e above his
station.

The stranger smiled. "Thank you for the compliment," said he. "What I
meant was, that I have been a great deal abroad; in fact, I have just
returned from Germany. But I am English born."

"And going home?"

"Yes."

"Far from hence?"

"About thirty miles, I believe."

"You are young, sir, to be alone."

The traveller made no answer, but finished his uninviting repast and
drew his chair again to the fire. He then thought he had sufficiently
ministered to his host's curiosity to be entitled to the gratification
of his own.

"You work at the factories, I suppose?" said he.

"I do, sir. Bad times."

"And your pretty daughter?"

"Minds the house."

"Have you no other children?"

"No; one mouth besides my own is as much as I can feed, and that
scarcely. But you would like to rest now; you can have my bed, sir; I
can sleep here."

"By no means," said the stranger, quickly; "just put a few more coals on
the fire, and leave me to make myself comfortable."

The man rose, and did not press his offer, but left the room for a
supply of fuel. Alice remained in her corner.

"Sweetheart," said the traveller, looking round and satisfying himself
that they were alone: "I should sleep well if I could get one kiss from
those coral lips."

Alice hid her face with her hands.

"Do I vex you?"

"Oh no, sir."

At this assurance the traveller rose, and approached Alice softly. He
drew away her hands from her face, when she said gently, "Have you much
money about you?"

"Oh, the mercenary baggage!" said the traveller to himself; and then
replied aloud, "Why, pretty one? Do you sell your kisses so high then?"

Alice frowned and tossed the hair from her brow. "If you have money,"
she said, in a whisper, "don't say so to father. Don't sleep if you can
help it. I'm afraid--hush--he comes!"

The young man returned to his seat with an altered manner. And as his
host entered, he for the first time surveyed him closely. The imperfect
glimmer of the half-dying and single candle threw into strong lights and
shades the marked, rugged, and ferocious features of the cottager; and
the eye of the traveller, glancing from the face to the limbs and frame,
saw that whatever of violence the mind might design, the body might well
execute.

The traveller sank into a gloomy reverie. The wind howled--the rain
beat--through the casement shone no solitary star--all was dark and
sombre. Should he proceed alone--migh