ry, thaws even English reserve, and women in
general are disposed to admit ecclesiastics to certain privileges. No
wonder then that Miss Rolleston, after a few days, met Mr. Hazel
half-way; and they made acquaintance on board the _Proserpine,_ in
monosyllables at first; but, the ice once fairly broken, the intercourse
of mind became rather rapid.

At first it was a mere intellectual exchange, but one very agreeable to
Miss Rolleston; for a fine memory, and omnivorous reading from his very
boyhood, with the habit of taking notes, and reviewing them, had made Mr.
Hazel a walking dictionary, and a walking essayist if required.

But when it came to something which, most of all, the young lady had
hoped from this temporary acquaintance, viz., religious instruction, she
found him indeed as learned on that as on other topics, but cold and
devoid of unction. So much so, that one day she said to him, "I can
hardly believe you have ever been a missionary." But at that he seemed so
distressed that she was sorry for him, and said, sweetly, "Excuse me, Mr.
Hazel, my remark was in rather bad taste, I fear."

"Not at all," said he. "Of course I am unfit for missionary work, or I
should not be here."

Miss Rolleston took a good look at him, but said nothing. However, his
reply and her perusal of his countenance satisfied her that he was a man
with very little petty vanity and petty irritability.

One day they were discoursing of gratitude; and Mr. Hazel said he had a
poor opinion of those persons who speak of the burden of gratitude, and
make a fuss about being "laid under an obligation."

"As for me," said he, "I have owed such a debt, and found the sense of it
very sweet."

"But perhaps you were always hoping to make a return," said Helen.

"That I was. Hoping against hope."

"Do you think people are grateful, in general?"

"No, Miss Rolleston, I do not."

"Well, I think they are. To me at least. Why, I have experienced
gratitude even in a convict. It was a poor man, who had been transported,
for something or other, and he begged papa to take him for his gardener.
Papa did, and he was so grateful that, do you know, he suspected our
house was to be robbed, and he actually watched in the garden night after
night. And, what do you think? the house was attacked by a whole gang;
but poor Mr. Seaton confronted them and shot one, and was wounded
cruelly; but he beat them off for us; and was not that gratitude?"

While she was