"You mean the shipwrecked man who was quartered for some days at the steward's house?" he asked. "Yes--I remember him very well." He seemed to grow rather pale as he looked at me, and added, "Why do you ask?" "Because," I answered, "you told me that he was in good society, and I have not seen him anywhere--not once." "He was in society; but he's not in London, nor in England now, I believe. I once knew him pretty well, and I know only too much of him. I know him for a villain; and had he been still in England I should have warned you again, Miss Ethel, and warned your mamma, also, against permitting him to claim your acquaintance. But I don't think he will be seen again in this part of the world--not, at all events, until after the death of a person who is likely to live a long time." "But what has he done?" I asked. "I can't tell you--I can't tell you how cruelly he has wounded me," he answered. "I have told you in substance all I know, when I say he is a villain." "I do believe, Mr. Carmel, your mission on earth is to mortify my curiosity. You won't tell me anything of any one I'm the least curious to hear about." "He is a person I hate to talk of, or even to think of. He is a villain--he is incorrigible--and, happen what may, a villain, I think, he will be to the end." I was obliged to be satisfied with this, for I had learned that it was a mere waste of time trying to extract from Mr. Carmel any secret which he chose to keep. Here, then, in the old scenes, our quiet life began for awhile once more. I did not see more of Mr. Carmel now than formerly, and there continued the slightly altered tone, in talk and manner, which had secretly so sorely vexed me in town, and which at times I almost ascribed to my fancy. Mr. Carmel's stay at Malory was desultory, too, as before; he was often absent for two or three days together. During one of these short absences, there occurred a very trifling incident, which, however, I must mention.