s the pity of
it. Some of these poor hunted people would lead a different life if
they had another chance. I tried to save the one Hobson found in my
ward. He was quite frank with me, and told me everything. When people
trust me my heart always goes out to them--so much so that I often do
very foolish things that are apt to get me into trouble. It's when they
lie to me--and so many do--making one excuse after another for their
being in the ward--that I lose all interest in them. I pleaded with
Hobson to give the man another chance, but I could do nothing. Thief as
he was, he had told the truth. He had that quality left, and I liked
him for it. If I had known Hobson was on his track I'd have helped him
in some way to get off. He stole to help his old mother, and wasn't a
criminal in any sense--only weak-hearted. The law is cruel--it never
makes allowances--that's where it is wrong."

"Cruel!--it's brutal. It is more brutal often than the crime," answered
Sister Teresa in a voice full of emotion. "Do you think the man your
friend was looking for here on board will escape?"

"No, I'm afraid not. There is very little chance of any criminal
escaping when they once get on his track, so Mr. Hobson has told me. If
he is on this steamer he must run another gauntlet in New York, even if
he is among the emigrants. You know we have over a thousand on board.
If he is not aboard they will track him down. Dreadful, isn't it?"

"Poor fellow," said Sister Teresa, a sob in her voice, "how sorry I am
for him. If men only knew how much wiser mercy is than justice in the
redemption of the world." Here she rose from her chair, and gathering
her black cloak about her crossed to the rail and looked out to sea. In
a few minutes she returned. "Let us walk out to the bow where we can
talk undisturbed," she said. "The constant movement of the passengers
on deck, passing backward and forward, disturbs my head. I see so few
people, you know."

When they reached the bow, she made a place beside her for the Nurse.

"Don't misunderstand what I said about the brutality of the law," she
began. "There must be laws, and brutal men who commit brutal crimes
must be punished. But there are so many men who are not brutal,
although the crimes may be. I knew of one once. We had educated his
little daughter--such a sweet child! The man himself was a
scene-painter and worked in the theatres in London. Sometimes he would
take part in the play himself, making u