“We regret to learn that a certain prominent citizen of this place who has been laboring among the sailors and fishermen in a quasi-clerical capacity, is so unfortunate as to find his name associated with a most unpleasant scandal arising out of his acquaintance with the disreputable women of the district in which he labors. We wish the Reverend gentleman well out of his scrape, but may take occasion to suggest that such self-elected censors of our society and institutions must learn somehow that they cannot touch pitch and not be defiled, any more than ordinary men who do not make their pretensions to holiness.” “Well?” said Bayard, quietly returning the paper. Job Slip had joined them, and read the paragraph over the Captain’s shoulder. Job was white to the lips with the virile rage of a man of the sea. “I’ve shipped here, and I’ve coasted there, and I’ve sailed eenymost around the world,” slowly said Captain Hap. “I never in my life--and I’m comin’ on seventy-five year old--I never knew no town I wouldn’t d’ruther see a scandal a-goin’ in, than this here. It’s Hell let loose on ye,” added the Captain grimly. “Find me the fellar that put up that job!” roared Job Slip, rolling up his sleeves. “He ain’t fur to seek,” answered the Captain with a short laugh. “He’s the devil and all his angels smithered into one!” raved Job. “That’s drawrin’ of it mild,” said Captain Hap. “This--low--matter does not trouble me,” observed Bayard, smiling with genuine and beautiful remoteness. “Excuse me, sir,” said Captain Hap; “that’s all you know!” XXI. Captain Hap was wiser in his generation than the child of light. Before a week had gone by, Bayard found himself the victim of one of the cruelest forms of human persecution--the scandal of a provincial town. Its full force fell suddenly upon him. Now, this was the one thing for which he was totally unprepared; of every other kind of martyrdom, it seemed to him, he had recognized the possibility: this had never entered his mind. He accepted it with that outward serenity which means in a man of his temperament the costliest expenditure of inward vitality, and, turning neither to the right nor to the left, kept on his way. Averted looks avoided him upon the streets. Cold glances sought him in Angel Alley. Suspicion lurked in eyes that had always met him cordially. Hands were withdrawn that had never failed to meet his heartily. His ears quivered with comments overheard as he passed through groups upon the business streets. The more public and the more respectable the place, the worse his reception. He came quickly into the habit of avoiding, when he could, the better portions of the town. Before he had time to determine on any given course of conduct, he felt himself hunted down into Angel Alley, like other outcasts.