"But I want to see you, Louis. It is long since we've watched your coming. Many a time has Helen sat where you are now, and talked about you till the tears would run down her cheeks, wondering why you didn't come, and fearing some evil had befallen you. I've had my misgivings, too, though I never breathed them to mortal ear, ever since you went off with that long-haired upstart, who fumbled so about my wheel, trying to fool me with his soft nonsense. What has become of him?" "He is at home, I believe--but you are too harsh in your judgment, Miss Thusa. It is strange what prejudiced you so against him." "Something _here_," cried the spinster, striking her hand against her heart; "something that God put here, not man. I'm glad you and he have parted company; and I'm glad for more sakes than one. I never loved Mittie, but she's her mother's child, and I don't like the thought of her being miserable for life. And now, Louis, what do you want me to do for you? I can see you are in trouble, though you don't want the fire to blaze on your face. You forget I wear glasses, though they are not always at home, where they ought to be, on the bridge of my nose." "You told me if I needed counsel or assistance, to come to you and not trouble my kindred. I am in distress, Miss Thusa, and it is my own fault. I'm in debt. I owe money that I cannot raise; I cannot tax my father again to pay the wages of sin. Tell me now how you can aid me; _you_, poor and lonely, earning only a scanty pittance by the flax on your distaff, and as ignorant of the world as simple-hearted Helen herself?" Miss Thusa leaned her head forward on both hands, swaying her body slowly backward and forward for a few seconds; then taking the poker, she gave the coals a great flourish, which made the sparks fly to the top of the chimney. "I'll try to help you," said she, "but if you have been doing wrong and been led away by evil companions, he, your father, ought to know it. Better find it out from yourself than anybody else." "He knows all my misconduct," replied Louis, raising his head with an air of pride. "I would scorn to deceive him. And yet," he added, with a conscious blush, "you may accuse me of deception in this instance. He has not asked me the sum I owe--and Heaven knows I could not go and thrust my bills in his face. I thought perhaps there was some usurer, whom you had heard of, who could let me have the money. They are debts of honor, and must be paid." "Of _honor_!" repeated Miss Thusa, with a tone of ineffable contempt. "I thought you had more sense, Louis, than to talk in that nonsensical way. It's more--it's downright wicked. I know what it all means, well enough. They're debts you are ashamed of, that you had no business to make, that you dare not let your father know of; and yet you call them debts of honor." Louis rose from his seat with a haughty and offended air.