to Mr. Arthur
Wardlaw; and I am come out in his steamboat to take her to him. And as
for you, Helen, take my advice; think what most convicts are, compared to
this one. Shut your eyes entirely to his folly as I shall; and let you
and I think only of his good deeds, and so make him all the return we
can. You and I will go on board the steamboat directly; and, when we are
there, we can tell Moreland there is somebody else on the island." He
then turned to Penfold, and said: "My daughter and I will keep in the
after-part of the vessel, and anybody that likes can leave the ship at
Valparaiso. Helen, I know it is wrong; but what can I do?--I am so happy.
You are alive and well; how can I punish or afflict a human creature
to-day? and, above all, how can I crush this unhappy young man, without
whom I should never have seen you again in this world? My daughter! my
dear lost child!"

And he held her at arm's length and gazed at her, and then drew her to
his bosom; and for him Robert Penfold ceased to exist, except as a man
that had saved his daughter.

"Papa," said Helen, after a long pause, "just make him tell why he could
not trust to me. Why, he passed himself off to me for a clergyman."

"I am a clergyman," said Robert Penfold.

"Oh!" said Helen, shocked to find him so hardened, as she thought. She
lifted her hands to heaven, and the tears streamed from her eyes. "Well,
sir," said she, faintly, "I see I cannot reach your conscience. One
question more and then I have done with you forever. Why in all these
months that we have been alone, and that you have shown me the nature, I
don't say of an honest man, but of an angel--yes, papa, of an angel--why
could you not show me one humble virtue, sincerity? It belongs to a man.
Why could you not say, 'I have committed one crime in my life, but
repented forever; judge by this confession, and by what you have seen of
me, whether I shall ever commit another. Take me as I am, and esteem me
as a penitent and more worthy man; but I will not deceive you and pass
for a paragon.' Why could you not say as much as this to me? If you loved
me, why deceive me so cruelly?"

These words, uttered no longer harshly, but in a mournful, faint,
despairing voice, produced an effect the speaker little expected. Robert
Penfold made two attempts to speak, but though he opened his mouth, and
his lips quivered, he could get no word out. He began to choke with
emotion; and, though he shed no tears, the