"Heaven is casting its thick vengeance round me; heaven is consuming me with the fire of my own heart! How can I be calm, and my past life vaulted with a glow of fire? The finger of Almighty God points to that deed I did today. I deprived a wretch of his only hope: that wretch can forgive me before heaven. Y-e-s, he can,--can speak for me,--can intercede for me; he can sign my repentance, and save me from the just vengeance of heaven. His-his-his-" "What?" the physician whispers, putting his ear to his mouth. "Be calm." "Calm!" he mutters in return. "Neither fear death nor be frightened at its shadows-" "It's life, life, life I fear--not death!" he gurgles out. "Bring him to me; there is the Bible. Oh! how could I have robbed him of it! 'Twas our folly--all folly--my folly!" Mr. M'Fadden had forgotten that the bustle of current life was no excuse for his folly; that it would be summed up against him in the day of trouble. He never for once thought that the Bible and its teachings were as dear to slave as master, and that its truths were equally consoling in the hour of death. In life it strengthens man's hopes; could it have been thus with M'Fadden before death placed its troubled sea before his eyes, how happy he would have died in the Lord! The emphatic language, uttered in such supplicating tones, and so at variance with his habits of life, naturally excited the feelings of his physician, whose only solicitude had been evinced in his efforts to save life,--to heal the wound. Never had he watched at a patient's bed-side who had exhibited such convulsions of passion,--such fears of death. Now struggling against a storm of convulsions, then subsiding into sluggish writhings, accompanied with low moans, indicating more mental disquietude than bodily pain. Again he is quiet; points to his coat. The physician brings it forward and lays it upon the bed, where Mr. M'Fadden can put his hand upon it. "It is there--in there!" he says, turning on his left side, and with a solicitous look pointing to the pockets of his coat. The professional gentleman does not understand him. He half raises himself on his pillow, but sinks back fatigued, and faintly whispers, "Oh, take it to him--to him! Give him the comforter: bring him, poor fellow, to me, that his spirit may be my comforter!"