A change swept quickly across his face, but he passed his hand for a moment over it, and then regarded me again with his grave smile. "For what reason, mam'zelle?" he asked. "Oh! I must tell you every thing!" I cried. "Tell me every thing," he repeated; "it shall be buried here, in my heart, as if it was buried in the depths of the sea. I will try not to think of it even, if you bid me. I am your friend as well as your servant." Then leaning against his boat, for I could not control my trembling, I told him almost all about my wretched life, from which God had delivered me, leading me to him for shelter and comfort. He listened with his eyes cast down, never once raising them to my face, and in perfect silence, except that once or twice he groaned within himself, and clinched his hard hands together. I know that I could never have told my history to any other man as I told it to him, a homely peasant and fisherman, but with as noble and gentle a heart as ever beat. "You must go," he said, when I had finished. His voice was hollow and broken, but the words were spoken distinctly enough for me to hear them. "Yes, there is no help for me," I answered; "there is no rest for me but death." "It would be better to die," he said, solemnly, "than return to a life like that. I would sooner bury you up yonder, in our little graveyard, than give you up to your husband." "You will help me to get away at once?" I asked. "At once," he repeated, in the same broken voice. His face looked gray, and his mouth twitched. He leaned against his boat, as if he could hardly stand; as I was doing myself, for I felt utterly weak and shaken. "How soon?" I asked. "To-morrow I will row you to Guernsey in time for the packet to England," he answered. Mon Dieu! how little I thought what I was mending my boat for! Mam'zelle, is there nothing, nothing in the world I can do for you?" "Nothing, Tardif," I said, sorrowfully. "Nothing!" he assented, dropping his head down upon his hands. No, there was positively nothing he could do for me. There was no person on the face of the earth who could help me. "My poor Tardif," I said, laying my hand on his shoulder, "I am a great trouble to you." "I cannot bear to let you go in this way," he replied, without looking up. "If it had been to marry Dr. Martin--why, then--but you have to go alone, poor little child!" "Yes," I said, "alone." After that we were both silent for some minutes. We could hear the peaceful lapping of the water at our feet, and its boom against the rocks, and the shrieking of the sea-gulls; but there was utter silence between us two. I felt as if it would break my heart to leave this place, and go whither I knew not. Yet there was no alternative.