over. The
thought fills her bosom with sad emotions. Strong in the consciousness
of her virtue, she feels how weak she is in the walks of the worldly.
Her persecutors are guilty, but being all-powerful may seek in still
further damaging her character, a means of shielding themselves from
merited retribution. It is the natural expedient of bad men in power to
fasten crime upon the weak they have injured.

Only a few days have to elapse, then, and Maria will be face to face
with him in whom her fondest hopes have found refuge: but even in those
few days it will be our duty to show how much injury may be inflicted
upon the weak by the powerful.

The old Antiquary observes the change that has come so suddenly over
Maria's feelings, but his entreaties fail to elicit the cause. Shall she
return to the house made doubtful by its frail occupants; or shall she
crave the jailer's permission to let her remain and share her father's
cell? Ah! solicitude for her father settles the question. The
alternative may increase his apprehensions, and with them his
sufferings. Night comes on; she kisses him, bids him a fond adieu, and
with an aching heart returns to the house that has brought so much
scandal upon her.

On reaching the door she finds the house turned into a bivouac of
revelry; her own chamber is invaded, and young men and women are making
night jubilant over Champagne and cigars. Mr. Keepum and the Hon. Mr.
Snivel are prominent among the carousers; and both are hectic of
dissipation. Shall she flee back to the prison? Shall she go cast
herself at the mercy of the keeper? As she is about following the
thought with the act, she is seized rudely by the arms, dragged into the
scene of carousal, and made the object of coarse jokes. One insists that
she must come forward and drink; another holds an effervescing glass to
her lips; a third says he regards her modesty out of place, and demands
that she drown it with mellowing drinks. The almost helpless girl
shrieks, and struggles to free herself from the grasp of her enemies.
Mr. Snivel, thinking it highly improper that such cries go free,
catches her in his arms, and places his hand over her mouth. "Caught
among queer birds at last," he says, throwing an insidious wink at
Keepum. "Will flock together, eh?"

As if suddenly invested with herculean strength, Maria hurls the ruffian
from her, and lays him prostrate on the floor. In his fall the table is
overset, and bottles, decante