ill 'put
the screw on them.' They shall have nothing from me till they treat her
better. It goes to my heart to see a woman of that age, with nothing to
look forward to but kicks and blows. I have tried hard to make her
understand something of the next world: but I can't get it out of her
head that when she dies she will go across the water and come back a
young white woman with plenty of money. Mr. Sandford, the missionary,
says he has never found one who could be made to comprehend the
existence of God. However, I came to call you to lunch; will you give
me your arm?"

Such a self-possessed, intrepid little maiden, not a bit afraid of him,
but seeming to understand and trust him so thoroughly. Not all the
mock-modesty and blushing in the world would have won him half so
surely, as did her bold, quiet, honest look. Although a very young man,
and an inexperienced, Sam could see what a candid, honest, gentle soul
looked at him from those kind blue eyes; and she, too, saw something in
Sam's broad noble face which attracted her marvellously, and in all
innocence she told him so, plump and plain, as they were going into the
house.

"I fancy I shall like you very much, Mr. Buckley. We ought to be good
friends, you know; your father saved the lives of my father and uncle."

"I never heard of that before," said Sam.

"I dare say not," said Alice. "Your father is not the man to speak of
his own noble deeds; yet he ran out of his square and pulled my father
and uncle almost from under the hoofs of the French cavalry at
Waterloo. It makes my cheeks tingle to tell of it now."

Indeed it did. Sam thought that if it brought such a beautiful flush to
her face, and such a flash from her eyes, whenever she told it, that he
would get her to tell it again more than once.

But lunch! Don't let us starve our new pair of turtle-doves, in the
outset. Sam is but a growing lad; and needs carbon for his muscles,
lime for his bones, and all that sort of thing; a glass of wine won't
do him any harm either, and let us hope that his new passion is not of
such lamentable sort as to prevent his using a knife and fork with
credit and satisfaction to himself.

Here, in the dark, cool parlour, stands a banquet for the gods, white
damask, pretty bright china, and clean silver. In the corner of the
table is a frosted claret-jug, standing, with freezing politeness,
upright, his hand on his hip, waiting to be poured out. In the centre,
the grandfat