e quiet smile; 'please to enumerate what
other little kindnesses you have in store for me.'

'I will,' replied Grosket. '_I_ was once a happy man. I had a wife and
daughter, whom I loved. My wife is dead; what became of my child? I say,'
exclaimed he bitterly, 'what became of my child?'

'Young women will forget themselves sometimes,' said Rust, his thin lip
curling. 'She became a harlot--only a harlot.'

Grosket grew deadly pale, and his voice became less clear, as he answered:

'You're right--you're right! why shrink from the word. It's a harsh one;
but it's God's truth; she _did_--and she died.'

'That's frank,' said Rust, 'quite frank. I am a straight-forward man, and
always speak the truth. I'm glad to see that friend Enoch can bear it like
a Christian.'

A loud, taunting laugh broke from Grosket; and then he said:

'Thus much for _me_; now for yourself, Michael Rust. _You_ once had a
wife.'

Rust's calm sneer disappeared in an instant, and he seemed absolutely to
wither before the keen flashing eye which was fixed steadfastly on his.

'She lived with you two years; and then she became--shall I tell you
what?'

Rust's lips moved, but no sound came from them. Grosket bent his lips to
his ear, and whispered in it. Rust neither moved nor spoke. He seemed
paralyzed.

'But she died,' continued Grosket, 'and she left a child--a daughter;
_mine_ was a daughter too.'

Rust started from a state of actual torpor; every energy, every faculty,
every feeling leaping into life.

'That daughter is now alive,' continued Grosket, speaking slowly, that
every word might tell with tenfold force. 'That daughter now is, what you
drove my child to be, a harlot.'

'It's false as hell!' shouted Rust, in a tone that made the room ring.
'It's false!'

'It's true. I can prove it; prove it, clear as the noon-day,' returned
Grosket, with a loud, exulting laugh.

'Oh! Enoch! oh, Enoch!' said Rust, in a broken, supplicating tone, 'tell
me that it's false, and I'll bless you! Crush me, blight me, do what you
will, only tell me that my own loved child is pure from spot or stain!
Tell me so, I beseech you; _I_, Michael Rust, who never begged a boon
before--_I_ beseech you.'

He fell on his knees in front of Grosket, and clasping his hands together,
raised them toward him.

'I cannot,' replied Grosket, coldly, 'for it's as true as there is a
heaven above us!'

Rust made an effort to speak; his fingers worked convulsively, and