ven such a deed
would brand him as a murderer, stamp out all love, and shatter every
hope of quiet happiness. The blow to her pride was grievous also; for
many a time had she told herself that a noble task lay before her--to
rescue from unlawful ways and redeem to reputable life the man whose
bravery and other gallant gifts had endeared him to the public and to
her. But now, through force of wretched facts, he must be worse than
ever.

Her father and mother said never a word upon the subject to her. Mrs.
Anerley at first longed to open out, and shed upon the child a mother's
sympathy, as well as a mother's scolding; but firmly believing, as
she did, the darkest version of the late event, it was better that she
should hold her peace, according to her husband's orders.

"Let the lass alone," he said; "a word against that fellow now would
make a sight of mischief. Suppose I had shot George Tanfield, instead
of hiding him soundly, when he stuck up to you, why you must have been
sorry for me, Sophy. And Mary is sorry for that rogue, no doubt, and
believes that he did it for her sake, I dare say. The womenkind always
do think that. If a big thief gets swung for breaking open a cash-box,
his lassie will swear he was looking for her thimble. If you was to go
now for discoursing of this matter, you would never put up with poor
Poppet's account of him, and she would run him higher up, every time you
ran him down; ay, and believe it too: such is the ways of women."

"Why, Stephen, you make me open up my eyes. I never dreamed you were
half so cunning, and of such low opinions."

"Well, I don't know, only from my own observance. I would scarcely trust
myself not to abuse that fellow. And, Sophy, you know you can not stop
your tongue, like me."

"Thank God for that same! He never meant us so to do. But, Stephen, I
will follow your advice; because it is my own opinion."

Mary was puzzled by this behavior; for everything used to be so plain
among them. She would even have tried for some comfort from Willie,
whose mind was very large upon all social questions. But Willie had
solved at last the problem of perpetual motion, according to his own
conviction, and locked himself up with his model all day; and the world
might stand still, so long as that went on. "Oh, what would I give for
dear Jack!" cried Mary.

Worn out at length with lonely grief, she asked if she might go to Byrsa
Cottage, for a change. Even that was refused, thou