A blush passed over Margaret's face as she replied, "Another has told me so, and I did not deceive him. He thought you dead, or he would never have ventured upon the subject. I told him he was mistaken, that you were not dead, and that I still loved you, William." "Then he knows I live, does he?" "Yes." "And you have betrayed me?" "No: I have not told any one but him; and as he pressed his suit, thinking that you were no more, I felt it to be only due to him to tell him you were alive." "And who is he, Margaret? You would not have been so plain with him if he had not had somewhat of your confidence." "He is an honest young man, and of very good and respectable parents--he works at the Priory Farm; and seeing him, as I do, daily, I can form sufficient judgement of his character to believe he would never betray any one." "Upon my word, Margaret, he must be a prodigy of perfection! Perhaps you would like him to be bridesman upon our wedding-day?" "I would, indeed, if he would like it, and you had no objection." "What is his name?" "John Barry." "What! of Levington?" "Yes." "His brother is in the coastguard. It was he who gave me this, Margaret, this cut upon my forehead--this, that you took such pains to heal." "And it is healed, William; and your heart, too, I hope." "No, no, no!--I owe him one!" "Consider me his creditor, and pay it me; for I healed that wound, and it brought with it reformation." "I would not give you what I would give him." "No, William; but you ought not to bear malice. His brother has been very kind to me. I may say, he is the only one who never reproached me with having been the mistress of a smuggler." (There was a fearful frown upon the smuggler's brow at this moment, and a convulsive grasp of the poor girl's hand, that told there was agony and anger stirring in his soul.) "But you are not a smuggler now, William. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. All reproach of that name has long passed away from my mind." William was silent, and gazed wildly upon the waters. One hand was in his bosom, the other was in Margaret's hand, as she leaned upon his shoulder. There might be seen a strange paleness passing over his face, and a painful compression of his lips. A sudden start, as if involuntary, and it was most truly so. It told of a chilliness on the heart, that seemed to freeze the blood in his veins. He actually trembled. "William, you are not well." "No, I am not; but a little grog, which is in the boat, will soon set me right again." "Shall I run and fetch it?" "No, no,--wait a bit, wait a bit. Hold--I was a smuggler! Yes, you said I was a smuggler! The world despised me! You bore the reproach of my name! Well, Margaret, the smuggler comes home--he comes to marry you. Will the world believe him to be altered? Will they not call you, then, the smuggler's bride?"