"I have never heard the proposition advanced by another," continued Algernon, after another slight pause, "but I have sometimes thought myself, that the soul departs from the body, for a brief season, and wanders at will among scenes either near or remote, and returns with its impressions, either clouded or clear, to communicate them to the corporeal or not, as the case may be: hence dreams or visions, and strong impressions when we wake, that something bright and good has refreshed our sleep, or something dark and evil has made it troubled and feverish. Again I have sometimes thought that this soul—this invisible and immortal something within us—has power at times to look into the future, and see events about to transpire; which events being sometimes of a dark and terrible nature, leave upon it like impressions; and hence gloomy and melancholy forebodings. This may be all sophistry—as much of our better reasoning on things we know nothing about often is—but if it be true, then may I trust to account for my present sadness."
"Have you really, then, sad forebodings?" inquired Ella, quickly and earnestly.
"Against my will and sober reason, dear Ella, I must own I have. Perchance, however, the feeling was only called up by a train of melancholy meditations. While sitting there to-night, gazing upon the many bounding forms—some full of beauty and grace, and some of strength—noting their joyous faces, and listening occasionally to the lightsome jest, and merry, ringing laugh—I could not avoid contrasting with the present the time when I was as happy and full full of mirth as they. I pictured to myself how they would stare and shudder and draw away from me, did they know my hand was stained with the blood of my own kin. Then I began, involuntarily as it were, to picture to myself the fate of each; and they came up before me in the form of a vision, (though if such, it was a waking one) but in regular order; and I saw them pass on one after another—some gliding smoothly down the stream of time to old age—some wretched and crippled, groping their way along over barren wastes, without water or food, though nearly dying for the want of both—some wading through streams of blood, with fierce and angry looks—and some with pale faces, red eyes, and hollow cheeks, roving amid coffins, sepulchres and bones; but of all, the very fewest number happy."
"Oh! it was an awful vision!" exclaimed Ella, with a shudder.
"It was awful enough," rejoined Algernon; "and despite of me, it made me more and more sad as I thought upon it. Could it indeed be a dream? But no! I was—seemingly at least—as wide awake and conscious as at the present moment. I saw the dance going on as ever—I saw the merry smiles, and heard the jest and laugh as before. Could it be some strange hallucination of the brain—some wild imagining—caused by my previous exercise and over heat? I pondered upon it long and seriously, but could not determine. Suddenly—I know not how nor why—that ill-looking stranger who lodged one night at your uncle's, and departed so mysteriously, came up in my mind; and almost at the same moment, I fancied myself riding with you, dear Ella, through a dark and lonely wood—when all of a sudden there came a fierce yell—several dark, hideous forms, with him among them, swam around me—I heard you shriek for aid—and then all became darkness and confusion; from which I was aroused by some one inquiring if I were ill? What I answered I know not; but the querist immediately took his leave."
"It all seems very strange, Algernon," observed Ella, thoughtfully; "but it was probably nothing more than a feverish dream, brought about by your exercise acting too suddenly and powerfully upon your nervous system, which doubtless has not as yet recovered from the prostration caused by your wound."
"So I tried to think, dear Ella," returned Algernon, with a sigh; "but I have not even yet been able to shake off the gloomy impression, that, whatever the cause, it was sent as a warning of danger. But I am foolish, perhaps, to think as I do; and so let us change the subject. You spoke a few moments since of destiny. You said, if I mistake not, you believed each individual capable of shaping his own."
"I did," answered Ella; "with the exception, that I qualified it by saying in a measure. No person, I think, has the power of moulding himself to an end which is contrary to the law of nature and his own physical organization; but at the same time he has many ways, some good and some evil, left open for him to choose; else he were not a free agent."
"Ay," rejoined Algernon, "by-paths all to the same great end. I look upon every one here, Ella, as a traveler placed upon the great highway called destiny—with a secret power within that impels him forward, but allows no pause nor retrograde. Along this highway are flowers, and briars, and thistles, and weeds, and shady woods, and barren rocks, and sterile bluffs, and glassy plots; but proportioned differently to each, as the Maker of all designs his path to be pleasant or otherwise. Beside this highway are perhaps a dozen minor paths, all running a similar course, and all finally merging into it—either near or far, as the case may be—before its termination at the great gate of death. The free agency you speak of, is in choosing of these lesser paths—some of which are full of the snares of temptation, the chasms of ruin, and the pitfalls of destruction; and some of the flowers of peace, the bowers of plenty, and the green woods of contentment. But how to follow the proper one is the difficulty; for they run into one another—cross and recross in a thousand different ways—so that the best disposed as often hit the wrong as the right one, and are entrapped before they are aware of their dangerous course. Worldly wisdom is here put at fault, and the fool as often goes right as the wise man of lore—thus showing, notwithstanding our free agency, that circumstances govern us; and that what many put down as crime, is, in fact, oftentimes, neither more nor less than error of judgment."
"Then you consider free agency only a chance game, depending, as it were, upon the throw of a die?" observed Ella, inquiringly.