r in Canal street, where she had served her apprenticeship; in
Division street, where she had been a forewoman; and in Grand street,
where she had kept a shop. In an evil hour, she had been persuaded to
start a millinery establishment in Greenpoint; and a very bad time she
had had of it. All she knew about this unfortunate affair, was this: The
young man, there, had called on her, a few days ago, and said that he
wanted to do a favor for an orphan girl, who was a distant relative of
his. She was poor, he said, but proud--no strange thing, Mrs. Wopping
believed--and would not accept anything directly from him.

"Therefore," said Mrs. Wopping, "he wanted to arrange with me to give
her some easy work to do, enough to make her think she was earning her
own living, and he would pay me her board, and give me twenty shillings
a week to hand to her as her wages. By this plan, I could get a boarder
at a fair price, and the services of a young lady to wait on the shop
for nothing. Very imprudently, I consented, but not before I had made
the young man there swear to Heaven that his intentions were honorable.
This he did in the most solemn manner. I loved the dear girl at first
sight, and determined to watch over her, and keep her from harm. I had a
little sister once--long since dead--that much resembled her. I should
add, that, though Miss Minford seemed to think very well of the young
man there, when he brought her here, she became quite suspicious of him
yesterday--he was here all yesterday afternoon--and refused to ride out
with him, though he had brought a handsome carriage for her. I advised
her not to go."

"Thank you, good Mrs. Wopping!" said Mrs. Crull, shaking that lady by
the hand, "you have been a true friend to our dear child; and I'll
order my bonnets from you for the futer. Virtue shouldn't always be its
own reward.

"You see, now, my darling," continued Mrs. Crull, "what a scoundrel you
have escaped from. Will you be my adopted child forever? Speak, my
precious!"

Poor Pet threw her soft white arms around the thick neck of her
protectress, and cried for joy. "Dear, dear mother!" she murmured.

There was a pause, daring which everybody but young Van Quintem had
occasion to wipe their eyes. He paced up and down, his brow wrinkled,
and inextinguishable hate flashing from his eyes.

"Well, sir," said his father, calmly, "what atonement have you to make
for this outrage?"

"You're a ---- old fool, and that's all