that you seek to make no
acknowledgments."

"What mean you? Your words have a signification beyond my comprehension.
I know that I am unable to requite services such as hers, and such an
endeavor I surely should not attempt; but that I feel gratitude for her
interposition may not well be questioned--the deepest gratitude; for in
this deed, with your aid, she relieves me, not merely from death, but
the worse agony of that dreadful form of death. My acknowledgments for
this service are nothing, I am well aware; but these she shall have: and
what else have I to offer, which she would be likely to accept?"

"There is, indeed, one thing, Mr. Colleton--now that I reflect--which it
may be in your power to do, and which may relieve you of some of the
obligations which you owe to her interposition, here and elsewhere."

The landlord paused for a moment, and looked hesitatingly in Ralph's
countenance. The youth saw and understood the expression, and replied
readily:--

"Doubt not, Mr. Munro, that I shall do all things consistent with
propriety, in my power to do, that may take the shape and character of
requital for this service; anything for Miss Munro, for yourself or
others, not incompatible with the character of the gentleman. Speak,
sir: if you can suggest a labor of any description, not under this head,
which would be grateful to yourself or her, fear not to speak, and rely
upon my gratitude to serve you both."

"I thank you, Mr. Colleton; your frankness relieves me of some heavy
thoughts, and I shall open my mind freely to you on the subject which
now troubles it. I need not tell you what my course of life has been. I
need not tell you what it is now. Bad enough, Mr. Colleton--bad enough,
as you must know by this time. Life, sir, is uncertain with all persons,
but far more uncertain with him whose life is such as mine. I know not
the hour, sir, when I may be knocked on the head. I have no confidence
in the people I go with; I have nothing to hope from the sympathies of
society, or the protection of the laws; and I have now arrived at that
time of life when my own experience is hourly repeating in my ears the
words of scripture: 'The wages of sin is death.' Mine has been a life of
sin, Mr. Colleton, and I must look for its wages. These thoughts have
been troubling me much of late, and I feel them particularly heavy now.
But, don't think, sir, that fear for myself makes up my suffering. I
fear for that poor girl, who ha