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CHAPTER XII.

WHILE Wallis was exulting in the hope of reclaiming his friend from melancholy and fanaticism; and while Lefevre was eagerly fleeing from the presence of a conscience which, because it told him the truth, he had foolishly adjudged an enemy; Mr. and Mrs. Russell were filled with mostanxious concern.

Lefevre had, indeed, preserved the best appearances before them; but his frankness of character did not allow him to beguile them into a false opinion; and their very attachment to him, while it apologized for his failings, was quick in their detection. They did not know enough of his engagements to say exactly how the change was effected; but they were too sensible a material change had occurred since the renewal of his intercourse with Wallis.

His calm and regular pursuits, in which he was once so happy, were now abandoned; he was evidently reluctant to spiritual conversation; and they had reason to fear that, if the forms of devotion were not relinquished, the spirit had departed.

They tendered their little attentions as usual, and even encreased them; but, generally, they met no kindly return; and sometimes were succeeded by a tart reply. that cheerfulness of temper, which prepared him formerly to receive and bestow happiness in the little circle, was lost; and was succeeded by a feverish hurry and irritation of spirit, which spoke of inward dissatisfaction. His evenings were seldom spent at home; and when they were, his refreshments were often taken in silence'; and he hastily retired to his room, to forget himself in the engrossing interest of a novel,

or romance.

One evening, after Mr. and Mrs. Russell had been dwelling with parental anxiety on Lefevre's declensions, they resolved to bear their trouble where they were accustomed to carry all their troubles, and where

They

they never failed to find relief. kneeled down by the side of each other; Mr. Russell with a patriarchal manner, lifted up his voice to the throne of hea venly grace; while his worthy companion evinced her sympathy in his sentiments, at one time, by a sigh, at another, by a whispered Amen.

It happened that, in the midst of this exercise, Lefevre came home, and, to avoid disturbing it, he took his seat in the adjoining room; where, however, he could not fail to hear every sentence most distinctly. At first, he was surprized that the devotions of the family occurred so much later than the regular hour; but he had not heard many sentences before he concluded, that this was an extra service, and purely on his own account. His heart was agitated with a variety of feelings, and unconsciously he sank on his knees. Mr. Russell proceeded to notice his dangers; to pray for his deliverance; and to strengthen his petitions by an ingenuous avowal of their interest in his welfare, and by an earnest appeal to Divine mercy.

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His emotion grew as he advanced; and, in closing, he seemed like Abraham pleading for the cities of the Plain. His fervor, his affection, his easy but reverend access to God in prayer, touched Lefevre even more than the new view it compelled him to take of his situation; and he arose deeply affected, and wiping the starting tears from his eyes.

After having employed a minute in composing himself, he entered the adjoining room, and, stretching out his hand to Mr. Russell, said,-"Thank you, sir!"

"For our prayers, you mean!" said Mr. Russell, taking his hand, and looking a little surprised. "Then you have heard them, and they have apprized you of our anxieties on your account?"

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They have, sir; and I thank you for them. But I hope there is not so much reason for fear as you apprehend."

"I hope so too, my dear Charles," said Mr. Russell, with a complacent smile. "I know we old folks are tempted to be too jealous of youth; but I know also that youth are seldom sufficiently cautious for

themselves. This may be the case with us. If we should have more anxieties for you than appear reasonable, you must ascribe them to the best motives; and, if you should not be fully aware of your dangers, perhaps, you may derive benefit from our caution."

"I shall be most thankful for your advice, sir; and trust to profit from it. But, what have I done?—I have done nothing that is wrong, have I?"

"Nothing that is wrong!-I hope, my dear Charles, you do not limit this phrase to things directly immoral. This will never do for Christians. I remember my good old minister of Bridgenorth used often to say, there are three sorts of actions:-those that are good; those that are bad; and those that are doubtful;and that we ought to be most cautious of those that are doubtful. For,' said he, (they are his very words), we are in most danger of these doubtful actions; because they do not alarm us, and yet they insensibly lead to greater transgressions-just as the shades of twilight gradually reconcile us to darkness.""