Come on with me, and see the end; push further still, there is a labyrinth ahead to attract and to excite; from mind to mind crackles the electric spark:  and when the heart thrillingly conceives, its children-thoughts are as arrows from the hand of the giant, flying through that mental world—­the hearts of other men.  Fervent still from its hot internal source, this fountain gushes up; no sluggish Lethe-stream is here, dull, forgetful, and forgotten; but liker to the burning waves of Phlegethon, mingling at times (though its fire is still unquenched), with the pastoral rills of Tempe, and the River from the Mount of God.

Lower the sail—­let it flap idly on the wind—­helm a-port—­and so to smoother waters:  return to common life and humbler thoughts.

It may yet go hard with Roger Acton.  Jennings is a man of character, especially the farther from his home; the county round take him for a model of propriety, a sample of the strictest conduct.  We know the bad man better; but who dare breathe against the bailiff in his power—­against the caitiff in his sleek hypocrisy—­that, while he makes a show of both humilities, he fears not God nor man?  What shall hinder, that the perjured wretch offer up to the manes of the murdered the life-blood of the false-accused?  May he not live yet many years, heaping up gold and crime?  And may not sweet Grace Acton—­her now repentant father—­the kindly Jonathan—­his generous master, and if there be any other of the Hurstley folk we love, may they not all meet destruction at his hands, as a handful of corn before the reaper’s sickle?  I say not that they shall, but that they might.  Acton’s criminal state of mind, and his hunger after gold—­gold any how—­have earned some righteous retribution, unless Providence in mercy interpose; and young Sir John, in nowise unblameable himself, with wealth to tempt the spoiler, lives in the spoiler’s very den; and as to Jonathan and Grace, this world has many martyrs.  If Heaven in its wisdom use the wicked as a sword, Heaven is but just; but if in its vengeance that sword of the wicked is turned against himself, Heaven showeth mercy all unmerited.  To a criminal like Jennings, let loose upon the world, without the clog of conscience to retard him, and with the spur of covetousness ever urging on, any thing in crime is possible—­is probable:  none can sound those depths:  and when we raise our eyes on high to the Mighty Moral Governor, and note the clouds of mystery that thunder round his Throne—­He may permit, or he may control; who shall reach those heights?

CHAPTER XXXV.

FEARS.

MOREOVER, innocent of blood, as we know Roger Acton to be, appearances are strongly against him:  and in such a deed as secret, midnight murder, which none but God can witness, multiplied appearances justify the world in condemning one who seems so guilty.

The first impression against Roger is a bad one, for all the neighbours know how strangely his character had been changing for the worse of late:  he is not like the same man; sullen and insubordinate, he was turned away from work for his bold and free demeanor; as to church, though he had worn that little path these forty years, all at once he seems to have entirely forgotten the way hither.