"I don't know," she replied, turning away. "He's done with so far as I am concerned; in fact, he never really lived. We'll speak of him no more, please." Then in a moment she lost that gentler tone and swung round upon him fiercely. "In God's name, man, have some mercy! If my face tells you nothing of what I have suffered, the agony of loneliness that has been mine during these past weeks, then at least let my lips tell you. I always liked you; I believe you to be a good and honourable gentleman. Perhaps I can say to you what I might not to another. He has spoiled my life, old though I am, just as he has spoiled his own; can't you see that I couldn't take him to my heart again? He refused all explanations of what had been done with the money; stubbornly refused to say a word about it.--There, let's have done with it. Tell me what you came here for." The captain saw that it was useless to pursue the subject; he sighed and turned to that newer matter. "I must speak of him again for a moment, although indirectly. Do you remember a most unhappy occasion, when you came to visit me in the hope of meeting a girl to whom the boy was to be married?" "Yes, I remember. What of it?" "Whatever his after sins may have been, he behaved, as regards that matter, with a delicacy and a consideration for the woman who had betrayed him which was, to my simple thought, wonderful. Even if, as you say, he is worthless, he had that one merit of loving her sincerely and strongly through everything; of that I am convinced. She fled with his cousin Brian and they were married. At the present moment she is destitute." The captain paused and looked at her intently to see the effect of his words; she merely nodded to him to proceed. "Her husband--a worthless fellow, I fear--appears to have deserted her for another woman, and within a few hours of his desertion to have been drowned at sea. She has come back to her old home and is living under the protection of a strange old creature, a shoemaker, who loved her and cared for her when she was a little lonely child. Beyond that man and myself she hasn't a friend in the world; there is no one to whom she can turn. She is hallowed forever in my sight because poor Comethup loved her; she is set apart from all other women on that account. She is very young and, as I have said, helpless and hopeless. Dear old friend"--the captain made a movement toward her--"I want you to help me." Miss Charlotte Carlaw, whose face was working strangely, turned her head away from him and beat one foot restlessly on the floor. "Why should I do that?" she asked at last in a low voice.