Ah, yes! she was so young! and then that voice died away, and knew that it had no more to say. What--what was this, to think of urging a young girl, still almost a child, to give up the station of life in which she had lived happy and joyous, and go away with a stranger, far from her own home and her own people, to share a struggling life, with no certain assurance of anything, save love alone? What was this but a baseness, of which no honest man could be capable? If,--if even I had read her glance aright,--last night,--or was it a year ago? Still, it was but a thing of a moment, the light springing up of a tiny fire of good will, that would die out in a few days after I was gone, for want of fuel; even if it were not snatched out strongly by other hands, as I had put out those climbing flames last night. How her startled eyes sought mine! How the colour flashed into her face when I spoke. No! no! Of that I must not think, if my manhood was to stay in me! This other, then, who was coming,--this man would turn her thoughts. She would yield, as is the custom for young maidens in France, with no thought that it might be otherwise. He was no longer young,--he had already been once married,--I looked up at this moment, I do not know by what chance, and my eyes fell on a long glass, what they call a cheval-glass in France, my dear, showing the whole figure. I think no harm, seeing this was so long ago, in saying that I appeared to advantage in such a view, being well-made, and perhaps not without other good points. This will seem strangely trifling to you, my child, who see nothing but the soul of man or woman; but I have always loved a good figure, and never felt shame to thank God for giving me one. My clothes were good, having been bought in Paris as we came through. I have never made any claim to pass for a gentleman, Melody, but yet I think I made a fair enough show of one, that night at least. And being so constituted, I sat staring at my image in the mirror, and wondering like a fool if the other man were as good-looking. This would be like a slight crust of contentment,--sad enough at that,--forming for a moment over the black depth of sorrow that was my heart; and next moment the pain would stab through it again, till I could have cried out but for the shame of it; and so the night wore by, and the morning found me still there. I had learned little, save the one thing that was all the world,--that I could not commit a baseness.