Destitution and bad company
have led you astray--but I trust that your future conduct will prove
your sincere repentance. I will see the gentleman from whom you
attempted to take the pocket-book, and I will compromise the matter with
him, so that it shall never come to trial. Be honest--be faithful--be
true--and in my house you shall ever have a home, and in me you shall
ever have a steadfast friend.'

'Oh, sir,' said the _Kinchen_, his eyes filling with tears--'your
kindness and generosity have made me a different being from what I was.
I now view my former life with abhorrence, and sooner would I die than
return to it. Ah, it is delightful to lead an honest life, to have a
comfortable home, and a kind friend like you, sir. My faithful devotion
to your interests will prove my gratitude. I should like, sometime, to
tell you my history, Mr. Sydney; and when you have heard it, I am sure
that you will say that I deserve some pity, as well as blame.'

'I shall be pleased to hear your story,' replied Frank. 'As you are now
regularly in my service, you shall be no longer designated as
_Kinchen_,[2] for that name is associated with crime. What is your own
proper name?'

'Clinton Romaine,' replied the boy.

'Well, Clinton, you shall hereafter be called by that name. To-morrow I
will give you an order on my tailor for a new and complete wardrobe. You
had better now retire to bed; as for myself,' he added, gloomily--'I
shall probably enjoy but little rest or sleep to-night.'

Clinton bade his patron good night, and retired; Frank ascended to the
chamber of his wife, and found that she had recovered from her swoon,
though she was still pale from apprehension and shame. Averting her eyes
from her husband's gaze, she sat in moody silence; after a pause of
several minutes, Frank said--

'Julia, it is not my intention to waste my breath in upbraiding
you--neither will I allude to your monstrous conduct further than to
state it has determined me to cast you off forever. You are my wife no
longer; you will leave this house to-night, and never again cross its
threshold. Take with you your maid Susan, your wardrobe, your jewels--in
short, all that belongs to you; you must relinquish the name of
Sydney--cease to regard me as your husband, and never, never, let me see
your face again.'

These words, uttered calmly and solemnly, produced an extraordinary
effect upon the lady; so far from subduing or humiliating her, they
aroused wi