th the just wrath of an honest man driven to
bay; and his eye shot black lightning. He was sublime.

Helen cowered; but her spirited old father turned red, and said,
haughtily: "We take you at your word, and leave you, you insolent
vagabond! Follow me this instant, Helen!"

And he marched out of the cavern in a fury.

But, instead of following him, Helen stood stock-still, and cowered, and
cowered till she seemed sinking forward to the ground, and she got hold
of Robert Penfold's hand, and kissed it, and moaned over it.

"Martyr! Martyr!" she whispered, and still kissed his hand, like a slave
offering her master pity, and asking pardon.

"Martyr! Martyr! Every word is true--true as my love."

In this attitude, and with these words on her lips, they were surprised
by General Rolleston, who came back, astonished at his daughter not
following him. Judge of his amazement now.

"What does this mean?" he cried, turning pale with anger.

"It means that he has spoken the truth, and that I shall imitate him. He
is my martyr, and my love. When others cast shame on you, then it is time
for me to show my heart. James Seaton, I love you for your madness and
your devotion to her whom you had only seen at a distance. Ah! that was
love! John Hazel, I love you for all that has passed between us. What can
any other man be to me?--or woman to you? But, most of all, I love you,
Robert Penfold--my hero and my martyr. When I am told to your face that
you are a felon, then to your face I say you are my idol, my hero, and my
martyr. Love! the word is too tame, too common. I worship you, I adore
you! How beautiful you are when you are angry! How noble you are now you
forgive me! for you do forgive me, Robert; you must, you shall. No; you
will not send your Helen away from you for her one fault so soon
repented! Show me you forgive me; show me you love me still, almost as
much as I love you. He is crying. Oh, my darling, my darling, my
darling!" And she was round his neck in a moment, with tears and tender
kisses, the first she had ever given him.

Ask yourself whether they were returned.

A groan, or rather, we might say, a snort of fury, interrupted the most
blissful moment either of these young creatures had ever known. It came
from General Rolleston, now white with wrath and horror.

"You villain!" he cried.

Helen threw herself upon him, and put her hand before his mouth.

"Not a word more, or I shall forget I am your daughter