upon them.  And now he was seized with the instinct of self-preservation, and in a moment had deserted his helpless family, and was fleeing, alone to a place of safety.  From thence he saw wife and children borne off by the rush of waters, their white, imploring faces turned to him, and their hands stretched out for succour.  Then all his love returned; self was forgotten; he would have died to save them.  But it was too late!  Even while he looked, they were engulfed and lost.

From such a dream Markland was awakened into conscious life.  The shadowy twilight had been succeeded by darkness.  He started up, confused and affrighted.  Some moments passed before his bewildered thoughts were able to comprehend his real position; and when he did so, he fell back, with a groan, horror-stricken, upon the bed.  The white faces and imploring hands of his wife and children were still vividly before him.

“Poor, weak, coward heart!” he at last murmured to himself.  “An evil spirit was thy counsellor.  I knew not that so mean and base a purpose could find admittance there.  What!  Beggar and disgrace my wife and children, and then, like a, skulking coward, leave them to bear the evil I had not the courage to face!  Edward Markland!  Can this, indeed, be true of thee?”

And the excited man sprang from the bed.  A feeble light came in through the window-panes above the door, and made things dimly visible.  He moved about, for a time, with an uncertain air, and then rung for a light.  The first object that met his eyes, when the servant brought in a lamp, was a small, unopened package, lying on the table.  He knew its contents.  What a strong shudder ran through his frame!  Seizing it the instant the attendant left the room, he flung it through the open window.  Then, sinking on his knees, he thanked God fervently for a timely deliverance.

The fierce struggle with pride was now over.  Weak, humbled, and softened in feeling almost to tears, Markland sat alone, through the remainder of that evening, with his thoughts reaching forward into the future, and seeking to discover the paths in which his feet must walk.  For himself he cared not now.  Ah! if the cherished ones could be saved from the consequences of his folly!  If he alone were destined to move in rough and thorny ways!  But there was for them no escape.  The paths in which he moved they must move.  The cup he had made bitter for himself would be bitter for them also.

Wretched man!  Into what a great deep of misery had he plunged himself!

CHAPTER XXXIV.

IT was near the close of the fifth day since Mr. Markland left his home to commence a long journey southward; and yet, no word had come back from him.  He had promised to write from Baltimore, and from other points on his route, and sufficient time had elapsed for at least two letters to arrive.  A servant, who had been sent to the city post-office, had returned without bringing any word from the absent one; and Mrs. Markland, with Fanny by her side, was sitting near a window sad and silent.