reat measure. She turned and looked at Nancy,
and said:

"Oh, dear, what a miserable thing! But I couldn't know that."

After a while, she drew a chair, and sat down by Nancy, and said:

"I won't _punish_ him, Nancy."

Nancy burst out sobbing afresh.

"You have punished him," said she, bruskly, "and me, too, as never did
you no harm. You have driven him out of the country, you have."

At this piece of feminine justice Helen's anger revived. "So, then," said
she, "ships are to be destroyed, and ladies and gentlemen murdered, and
nobody is to complain, or say an angry word, if the wretch happens to be
paying his addresses to you. That makes up for all the crimes in the
world. What! Can an honest woman like you lose all sense of right and
wrong for a man? And such a man!"

"Why, he is as well-made a fellow as ever I saw," sobbed Nancy.

"Oh, is he?" said Helen, ironically--her views of manly beauty were
different, and black eyes a _sine qua non_ with her--"then it is a pity
his soul is not made to correspond. I hope by my next visit you will have
learned to despise him as you ought. Why, if I loved a man ever so, I'd
tear him out of my heart if he committed a crime; ay, though I tore my
soul out of my body to do it."

"No, you wouldn't," said Nancy, recovering some of her natural pugnacity;
"for we are all tarred with the same stick, gentle or simple."

"But I assure you I would," cried Helen; "and so ought you."

"Well, miss, you begin," cried Nancy, suddenly firing up through her
tears. "If the _Proserpine_ was scuttled, which I've your word for it,
Miss Helen, and I never knew you tell a lie, why, your sweetheart is more
to blame for it than mine."

Helen rose with dignity.

"You are in grief," said she. "I leave you to consider whether you have
done well to affront me in your own house." And she was moving to the
door with great dignity, when Nancy ran and stopped her.

"Oh, don't leave me so, Miss Helen," she cried; "don't you go to quarrel
with me for speaking the truth too plain and rude, as is a plain-spoken
body at the best; and in such grief myself I scarce know what to say. But
indeed, and in truth, you mustn't go and put it abroad that the ship was
scuttled; if you do, you won't hurt Joe Wylie; he'll get a ship and fly
the country. Who you'll hurt will be your own husband as is to
be--Wardlaws."

"Shall I, Mr. Penfold?" asked Helen, disdainfully.

"Well, madam, certainly it might create some