substantiated.

Where had those years of wandering been passed, and had they all
been given even to an imaginary and fantastic service of God? Was
his father dead? If he were alive, what could keep him from
writing? Nothing but a very strong reason, or a very wrong one,
so his son thought, at times.

Since Ivory had grown to man's estate, he understood that in the
later days of Cochrane's preaching, his "visions,"
"inspirations," and "revelations" concerning the marriage bond
were a trifle startling from the old-fashioned, orthodox point of
view. His most advanced disciples were to hold themselves in
readiness to renounce their former vows and seek "spiritual
consorts," sometimes according to his advice, sometimes as their
inclinations prompted.

Had Aaron Boynton forsaken, willingly, the wife of his youth, the
mother of his boy? If so, he must have realized to what straits
he was subjecting them. Ivory had not forgotten those first few
years of grinding poverty, anxiety, and suspense. His mother's
mind had stood the strain bravely, but it gave way at last; not,
however, until that fatal winter journey to New Hampshire, when
cold, exposure, and fatigue did their worst for her weak body.
Religious enthusiast, exalted and impressionable, a natural
mystic, she had probably always been, far more so in temperament,
indeed, than her husband; but although she left home on that
journey a frail and heartsick woman, she returned a different
creature altogether, blurred and confused in mind, with clouded
memory and irrational fancies.