ury, he
saw Kate Ellison come out of her father's gate along the road with
her basket, as usual. Catching up his hat, he ran out and stood
bareheaded, awaiting her.

"Ah, Reuben!" she said, with a smile and a nod, "I am glad to see
you before you go; for Mr. Shrewsbury told me, yesterday, you were
going to leave Lewes and emigrate. I am glad,"--and she hesitated a
little--"very glad that they found you innocent. I was quite sure
you would not do such a thing."

"I am glad I came over today, Miss Ellison," Reuben said quietly.
"Very glad that I have met you; for I have just learned, from Jacob
Priestley, that it is to you I am indebted that I am not, in the
present moment, a prisoner in jail, under sentence of transportation."

The girl flushed up hotly.

"Jacob Priestley is very wrong to have spoken about it. I told him
he was never to mention it."

"I hope you will not blame him, Miss Ellison. He told me he had
never spoken a word to anyone else, but he thought you did not mean
it to apply to me. I am very glad he has spoken; for I shall carry
away with me, across the sea, a deep gratitude, which will last as
long as I live, for the kindness you have shown me; not only now,
but always--kindness which has saved me from a terrible punishment,
for an offence of which I was innocent.

"May God bless you, Miss Ellison, and render your life a happy
one."

"Goodbye, Reuben," the girl said, gently. "I hope you may do well,
in the new land you are going to."

So saying, she went on her errand. Reuben stood watching her, until
she entered one of the cottages. Then, putting on his cap, he
returned to the schoolmaster's.

A week later Reuben was wandering along the side of the London
Docks, looking at the vessels lying there, and somewhat confused at
the noise and bustle of loading and unloading that was going on. He
had come up the night before by the carrier's waggon, and had slept
at the inn where it stopped. His parting with his mother had been a
very sad one, but Mrs. Whitney had so far come round as to own that
she thought that his plan was perhaps the best; although she still
maintained that she should never venture, herself, upon so distant
a journey. He had promised that, should she not change her mind on
this point, he would, whether successful or not, come home to see
her.

The squire had driven over, the day before he left, to say goodbye
to him. He had, through Mr. Shrewsbury, directly he heard that he