That he believed her honour would be tarnished were he to proclaim himself in the lifetime of her present husband, was enough; and whether he was right or wrong; whether he was correct in holding the obligations of the marriage-service holy, binding, and to be disturbed only at the risk of God’s wrath, when incurred with a spotless conscience, when entered upon in innocence and good faith; or whether he should have regarded the marriage-service as a mere civil convention which made his wife his property, claimable by him on the common ground of the law of priority, without reference to any action she might have committed in honest belief that he was dead; one thing we must allow him--an unparalleled quality of unselfishness, the existence of which, while it attested the sincerity of his views (since he had his heart’s deepest affections to lose and nothing to gain by retaining them), elevated his conduct to the highest point of heroism. Nelly had never before found him unwilling to romp with her; when he raised his head she watched his face with a strange, wistful look, and putting her finger to his cheek, said: “Why do ’oo cry?” He forced a smile for answer, caressed her, and then placed her on the ground, thinking she was weary of sitting. But she climbed upon his knee again, and repeated her question with great earnestness: “Why do ’oo cry?” “Because I am silly and weak, my little one. I am forgetting that there is a good and just God over me, who will hear my prayers and help me, as He before did, when I was alone on the wide sea.” He said this aloud, but spoke rather to himself than to the child. “Dod loves Nelly,” said the little thing, “and Nelly loves ’oo. Nelly kiss ’oo.” That was all the comfort she could give him; but it fell tenderly on his ear. He kissed her gratefully, rocking her gently to and fro in his arms with his eyes on her face. She soon, however, rebelled against an attitude which crippled her limbs, and slipped on to the floor, and to amuse her he gave her a book with pictures in it, which she examined gravely, talking to herself as little children and aged people do. In this manner the afternoon passed; but never was Holdsworth more depressed, more restless, filled with more nameless anxieties and misgivings. Apart from all moral considerations, his future was terribly uncertain. Suppose the Conways left the town? He must follow them, for he could not bear the separation; and what would they think of his pursuit? Suppose all his efforts to obtain a living failed, what should he do? At five o’clock Mrs. Parrot came in to put on Nelly’s hat: that was the regular hour at which the little girl was sent home by Holdsworth. “My apron is dirty,” said the worthy woman, “so I’ll not go across with you, my dear. But I’ll watch from the porch until I see you safe in.”