have ever been taught, that it is not lawful to do evil
that good may come. It is a delusion and a snare to say that such a
wicked union as you ask could have any other than a disastrous end."

"Then, third," continued Spite with the same cool indifference to
Faith's indignant words, "third and last, you might as well submit
gracefully to your destiny. You can't help yourself. You are in my
hands. I shall marry you whether you like or no. You will only bring
sorrow and pain upon yourself and friends by your stubbornness, and will
do no good in the end. I have finished my business. I don't mean to
press it just now. Think over it carefully. If your good sense is equal
to your reputation, you will conclude to live queen of the Pixies, with
a good heart. The next time I come I shall expect to have your betrothal
kiss. I leave you now to refresh yourself with sleep. Good night!"

While Spite was thus addressing Faith, Sophia in the other end of the
room was approached by the smuggler.

"Oh, Sir," she cried, "you showed us kindness on the boat. I know you
must have a good heart, even if you are a Pixie. Have pity on us, and
save us from this horrible dungeon."

"Softly, softly, my pretty lass," responded Raft. "You are right enough
in thinking that I pity you. But it is not so easy always to indulge
one's self in that luxury. It would be a mighty costly one if I were to
carry it to the length you ask. But I have a proposal that may make it
all right. There, listen coolly. Don't cry, please! That quite unmans
me. You can get out of this trouble in an easy and pleasant way."

"Get out of this trouble?" repeated Sophia with hope and joy. "Quick,
tell me how!"

"So! I am ordered by Lieutenant Hide, who is second in command over the
Pixies, you know, to propose marriage to you in the name of his oldest
son Halfway."

"Oh! you are mocking me!" cried Sophia, clasping her hands, and her
countenance changing from hope to horror. "You cannot mean that?"

"No, certainly I am not mocking," said Raft mistaking her meaning; "he's
in dead earnest, I am sure, and will stand by his proposal. He means
just what he says. He wants a Brownie wife for his boy."

"O Sir," exclaimed Sophia quickly, "you misunderstand me. Nothing could
induce me to listen a moment to such a proposal. I would never, never
marry him!"

"Ah! that's the way the wind blows, hey? Well, there's no accounting for
tastes. Young Halfway is counted a likely chap, a