But this could not last, and, at length, the coach reached a spot where Armstrong proposed they should alight. Accordingly, he assisted Faith out, and, preceding her, they took their way across the fields. Faith, unable to resist the attraction of the wild-flowers scattered beneath her feet, stooped occasionally to pick them, and soon had her hands full.
"What a pity it is, father," she said, "that we should step upon these beautiful things! They seem little fairies, enchanted in the grass, that entreat us to turn aside and do them no harm."
"It is our lot, in this world, cursed for our sakes," said Armstrong, hoarsely, "to crush whatever we prize and love the dearest."
"The flower is an emblem of forgiveness," said Faith. "Pluck it, and it resents not the wrong. It dies, but with its last breath, exhales only sweetness for its destroyer."
"O, God!" groaned Armstrong. "Was this, too, necessary? Wilt thou grind me between the upper and the nether millstone?"
"What is the matter, father?" inquired Faith, anxiously, catching some words between his groans. "O, you are ill, let us return."
"No, my daughter, there is no return. It was a pang like those to which I am subject. Will they ever pass off?"
They had reached the open space of ground or clearing made by Gladding, and Armstrong advanced, with Faith following, directly to the pile he had built near the brook.
"What a beautiful stream!" exclaimed Faith. "How it leaps, as if alive and rejoicing in its activity! I always connect happiness with life."
"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."