endered me
familiar therewith; also he is one of Mrs. Yorke's warning examples--one
of the blood-red lights she hangs out to scare young ladies from
matrimony. I believe I should have been sceptical about the truth of the
portrait traced by such fingers--both these ladies take a dark pleasure
in offering to view the dark side of life--but I questioned Mr. Yorke on
the subject, and he said, 'Shirley, my woman, if you want to know aught
about yond' James Helstone, I can only say he was a man-tiger. He was
handsome, dissolute, soft, treacherous, courteous, cruel----' Don't cry,
Cary; we'll say no more about it."

"I am not crying, Shirley; or if I am, it is nothing. Go on; you are no
friend if you withhold from me the truth. I hate that false plan of
disguising, mutilating the truth."

"Fortunately I have said pretty nearly all that I have to say, except
that your uncle himself confirmed Mr. Yorke's words; for he too scorns a
lie, and deals in none of those conventional subterfuges that are
shabbier than lies."

"But papa is dead; they should let him alone now."

"They should; and we _will_ let him alone. Cry away, Cary; it will do
you good. It is wrong to check natural tears. Besides, I choose to
please myself by sharing an idea that at this moment beams in your
mother's eye while she looks at you. Every drop blots out a sin. Weep!
your tears have the virtue which the rivers of Damascus lacked. Like
Jordan, they can cleanse a leprous memory."

"Madam," she continued, addressing Mrs. Pryor, "did you think I could be
daily in the habit of seeing you and your daughter together--marking
your marvellous similarity in many points, observing (pardon me) your
irrepressible emotions in the presence and still more in the absence of
your child--and not form my own conjectures? I formed them, and they are
literally correct. I shall begin to think myself shrewd."

"And you said nothing?" observed Caroline, who soon regained the quiet
control of her feelings.

"Nothing. I had no warrant to breathe a word on the subject. _My_
business it was not; I abstained from making it such."

"You guessed so deep a secret, and did not hint that you guessed it?"

"Is that so difficult?"

"It is not like you."

"How do you know?"

"You are not reserved; you are frankly communicative."

"I may be communicative, yet know where to stop. In showing my treasure
I may withhold a gem or two--a curious, unbought graven stone--an amulet
of wh