secured the esteem of those to whom his tenets were most
obnoxious. They might call him a fanatic and a dreamer, but
they could not deny their veneration to his invincible candour
and invariable integrity. His own belief of rectitude was the
foundation of his happiness. This, however, was destined to
find an end.

Suddenly the sadness that constantly attended him was
deepened. Sighs, and even tears, sometimes escaped him. To the
expostulations of his wife he seldom answered any thing. When
he designed to be communicative, he hinted that his peace of
mind was flown, in consequence of deviation from his duty. A
command had been laid upon him, which he had delayed to perform.
He felt as if a certain period of hesitation and reluctance had
been allowed him, but that this period was passed. He was no
longer permitted to obey. The duty assigned to him was
transferred, in consequence of his disobedience, to another, and
all that remained was to endure the penalty.

He did not describe this penalty. It appeared to be nothing
more for some time than a sense of wrong. This was sufficiently
acute, and was aggravated by the belief that his offence was
incapable of expiation. No one could contemplate the agonies
which he seemed to suffer without the deepest compassion. Time,
instead of lightening the burthen, appeared to add to it. At
length he hinted to his wife, that his end was near. His
imagination did not prefigure the mode or the time of his
decease, but was fraught with an incurable persuasion that his
death was at hand. He was likewise haunted by the belief that
the kind of death that awaited him was strange and terrible.