on his cheeks."

"Did you? Will you swear to that?" exclaimed Gawtrey, with vehemence:
then, shading his brow with his band, he fell into a reverie that lasted
some moments.

"If anything happen to me, Philip," he said, abruptly, "perhaps he may
yet be a father to poor Fanny; and if he takes to her, she will repay
him for whatever pain I may, perhaps, have cost him. Stop! now I think
of it, I will write down his address for you--never forget it--there! It
is time to go to bed."

Gawtrey's tale made a deep impression on Philip. He was too young, too
inexperienced, too much borne away by the passion of the narrator, to
see that Gawtrey had less cause to blame Fate than himself. True, he had
been unjustly implicated in the disgrace of an unworthy uncle, but he
had lived with that uncle, though he knew him to be a common cheat;
true, he had been betrayed by a friend, but he had before known that
friend to be a man without principle or honour. But what wonder that an
ardent boy saw nothing of this--saw only the good heart that had saved
a poor girl from vice, and sighed to relieve a harsh and avaricious
parent? Even the hints that Gawtrey unawares let fall of practices
scarcely covered by the jovial phrase of "a great schoolboy's scrapes,"
either escaped the notice of Philip, or were charitably construed by
him, in the compassion and the ignorance of a young, hasty, and grateful
heart.

CHAPTER IV.

"And she's a stranger
Women--beware women."--MIDDLETON.

"As we love our youngest children best,
So the last fruit of our affection,
Wherever we bestow it, is most strong;
Since 'tis indeed our latest harvest-home,
Last merriment 'fore winter!"
WEBSTER, Devil's Law Case.

"I would fain know what kind of thing a man's heart is?
I will report it to you; 'tis a thing framed
With divers corners!"--ROWLEY.

I have said that Gawtrey's tale made a deep impression on Philip;--that
impression was increased by subsequent conversations, more frank even
than their talk had hitherto been. There was certainly about this man
a fatal charm which concealed his vices. It arose, perhaps, from the
perfect combinations of his physical frame--from a health which made
his spirits buoyant and hearty under all circumstances--and a blood
so fresh, so sanguine, that it could not fail to keep the pores of the
heart open. But he was not the less--for all his kindly impulses and
genero