“’My dear boy, trust her to my care.  St. Elmo, for your dear sake I will steal time from my books to cheer her while you are absent.  But hurry back, for you know I find black-letter more attractive than blue-eyes.  God bless you, my precious friend.  Write to me constantly.’

“Since then, I always shudder involuntarily when I hear parting friends bless each other—­for well, well do I know the stinging curse coiled up in those smooth liquid words!  I came home and busied myself in the erection of this church; in plans for Murray’s advancement in life, as well as my own.  My importunity prevailed over my mother’s sensible objections, and she finally consented that I should take my bride to Europe; while I had informed Mr. Hammond that I wished Murray to accompany us; that I would gladly pay his travelling expenses—­I was so anxious for him to see the East, especially Palestine.  Full of happy hopes, I hurried back earlier than I had intended, and reached New Haven very unexpectedly.  The night was bright with moonshine, my heart was bright with hope, and too eager to see Agnes, whose letters had breathed the most tender solicitude and attachment, I rushed up the steps, and was told that she was walking in the little flower-garden.  Down the path I hurried, and stopped as I heard her silvery laugh blended with Murray’s; then my name was pronounced in tones that almost petrified me.  Under a large apple-tree in the parsonage-garden they sat on a wooden bench, and only the tendrils and branches of an Isabella grape vine divided us.  I stood there, grasping the vine—­looking through the leaves at the two whom I had so idolized; and saw her golden head flashing in the moonlight as she rested it on her cousin’s breast; heard and saw their kisses; heard—­what wrecked, blasted me!  I heard myself ridiculed—­sneered at—­maligned; heard that I was to be a mere puppet—­a cat’s paw, that I was a doting, silly fool—­easily hoodwinked; that she found it difficult, almost impossible, to endure my caresses; that she shuddered in my arms, and flew for happiness to his!  I heard that from the beginning I had been duped; that they had always loved each other—­always would; but poverty stubbornly barred their marriage—­and she must be sacrificed to secure my fortune for the use of both!  All that was uttered I can not now recapitulate; but it is carefully embalmed, and lies in the little Taj Mahal, among other cherished souvenirs of my precious friendships!  While I stood there, I was transformed; the soul of St. Elmo seemed to pass away—­a fiend took possession of me; love died, hope with it—­and an insatiable thirst for vengeance set my blood on fire.  During those ten minutes my whole nature was warped, distorted; my life blasted—­mutilated—­deformed.  The loss of Agnes’s love I could have borne, nay—­fool that I was!—­I think my quondam generous affection for Murray would have made me relinquish her almost resignedly, if his happiness had demanded the sacrifice on my part.  If he