“Know--know what, Mr. Cross?” replied Stevens, with all the astonishment which he could possibly throw into his air, as he descended from his horse with all haste to recover his flask, and save its remaining contents from loss. “Call me not mister--call me plain John Cross,” replied the preacher--in the midst of a second fit of choking, the result of his vain effort to disgorge that portion of the pernicious liquid which had irretrievably descended into his bowels. With a surprise admirably affected, Stevens approached him. “My dear sir--what troubles you?--what can be the matter? What have I done? What is it you fear?” “That infernal draught--that liquor--I have swallowed of it a mouthful. I feel it in me. The sin be upon thy head, Alfred Stevens--why did you not tell me, before I drank, that it was the soul's poison?--the poison that slays more than the sword or the pestilence;--the liquor of the devil, distilled in the vessels of sin--and sent among men for the destruction of the soul! I feel it now within me, and it burns--it burns like the fires of damnation. Is there no water nigh that I may quench my thirst?--Show me, Alfred Stevens, show me where the cool waters lie, that I may put out these raging flames.” “There is a branch, if I mistake not, just above us on the road--I think I see it glistening among the leaves. Let us ride toward it, sir, and it will relieve you.” “Ah, Alfred Stevens, why have you served me thus? Why did you not tell me?” Repeated groans accompanied this apostrophe, and marked every step in the progress of the preacher to the little rivulet which trickled across the road. John Cross, descended with the rapidity of one whose hope hangs upon a minute, and dreads its loss, as equal to the loss of life. He straddled the stream and thrust his lips into the water, drawing up a quantity sufficient, in the estimation of Stevens, to have effectually neutralized the entire contents of his flask. “Blessed water! Blessed water! Holiest beverage! Thou art the creation of the Lord, and, next to the waters of eternal life, his best gift to undiscerning man. I drink of thee, and I am faint no longer. I rise up, strong and refreshed! Ah, my young friend, Alfred Stevens, I trust thou didst not mean me harm in giving me that poisonous liquor?” “Far from it, sir, I rather thought to do you a great benefit.”