
  have　eaten　bread　of　the　finest　of　the　wheat；　and　have　been　but　a
  little　thankful；he　yet　felt　at　least　that　it　was　a　blessed　thing
  that　these　men　and　women　would　all　diemust　all　die。　　That　spectre
  from　which　men　shrink；　as　if　it　would　take　from　them　the　last
  shivering　remnant　of　existence；　he　turned　to　for　some　consolation
  even　for　them。　　He　was　prepared　to　believe　that　they　could　not　be
  going　to　worse　in　the　end；　though　some　of　the　rich　and　respectable
  and　educated　might　have　to　receive　their　evil　things　first　in　the
  other　world；　and　he　was　ready　to　understand　that　great　saying　of
  Schillerfull　of　a　faith　evident　enough　to　him　who　can　look　far
  enough　into　the　saying：
  〃Death　cannot　be　an　evil；　for　it　is　universal。〃
  CHAPTER　VIII。
  EUPHRA。
  Samson。　　O　that　torment　should　not　be　confined
  To　the　body's　wounds　and　sores；
  But　must　secret　passage　find
  To　the　inmost　mind。
  Dire　inflammation；　which　no　cooling　herb
  Or　medicinal　liquor　can　asswage；
  Nor　breath　of　vernal　air　from　snowy　Alp。
  Sleep　hath　forsook　and　given　me　o'er
  To　death's　benumming　opium　as　my　only　cure；
  Thence　faintings；　swoonings　of　despair；
  And　sense　of　heaven's　desertion。
  MILTON。Samson　Agonistes。
  Hitherto　I　have　chiefly　followed　the　history　of　my　hero；　if　hero　in
  any　sense　he　can　yet　be　called。　　Now　I　must　leave　him　for　a　while；
  and　take　up　the　story　of　the　rest　of　the　few　persons　concerned　in　my
  tale。
  Lady　Emily　had　gone　to　Madeira；　and　Mr。　Arnold　had　followed。　　Mrs。
  Elton　and　Harry；　and　Margaret；　of　course；　had　gone　to　London。
  Euphra　was　left　alone　at　Arnstead。
  A　great　alteration　had　taken　place　in　this　strange　girl。　　The
  servants　were　positively　afraid　of　her　now；　from　the　butler　down　to
  the　kitchen…maid。　　She　used　to　go　into　violent　fits　of　passion；　in
  which　the　mere　flash　of　her　eyes　was　overpowering。　　These　outbreaks
  would　be　followed　almost　instantaneously　by　seasons　of　the　deepest
  dejection；　in　which　she　would　confine　herself　to　her　room　for　hours；
  or；　lame　as　she　was；　wander　about　the　house　and　the　Ghost's　Walk；
  herself　pale　as　a　ghost；　and　looking　meagre　and　wretched。
  Also；　she　became　subject　to　frequent　fainting　fits；　the　first　of
  which　took　place　the　night　before　Hugh's　departure；　after　she　had
  returned　to　the　house　from　her　interview　with　him　in　the　Ghost's
  Walk。　She　was　evidently　miserable。
  For　this　misery　we　know　that　there　were　very　sufficient　reasons；
  without　taking　into　account　the　fact　that　she　had　no　one　to
  fascinate　now。　　Her　continued　lameness；　which　her　restlessness
  aggravated；　likewise　gave　her　great　cause　for　anxiety。　　But　I
  presume　that；　even　during　the　early　part　of　her　confinement；　her
  mind　had　been　thrown　back　upon　itself；　in　that　consciousness　which
  often　arises　in　loneliness　and　suffering；　and　that　even　then　she　had
  begun　to　feel　that　her　own　self　was　a　worse　tyrant　than　the　count；
  and　made　her　a　more　wretched　slave　than　any　exercise　of　his　unlawful
  power　could　make　her。
  Some　natures　will　endure　an　immense　amount　of　misery　before　they
  feel　compelled　to　look　there　for　help；　whence　all　help　and　healing
  comes。　　They　cannot　believe　that　there　is　verily　an　unseen
  mysterious　power；　till　the　world　and　all　that　is　in　it　has　vanished
  in　the　smoke　of　despair；　till　cause　and　effect　is　nothing　to　the
  intellect；　and　possible　glories　have　faded　from　the　imagination；
  then；　deprived　of　all　that　made　life　pleasant　or　hopeful；　the
  immortal　essence；　lonely　and　wretched　and　unable　to　cease；　looks　up
  with　its　now　unfettered　and　wakened　instinct；　to　the　source　of　its
  own　lifeto　the　possible　God　who；　notwithstanding　all　the
  improbabilities　of　his　existence；　may　yet　perhaps　be；　and　may　yet
  perhaps　hear　his　wretched　creature　that　calls。　　In　this　loneliness
  of　despair；　life　must　find　The　Life；　for　joy　is　gone；　and　life　is
  all　that　is　left：　it　is　compelled　to　seek　its　source；　its　root；　its
  eternal　life。　　This　alone　remains　as　a　possible　thing。　　Strange
  condition　of　despair　into　which　the　Spirit　of　God　drives　a　mana
  condition　in　which　the　Best　alone　is　the　Possible！
  Other　simpler　natures　look　up　at　once。　　Even　before　the　first　pang
  has　passed　away；　as　by　a　holy　instinct　of　celestial　childhood；　they
  lift　their　eyes　to　the　heavens　whence　cometh　their　aid。　　Of　this
  class　Euphra　was　not。　　She　belonged　to　the　former。　　And　yet　even　she
  had　begun　to　look　upward；　for　the　waters　had　closed　above　her　head。
  She　betook　herself　to　the　one　man　of　whom　she　had　heard　as　knowing
  about　God。　She　wrote；　but　no　answer　came。　　Days　and　days　passed
  away；　and　there　was　no　reply。
  〃Ah！　just　so！〃　she　said；　in　bitterness。　〃And　if　I　cried　to　God　for
  ever；　I　should　hear　no　word　of　reply。　　If　he　be；　he　sits　apart；　and
  leaves　the　weak　to　be　the　prey　of　the　bad。　　What　cares　he？〃
  Yet；　as　she　spoke；　she　rose；　and；　by　a　sudden　impulse；　threw　herself
  on　the　floor；　and　cried　for　the　first　time：
  〃O　God；　help　me！〃
  Was　there　voice　or　hearing？
  She　rose　at　least　with　a　little　hope；　and　with　the　feeling　that　if
  she　could　cry　to　him；　it　might　be　that　he　could　listen　to　her。　　It
  seemed　natural　to　pray；　it　seemed　to　come　of　itself：　that　could　not
  be　except　it　was　first　natural　for　God　to　hear。　　The　foundation　of
  her　own　action　must　be　in　him　who　made　her；　for　her　call　could　be
  only　a　response　after　all。
  The　time　passed　wearily　by。　　Dim；　slow　November　days　came　on；　with
  the　fall　of　the　last　brown　shred　of　those　clouds　of　living　green
  that　had　floated　betwixt　earth　and　heaven。　　Through　the　bare　boughs
  of　the　overarching　avenue　of　the　Ghost's　Walk；　themselves　living
  skeletons；　she　could　now　look　straight　up　to　the　blue　sky；　which　had
  been　there　all　the　time。　　And　she　had　begun　to　look　up　to　a　higher
  heaven；　through　the　bare　skeleton　shapes　of　life；　for　the　foliage　of
  joy　had　wholly　vanishedshall　we　say　in　order　that　the　children　of
  the　spring　might　come？certainly　in　order　first　that　the　blue　sky
  of　a　deeper　peace　might　reflect　itself　in　the　hitherto　darkened
  waters　of　her　soul。
  Perhaps　some　of　my　readers　may　think　that　she　had　enough　to　repent
  of　to　keep　her　from　weariness。　　She　had　plenty　to　repent　of；　no
  doubt；　but　repentance；　between　the　paroxysms　of　its　bitterness；　is　a
  very　dreary　and　November…like　state　of　the　spiritual　weather。　　For
  its　foggy　mornings　and　cheerless　noons　cannot　believe　in　the　sun　of
  spring；　soon　to　ripen　into　the　sun　of　summer；　and　its　best　time　is
  the　night；　that　shuts　out　the　world　and　weeps　its　fill　of　slow
  tears。　　But　she　was　not　altogether　so　blameworthy　as　she　may　have
  appeared。　　Her　affectations　had　not　been　altogether　false。　　She
  valued；　and　in　a　measure　possessed；　the　feelings　for　which　she
  sought　credit。　　She　had　a　genuine　enjoyment　of　nature；　though　after
  a　sensuous；　Keats…like　fashion；　not　a　Wordsworthian。　　It　was　the
  body；　rather　than　the　soul；　of　nature　that　she　lovedits　beauty
  rather　than　its　truth。　　Had　her　love　of　nature　been　of　the　deepest；
  she　would　have　turned　aside　to　conceal　her　emotions　rather　than　have
  held　them　up　as　allurements　in　the　eyes　of　her　companion。　　But　as　no
  body　and　no　beauty　can　exist　without　soul　and　truth；　she　who　loves
  the　former　must　at　least　be　capable　of　loving　the　deeper　essence　to
  which　they　owe　their　very　existence。
  This　view　of　her　character　is　borne　out　by　her　love　of　music　and　her
  liking　for　Hugh。　Both　were　genuine。　　Had　the　latter　been　either　more
  or　less　genuine　than　it　was；　the　task　of　fascination　would　have　been
  more　difficult；　and　its　success　less　complete。　　Whether　her　own
  feelings　became　further　involved　than　she　had　calculated　upon；　I
  cannot　tell；　but　surely　it　says　something　for　her；　in　any　case；　that
  she　desired　to　retain　Hugh　as　her　friend；　instead　of　hating　him
  because　he　had　been　her　lover。
  How　glad　she　would　have　been　of　Harry　now！　　The　days　crawled　one
  after　the　ot