or
you?"

Helen bowed her head.

Burley winced, and after a moment's pause said, "He is right."

HELEN (obeying the impulse of her heart, springs forward and takes
Burley's hand).--"Ah, sir," she cried, "before he knew you he was
so different; then he was cheerful, then, even when his first
disappointment came, I grieved and wept but I felt he would conquer
still, for his heart was so good and pure. Oh, sir, don't think I
reproach you; but what is to become of him if--if--No, it is not for
myself I speak. I know that if I was here, that if he had me to care
for, he would come home early, and work patiently, and--and--that I
might save him. But now when I am gone, and you live with him,--you to
whom he is grateful, you whom he would follow against his own conscience
(you must see that, sir), what is to become of him?"

Helen's voice died in sobs.

Burley took three or four long strides through the room; he was greatly
agitated. "I am a demon," he murmured. "I never saw it before; but it is
true, I should be this boy's ruin." Tears stood in his eyes, he paused
abruptly, made a clutch at his hat, and turned to the door.

Helen stopped the way, and taking him gently by the arm, said, "Oh,
sir, forgive me,--I have pained you;" and looked up at him with a
compassionate expression, that indeed made the child's sweet face as
that of an angel.

Burley bent down as if to kiss her, and then drew back, perhaps with a
sentiment that his lips were not worthy to touch that innocent brow.

"If I had had a sister,--a child like you, little one," he muttered,
"perhaps I too might have been saved in time. Now--"

"Ah, now you may stay, sir; I don't fear you any more."

"No, no; you would fear me again ere night-time, and I might not be
always in the right mood to listen to a voice like yours, child. Your
Leonard has a noble heart and rare gifts. He should rise yet, and he
shall. I will not drag him into the mire. Good-by,--you will see me no
more." He broke from Helen, cleared the stairs with a bound, and was out
of the house.

When Leonard returned he was surprised to hear his unwelcome guest was
gone,--but Helen did not venture to tell him of her interposition. She
knew instinctively how such officiousness would mortify and offend the
pride of man; but she never again spoke harshly of poor Burley. Leonard
supposed that he should either see or hear of the humourist in the
course of the day. Finding he did not, he went in se