“You remarked,” said he, “that scepticism is often referable to some former error of life, and the sceptic is only seeking to hide his fears of consequences in another state of existence, by creating a belief that there is no other state.” “That was the inference, if not the words of my remarks,” said I. “Well, I have thought much of it since you left me, and I have wished for life to repair if possible some injuries which I have done to others. The very feverish condition in which I find myself, and which I heard the doctor say would be dangerous should it come, leads me to fear that I shall not be able to accomplish my wish; and struck with the peculiar expression of your face, and the coincidence of your name—” “That is my mother’s name,” said I. “But you were born in this town?” I gave no answer. “Nevertheless, I will yield to the suggestion which I have felt, if you will allow me, and show you that while I have greatly erred, and may refer my scepticism to my errors, I yet have sought to repair a part of the injuries I did in my youth.” “If I heard your statement, should I be at liberty to tell my mother, because I do not like to hear anything which I may not communicate to her; and, of course, I could not tell, and she would not hear what was told to me in strict confidence?” The captain reached his uninjured arm over the bed-side, and pressed my hand. I understood it to be a commendation of your instructions to me, and a consent that I should be at liberty to repeat what he said. But, oh, what a fever was scorching his skin. “I was left with a fortune, a good education, and a knowledge of mercantile life. Too young to have the guidance of myself—but I escaped what the world calls gross dissipation. “At 21 I was married to a poor, friendless girl, whom I had _injured_. I was married in the morning at 6 o’clock, and in half an hour left the home of my wife, whom I never saw again. “I returned from Europe in about a year, having added much to my knowledge of the world, and to my means of enjoying it. In New York, I met a young lady, whose excellence in every female qualification so enraptured me, let me say rather, so awakened in me the slumbering affection of my heart, that I became attentive, and found that I had been successful in inducing love for me in her breast. I will not, for my mind now seems to waver, I will not attempt to describe the progress of my courtship. But when I returned from another voyage to England, I led Amelia to the altar. We were married in Grace Church; and if mortal ever felt happy, certainly I did, as I handed my wife into the parlor of her distant relative with whom she resided—her father and mother having been dead for some years.