"Being in the witness box I use the customary formula. From information received I was led to suppose that the lost one would be found on this beautiful shore. I flew hither on the wings of love, anxious to serve him, to show my interest in his welfare, to promote his happiness." "If I refuse to give you money?" "It will be unwise, John, distinctly unwise, and will carry with it certain consequences exceedingly disagreeable to--let us say to a lady of spotless reputation. How pained I should be to set these consequences in motion! Is it not man's privilege to protect the weak? But, alas, John! alas! alas! necessity is a slave-driver, and compels tender hearts to lay on the lash!" With his old mocking smile upon his face, he went through the pretense of drying his eyes. "Speak plainly," I said. "If I disappoint your expectations, what will you do?" "I will deal honestly by you, brother-in-law, and speak, as you desire, quite plainly. What will I do? Let me see. There is no place on earth, be it ever so remote and secluded, in which character is not at a premium. There are husbands who have wives, parents who have daughters. A woman comes to live among them who poses as Madame Virtue. She is good to the poor--it costs so little, John, to be good to the poor; the clergyman's wife visits her; she goes to church; she gives a basin of soup to an old woman. Cheap tricks, brother-in-law. Madame Virtue leads a happy life; she is respected; people greet her smilingly and affectionately, and say, 'There's an example for you!' Suddenly a rumor is set afloat that Madame Virtue is no better than she should be. Sad, very sad. The rumor is authenticated. A gentleman comes from the city and verifies the rumor. Madame Virtue has, of course, a reputed husband, who shares her popularity. The gentleman says he knows the saintly couple very well indeed, and that they are simply a pair of impostors. He offers to supply proof, and he does so upon the invitation of the clergyman and the local gentry. He regrets the necessity, but what can he do? He owes a duty to society. If there is one thing, John, I pride myself upon more than another, it is that I never shrink from the performance of a duty. What is the result in this instance? The clergyman's wife turns her back upon Madame Virtue, the local gentry likewise; the poor lose their respect for her, and talk of her behind her back. In a word, the saint is turned into a sinner. Judge the effect upon Madame Virtue, you, dear brother-in-law, who know her so much better than I. Have I put the matter plainly? There is even more to say which it might not be agreeable to you to hear. Take a turn or two on these beautiful sands, and think it over. I can wait."