she had refused a very excellent and talented preacher of
the Gospill--you know who I mean--and was about to take up with--well,
you know how people talk--with a man just out of the--out of the
penitentiary--you know. A _jail-bird_ is what they said. You know people
will talk. And Miss Marlay is under my care, and I must do my duty as a
Chrischen to her. And I know she thinks a great deal of you, and I don't
think it would be right, you know, for you to try to marry her. You know
the Scripcherr says that we must do as we'd be done by; and I wouldn't
want a daughter of mine to marry a young man just--well--just out
of--the--just out of the penitentiary, you know."

"Mrs. Ferret, I think this whole talk impertinent. Miss Marlay is not at
all under your care, I have not proposed marriage to her, she is an old
friend who was very kind to my mother and to me, and there is no harm in
my seeing her when I please."

"Well, Mr. Charlton, I know your temper is bad, and I expected you'd talk
insultingly to me, but I've done my duty and cleared my skirts, anyhow,
and that's a comfort. A Chrischen must expect to be persecuted in the
discharge of duty. You may talk about old friendships, and all that; but
there's nothing so dangerous as friendship. Don't I know? Half the
marriages that oughtn't to be, come from friendships. Whenever you see a
friendship between a young man and a young woman, look out for a wedding.
And I don't think you ought to ask Isabel to marry you, and you just out
of--just--you know--out of the--the penitentiary."

When Mrs. Ferret had gone, Albert found that while her words had rasped
him, they had also made a deep impression on him. He was, then, a
jail-bird in the eyes of Metropolisville--of the world. He must not
compromise Isa by a single additional visit. He could not trust himself
to see her again. The struggle was not fought out easily. But at last he
wrote a letter:

"MY DEAR MISS MARLAY: I find that I can not even visit you without
causing remarks to be made, which reflect on you. I can not stay here
without wishing to enjoy your society, and you can not receive the visits
of a 'jail-bird,' as they call me, without disgrace. I owe everything to
you, and it would be ungrateful, indeed, in me to be a source of
affliction and dishonor to you. I never regretted my disgrace so much as
since I talked with you last night. If I could shake that off, I might
hope for a great happiness, perhaps.

"I am goi