nd
looked earnestly in the widow's face. "Your knowledge of this man and
your manner of speaking about him surprises me. I have long thought
that you were not acting wisely in permitting Gascoyne to be so
intimate; for, whatever he may in reality be, he is a suspicious
character, to say the best of him; and although _I_ know that you think
you are right in encouraging his visits, other people do not know that;
they may judge you harshly. I do not wish to pry into secrets--but you
have sought to comfort me by bidding me have perfect confidence in this
man. I _must_ ask what knowledge you have of him. How far are you
aware of his character and employment? How do you know that he is so
trustworthy?"

An expression of deep grief rested on the widow's countenance as she
replied in a sad voice--"I _know_ that you may trust Gascoyne with your
child. He is my oldest friend. I have known him since we were
children. He saved my father's life long, long ago, and helped to
support my mother in her last years. Would you have me to forget all
this because men say that he is a pirate?"

"Why, mother," cried Henry, "if you know so much about him you _must_
know that, whatever he was in time past, he is the pirate Durward now."

"I do _not_ know that he is the pirate Durward!" said the widow in a
voice and with a look so decided that Henry was silenced and sorely
perplexed--yet much relieved, for he knew that his mother would rather
die than tell a deliberate falsehood.

The missionary was also comforted, for although his judgment told him
that the grounds of hope thus held out to him were very insufficient, he
was impressed by the thoroughly confident tone of the widow and felt
relieved in spite of himself.

Soon after this conversation was concluded the household retired to
rest.

Next morning Henry was awakened out of a deep sleep by the sound of
subdued voices in the room underneath his own. At first he paid no
attention to these, supposing that, as it was broad daylight, some of
their native servants were moving about.

But presently the sound of his mother's voice induced him to listen more
attentively. Then a voice replied, so low that he could with difficulty
hear it at all. Its strength increased, however, and at last it broke
forth in deep bass tones.

Henry sprang up and threw on his clothes. As he was thus engaged the
front door of the house opened; and the speakers went out. A few
seconds sufficed