ioned, none is worth considering. I am nothing but a poor castaway,
owing my life to Uncle Sam and you. But one thing there is which could
never be got over, even if I felt as you feel toward me. Never can
I think of little matters, or of turning my thoughts to--to any such
things as you speak of, as long as a vile reproach and wicked imputation
lies on me. And before even that, I have to think of my father, who gave
his life for me. Firm, I have been here too long delaying, and wasting
my time in trifles. I ought to have been in Europe long ago. If I am old
enough for what you talk of, I am old enough to do my duty. If I am old
enough for love, as it is called, I am old enough for hate. I have more
to do with hate than love, I think."

"Erema," cried Firm, "what a puzzle you are! I never even dreamed that
you could be so fierce. You are enough to frighten Uncle Sam himself."

"If I frighten you, Firm, that is quite enough. You see now how vain it
is to say another word."

"I do not see any thing of the sort. Come back, and look at me quite
calmly."

Being frightened at the way in which I had spoken, and having passed the
prime of it, I obeyed him in a moment, and came up gently and let him
look at me to his liking. For little as I thought of such things
till now, I seemed already to know more about them, or at least to
wonder--which is the stir of the curtain of knowledge. I did not say
any thing, but labored to think nothing and to look up with unconscious
eyes. But Firm put me out altogether by his warmth, and made me flutter
like a stupid little bird.

"My darling," he said, smoothing back my hair with a kindness such as I
could not resent, and quieting me with his clear blue eyes, "you are not
fit for the stormy life to which your high spirit is devoting you. You
have not the hardness and bitterness of mind, the cold self-possession
and contempt of others, the power of dissembling and the iron will--in
a word, the fundamental nastiness, without which you never could get
through such a job. Why, you can not be contemptuous even to me!"

"I should hope not. I should earn your contempt, if I could."

"There, you are ready to cry at the thought. Erema, do not mistake
yourself. Remember that your father would never have wished it--would
have given his life ten thousand times over to prevent it. Why did he
bring you to this remote, inaccessible part of the world except to save
you from further thought of evil? He