Then the necessity for the great expiation occurred to his mind.  This had always been a stumbling-block to Roswell’s faith.  He could not see it; and that which he could not see he was indisposed to believe.  Here was the besetting weakness of his character; a weakness which did not suffer him to perceive that could he comprehend so profound a mystery, he would be raised far above that very nature in which he took so much pride.  As he reflected on this branch of the subject, a thousand mysteries, physical and moral, floated before his mind; and he became aware of the little probability that he should have been endowed with the faculties to comprehend this, the greatest of them all.  Had not science gradually discovered the chemical processes by which gases could be concentrated and disengaged, the formation of one of those glittering orbs above his head would have been quite as unintelligible a mystery to him, as the incarnation of the Saviour.  The fact was, that phenomena that were just as mysterious to the human mind as any that the dogmas of Christianity required to be believed, exist hourly before our eyes without awakening skepticism, or exciting discussion; finding their impunity in their familiarity.  Many of these phenomena were strictly incomprehensible to human understandings, which could reason up to a fountain-head in each case; and there it was obliged to abandon the inductive process, purely for the want of power to grapple with the premises which control the whole demonstration.

Could Mary Pratt have known what was going on in Roswell Gardiner’s soul that night, her happiness would have been as boundless as her gratitude to God.  She would have seen the barrier that had so long interposed itself to her wishes broken down; not by any rude hand, but by the influence of those whisperings of the Divine Spirit, which open the way to men to fit themselves for the presence of God.

Chapter XXVI.

  “Let winter come! let polar spirits sweep
  The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep!”

  Campbell.

While the bosom of Roswell was thus warming with the new-born faith, of which the germ was just opening in his heart, Stimson came out upon the terrace to see what had become of his officer.  It was much past the hour when the men got beneath the coverings of their mattresses; and the honest boat-steerer, who had performed the duty on which he had been sent, was anxious about Roswell’s remaining so long in the open air, on this positively the severest night of the whole season.

“You stand the cold well, Captain Gar’ner,” said Stephen, as he joined his officer; “but it might be prudent, now, to get under cover.”

“I do not feel it cold, Stephen”—­returned Roswell—­“on the contrary, I’m in a pleasant glow.  My mind has been busy, while my frame has kept in motion.  When such are the facts, the body seldom suffers.  But, hearken—­does it not seem that some one is calling to us from the direction of the wreck?”