ears--"Too late." Had Dr. Hargrove received this letter only
twenty-four hours earlier, the result of the interview on the
previous night would probably have been very different; but
unfortunately, while the army of belated facts--the fatal Grouchy
corps--never accomplish their intended mission, they avenge they
failure by a pertinacious presence ever after that is sometimes
almost maddening.

An uncomfortable consciousness of having been completely overreached
did not soften the minister's feelings toward the new custodian of
his tin box, and an utter revulsion of sentiment ensued, wherein
sympathy for General René Laurance reigned supreme. Oh instability of
human compassion! To-day at the tumultuous flood, we weep for Cæsar
slain; To-morrow in the ebb, we vote a monument to Brutus.

Ere the sun had gone down behind the sombre frozen firs that fringed
the hills of V---- Dr. Hargrove had written to Mr. Peleg Peterson,
desiring to be furnished with some clue by which he could trace
Minnie Merle, and Hannah had been despatched to the post office, to
expedite the departure of the letter.

Weeks and months passed, tearful April wept itself away in the
flowery lap of blue-eyed May, and golden June roses died in the fiery
embrace of July, but no answer came; no additional information
drifted upon the waves of chance, and the slow stream of life at the
parsonage once more crept silently and monotonously on.

"Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear.
Who knows the Past? and who can judge us right?"