continued, sitting down beside the object
of her compassion, who was, or seemed, asleep. "How hard to loose her
husband so soon! and I dare say she has gone through great poverty--sold
one thing after another to keep her alive. Why, I declare," added the
simple and unworldly Meliora, who could make a story to fit anything,
"poor soul! she has even been forced to part with her wedding-ring."

"I never had one--I scorned it!" cried the woman, leaping up with a
violence that quite confounded the painter's sister. "Do you come to
insult me, you smooth-tongued English lady? Ah, you shrink away. What do
you know about me?"

"I don't know anything about you, indeed," said Meliora, creeping to
the door; while Olive, who could not understand the cause of half she
witnessed, stood simply looking on in wonder--almost in admiration,--for
there was a strange beauty, like that of a Pythoness, in the woman's
attitude and mien.

"You know nothing of me? Then you shall know. I come from a country
where are thousands of young girls, whose mixed blood is too pure for
slavery, too tainted for freedom. Lovely, accomplished, brought up
delicately, they yet have no higher future than to be the white man's
passing toy--cherished, wearied of, and spurned."

She paused, and Miss Vanbrugh, astonished at this sudden outburst, in
language so vehement, and so above her apparent rank, had not a word to
say. The woman continued:

"I but fulfilled my destiny. How could such as I hope to bear an honest
man's honest name? So, when my fate came upon me, I cast all shame to
the winds, and lived out my life. I followed my lover across the seas; I
clung to him, faithful in my degradation; and when his child slept on my
bosom, I looked at it, and was almost happy. Now what think you of me,
virtuous English ladies?" cried the outcast, as she tossed back her
cloud of dark crisped hair, and fixed her eyes sternly, yet mockingly,
upon her visitors.

Poor Miss Vanbrugh was conscious of but one thing, that this scene was
most unfit for a young girl; and that if she once could get Olive away,
all future visits to the miserable woman should be paid by herself
alone.

"I will see you another day, Mrs. Manners, but we cannot really stay
now. Come, my dear Miss Rothesay."

And she and her|charge quitted the room. Apparently, their precipitate
departure still further irritated the poor creature they had come to
succour; for as they descended the stairs, they he