Phoebe shuddered; but she said, bravely, “Well, tell THEM you have been a-courting. There was a time I'd have died sooner than see a hair of your head hurt; but it is all over now; you have worn me out.” Then she began to cry. Falcon heaved a deep sigh. “It is no more than I deserve,” said he. “I'll pack up my things, and go with the officer. Give me one kind word at parting, and I'll think of it in my prison, night and day.” He withdrew from the window with another deep sigh, told Cartwright, cheerfully, it was all right, and proceeded to pack up his traps. Meantime Phoebe sat at her window and cried bitterly. Her words had been braver than her heart. Falcon managed to pay the trifle he owed for the lodgings, and presently he came out with Cartwright, and the attendant called a cab. His things were thrown in, and Cartwright invited him to follow. Then he looked up, and cast a genuine look of terror and misery at Phoebe. He thought she would have relented before this. Her heart gave way; I am afraid it would, even without that piteous and mute appeal. She opened the window, and asked Mr. Cartwright if he would be good enough to come and speak to her. Cartwright committed his prisoner to the subordinate, and knocked at the door of Phoebe's lodgings. She came down herself and let him in. She led the way upstairs, motioned him to a seat, sat down by him, and began to cry again. She was thoroughly unstrung. Cartwright was human, and muttered some words of regret that a poor fellow must do his duty. “Oh, it is not that,” sobbed Phoebe. “I can find the money. I have found more for him than that, many's the time.” Then, drying her eyes, “But you must know the world, and I dare say you can see how 'tis with me.” “I can,” said Cartwright, gravely. “I overheard you and him; and, my girl, if you take my advice, why, let him go. He is a gentleman skin deep, and dresses well, and can palaver a girl, no doubt; but bless your heart, I can see at a glance he is not worth your little finger, an honest, decent young woman like you. Why, it is like butter fighting with stone. Let him go; or I will tell you what it is, you will hang for him some day, or else make away with yourself.” “Ay, sir,” said Phoebe, “that's likelier; and if I was to let him go to prison, I should sit me down and think of his parting look, and I should fling myself into the water for him before I was a day older.” “Ye mustn't do that anyway. While there's life there's hope.”