"You are mistaken," said Armstrong. "Life is wretchedness, with now and then a moment of delusive respite to tempt us not to cast it away." "When your health returns, you will think differently, dear father. Look! how enchanting this blue over-arching sky, in which the clouds float like angels. With what a gentle welcome the wind kisses our cheeks, and rustles the leaves of the trees, as if to furnish an accompaniment to the songs of the birds which flit among them, while the dear little brook laughs and dances and claps its hands, and tells us, like itself, to be glad. There is only one thing wanting, father, and that is, that you should be happy. But I wonder why this pile of wood was built up so carefully near the edge of the water." "It is the altar on which I am commanded to sacrifice thee, my child," said Armstrong, seizing her by the arm, and drawing her towards it. There was a horror in the tones of his voice, a despair in the expression of his face, and a lurid glare in his eyes, that explained all his previous conduct, and revealed to the unhappy girl the full danger of her situation; even as in a dark night a sudden flash of lightning apprises the startled traveller of a precipice over which his foot has already advanced, and the gleam serves only to show him his destruction. "Father, you cannot be in earnest," she exclaimed, dreadfully alarmed at being in the power of a maniac, far from assistance, "you do not mean so. Oh," she said throwing herself into his arms, "I do not believe my father means to hurt me." "Why do you not fly? Why do you throw your arms about me? Do you think to defeat the decree? Unwind your arms, I say, and be obedient unto death." So saying, with a gentle force he loosed the hold of the fainting girl, who with one hand embracing his knees, and the other held up to deprecate his violence, sunk at his feet. "God have mercy upon us! Christ have mercy upon us," her pale lips faintly gasped. "Faith, my precious, my darling," said Armstrong, with a terrible calmness, as he drew a large knife out of his bosom, "You know I do not this of myself, but I dare not disobey the command. It might endanger the soul of my child, which is dearer than her life. Think, dear child, in a moment, you will be in Paradise. It is only one short pang, and all is over. Let me kiss you first." He stooped down, he inclosed her in his arms, and strained her to his heart--he imprinted innumerable kisses on her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead--he groaned, and large drops of sweat stood on his face, pressed out by the agony. "You will see your mother and my brother George, Faith. Tell them not to blame me. I could not help it. You will not blame me, I know. You never blamed me even in a thought. I wish it was for you to kill me. The father, it would seem ought to go first, and I am very weary of life."