cane, seemed to reflect deeply.

"Have you been at all conversant with the exercises of our young
friend's mind on the subject of religion?" he asked.

Mrs. Scudder did not at first reply. The remembrance of James's last
letter flashed over her mind, and she felt the vibration of the frail
child beside her, in whom every nerve was quivering. After a moment, she
said,--"It does not become us to judge the spiritual state of any one.
James's mind was in an unsettled way when he left; but who can say what
wonders may have been effected by divine grace since then?"

This conversation fell on the soul of Mary like the sound of clods
falling on a coffin to the ear of one buried alive;--she heard it with a
dull, smothering sense of suffocation. _That_ question to be
raised?--and about one, too, for whom she could have given her own soul?
At this moment she felt how idle is the mere hope or promise of personal
salvation made to one who has passed beyond the life of self, and struck
deep the roots of his existence in others. She did not utter a
word;--how could she? A doubt,--the faintest shadow of a doubt,--in such
a case, falls on the soul with the weight of mountain certainty; and in
that short ride she felt what an infinite pain may be locked in one
small, silent breast.

The wagon drew up to the house of mourning. Cato stood at the gate, and
came forward, officiously, to help them out. "Mass'r and Missis will be
glad to see you," he said. "It's a drefful stroke has come upon 'em."

Candace appeared at the door. There was a majesty of sorrow in her
bearing, as she received them. She said not a word, but pointed with her