She went to an _étagère_ in a corner, opened a little box, and took from it a daguerrotype, which she placed in my hand. Looking at the likeness, I recognized the man who once insulted me at the theatre. “I must go and attend to Madame Dufour,” said Estelle. “Let me accompany you,” said I. She made no objection. We went together into the chamber. Estelle rushed to the bedside,—shook the invalid,—called her aloud by name,—put her ear down to learn if she breathed,—put her hand on the breast to find if the heart beat,—then turned to me, and shrieked, “She is dead!” What was to be done? I led Estelle into the parlor. She sat down. Her face was of a frightful pallor; but there was not the trace of a tear in her eyes. The expression was that of blank, unmitigated despair. “Poor, poor child!” I murmured. “What can I do for her? Estelle, you must be saved,—but how?” My words and my look seemed to inspire her with a hope. She rose, sank upon both knees before me, lifted up her clasped hands, and said: “O sir! O Mr. Carteret! as you are a man, as you reverence the recollection of your mother, save me,—save me from the consequences of this death! I am now the slave of Mr. Ratcliff; and what that involves to me you can guess, but I, without a new agony, cannot explain. Save me, dear sir! Good sir, kind sir, for God’s love, save me!” And then, with a wild cry of despair, she added: “I will be yours,—body and soul, I will be yours, if you will only save me! I will be your slave,—your _anything_,—only let me belong to one I can love and respect. Do not, do not cast me off!” “Cast you off, dear child? Never!” said I, and, raising her to her feet, I kissed her forehead. That first kiss! How shall I analyze it? It was pure and tender as a mother’s, notwithstanding the utter abandonment signified in the maiden’s words. That very self-surrender was her security. Had she been shy, I might have been less cold. But her look of disappointment showed she attributed that coldness to some less flattering cause,—plainly to indifference, if not to personal dislike. She could not detect in me the first symptom of what she instinctively knew would be a guaranty of my protection, stronger than duty.