She entertained a boundless compassion for that unfortunate being. His physical deformities, and the treatment which he experienced from his father, called forth the kindest sympathies of her naturally tender heart. Moreover, he had received instruction and was in the habit of seeking consolation from her: she was the only friend of that suffering creature who was persecuted alike by nature and by man; and she perhaps felt the more acutely on his account, because she was so utterly powerless in protecting him from the parental ferocity which drove him to her for comfort. She knew that a good—a generous—a kind—and a deeply sensitive soul was enclosed within that revolting form; and she experienced acute anguish when a brutal hand could wantonly torture so susceptible a spirit. And to that wounded, smarting spirit she herself was all kindness—all softness—all conciliation—all encouragement. No wonder, then, if the miserable son of the public executioner was devoted to her: no wonder if she were a goddess of light, and hope, and consolation, and bliss to him! To do her the slightest service was a source of the purest joy which that poor being could know: to be able to convince her by a deed,—even so slight as picking up her thread when it fell, or placing her chair for her in its wonted situation,—this, this was sublime happiness to the hump-back! He could sit for hours near her, without uttering a word—but watching her like a faithful dog. And when her musical voice, fraught with some expression of kindness, fell upon his ear, how that hideous countenance would brighten up—how those coarse lips would form a smile—how those large dull orbs would glow with ineffable bliss! But when his father was unkind to her,—unkind to Katherine, his only friend,—unkind to the sole being that ever had looked not only without abhorrence, but with unadulterated gentleness on him,—then a new spirit seemed to animate him; and the faithful creature, who received his own stripes with spaniel-like irresistance, burst forth in indignant remonstrance when a blow was levelled at her. Then his rage grew terrible; and the resigned, docile, retiring hump-back became transformed into a perfect demon. How offensive to the delicate admirer of a maudlin romance, in which only handsome boys and pretty girls are supposed to be capable of playing at the game of Love, must be the statement which we are now about to make. But the reader who truly knows the world,—not the world of the sentimental novel, but the world as it really is,—will not start when we inform him that this being whom nature had formed in her most uncouth mould,—this creature whose deformities seemed to render him a connecting link between man and monkey,—this living thing that appeared to be but one remove above a monster, cherished a profound love for that young girl whom he esteemed as his guardian angel.