s nose.

"'Tain't being a man!" he said, in a low tone. "I'm 'bout ashamed of
myself. It's weak and stoopid, and what will she think?"

His face was very red now, but a bright, honest glow came into his eyes,
and his next act showed how truly Hazel had judged his character and
seen beneath the surface of the man. For, giving himself a sounding
blow upon the chest, he pulled himself together, and the odd appearance,
the vulgarity, all passed away as he crossed to where Hazel sat, weeping
and sobbing bitterly.

"Don't you cry, my dear," he said softly, as he stretched out one heavy
hand and touched her gently and reverently upon the arm. "I beg your
pardon for what I've said, though I'm not sorry; for it's made us
understand one another, and wakened me up from a foolish dream."

There was something in his voice that soothed Hazel, and the sobs grew
less violent.

"It wasn't natural or right, and I ought to have known better than to
have expected it; but they say every man gets his foolish fit some time
or other in his life, and though mine was a long time coming, it came
very strong at last. It's all quite over, my dear, and I know better
now, and I'm going to ask you to say once more that common, vulgar sort
of fellow as I am, you are going to look upon me as your friend."

"Common!" cried Hazel hysterically, for the bonds that she had
maintained for weeks had given way at last, and her woman's weakness had
resulted in tears and sobs. "Common!--vulgar! No, no!"

She caught his hands in hers and pressed them to her lips. Then she
would have sunk upon her knees and asked his pardon for the pain she had
unwittingly caused, but he caught her in his arms and held her
helplessly sobbing to his breast.

They neither of them were aware that the drawing-room door was opened,
and that Miss Burge and Rebecca Lambent had entered, the former to look
tearfully on, the latter indignant as she muttered, "Shameless
creature!" between her teeth.

"What! have you made matters up, then, Bill?" cried Miss Burge excitedly
as she ran forward. "Oh, my dear, my dear!"

Her tears were flowing fast as she paused before them, trying to
extricate her handkerchief from an awkward pocket and arrested by her
brother's words.

"Yes, Betsey, we've made it up all right," he said.

"I--I didn't think it," sobbed Miss Burge.

"No," he said; "and it isn't as you think, for this is our very, very
dear young friend, Betsey, and--and as