“Miss Ramsay, do you think she will waste all her heart and her life upon that vagabond?” he said. “It’s just an infatuation, and her friends should speak more strongly than they do. Do you know what he is? Just one of those wild gamblers, miners, drinkers--it may be worse for any thing I know, but my wish is not to say a word too much--that we hear of in America, and such places, in the backwoods, as they call it--men without a spark of principle, without house or home. I believe that’s what this man Duff has come to be. I wish him no harm, but to think of such a woman as Helen Blythe descending into that wretchedness! It should not be suffered, it should not be suffered! taking nobody else into consideration at all, but just her own self alone.” “I think so, too, Mr. Douglas,” said Lily, restraining the paces of Rory, “but then what can any one say if Helen herself----” “Helen herself!” he said almost passionately; “what does she know? She is young; she is without experience. She is very young,” he added, with a flush that made it apparent for the first time to Lily that he was younger than Helen, “because she is so inexperienced. She has never been out of this village. Men, however little they may have seen of themselves, get to know things; but a woman, a young lady--how can she understand? Oh, you should tell her, her friends should tell her!” he cried with vehemence. “It is a wicked thing to let a creature like that go so far astray.” “I agree with you, Mr. Douglas,” said Lily again, “but if Helen in her own heart says ‘Yes,’ where is there a friend of hers that durst say ‘No’? Her father: that is true. But he will never be asked to give his consent, for while he lives she will never leave him.” “You are sure of that?” the young minister asked. “If it had not been so, would she have let him go now? She will never leave her father, but beyond that I don’t think Helen will ever change, Mr. Douglas. If he never comes back again, she will just sit and wait for him till she dies.” “Miss Ramsay, I have no right to trouble you. What foolish things I may have cherished in my mind it is not worth the while to say. I thought, when the old man is away, what need to leave the house she was fond of, the house where she was born, when there was me ready to step in and give her the full right. It’s been in my thoughts ever since I was named to the parish after him. It’s nothing very grand, but it’s a decent down-sitting, what her mother had before her, and no need for any disagreeable change, or questions about repairs, or any unpleasant thing. Just her and me, instead of her and him. I would not shorten his days, not by an hour--the Lord forbid! but just I would be always ready at her hand.” “Oh, Mr. Douglas,” cried Lily, “her father would like it--and me, I would like it.”