blaze of light Mr. Tillotson saw she was in
deep new black. In a second he had seen it
all! And the good captain, after a natural start,
had his hand in both of his own, with an
ejaculation of comfort and pity, that seemed to
be drawn from the bottom of his heart.

"God help us all, Tillotson! The poor, poor
little thing! My old heart is broken!"

CHAPTER XII. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY.

AFTER this blow, a hopeless gloom settled
down on Mr. Tillotson. He shut himself up
dismally. He would see no one. If there were
clouds over his hitherto wretched existence, his
life now had become lost irretrievably in the
blackest night. Mr. Bowater deplored his
absence from the bank, or rather his lack of
interest in its concerns. "One of our best
men," he said, "when he chose to exert
himself."

The old feeling had now taken the shape of
remorse. " It was my doing," he said, again
and again; " all my doing. I have this now on
my wretched soul, with that other" And in this
state, which was not, after all, grief after her
who was departed, he continued, for several
weeks.

No one took this state of things to heart so
much as the captain. This trial had, indeed,
painfully distressed him; his fine old Roman
features seemed to grow sharper every day, and
his eyes to get a more wistful " peering" expression.
He made many weary journeys to his
friend's house, who would see him, however,
but seldom. At these interviews he tried all the
common forms of consolation, though, to say
the truth, the captain was but an indifferent
hand where artful solace was required. He
himself was, indeed, " cut to the heart," as he
often said, by the loss of his " little girl," and
after telling his friend that " he vowed to God it
was the greatest folly in the world, and surely
what was the born use of it? and that if there
was any sense in the thing, well and good, and
what was it but what we must all come to?"
the captain himself would break down, and
declare that he was only an old hag, fit there and
then for carrying out and covering up under the
sod.

Of many evenings, therefore, afterwards, when
the interval of many evenings had passed by from
that night, the captain sat with his friend, and
told him little details of that dismal departure.
"I shall reproach myself till I go to my grave,"
said the brave old officer, hopelessly. " I have
no more sense in my head than that old brush-
handle, and it'll be the same till I'm laid in my
stupid old coffin. But, Tillotson, my boy, I
hadn't the heart to refuse her anything. You
recollect her little ways."

The old hopeless gloom had settled down on
Mr. Tillotson's heart. "You talk," he said,
almost passionately, " of self-reproach, my dear
uncle. You! But what of me! I, that was
so cold and heartless, and failed in my duty!
Poor little soul! And I used to say that she
could not understand me! I should have gone
with her, and been with her, and not given her
up for this wretched, paltry, miserable money-
getting! I have this on my soul now, and, I
tell you, I am sick and weary, and longing for
it all to end."

"No, no, don't say that," said the captain,
alarmed. "Now don't—don't. No one could
have behaved more handsomely or more
delicately, and she owned it, poor little soul! But,
you know, she was a child, after all, and had a
little of the ways of children, and she couldn't
help it, God knows. It wasn't her fault."

"You are right," said Mr. Tillotson, bitterly,
and walking up and down the room. "I have
this on my soul to add to the rest. I tell you,
I am a wretched, miserable, guilty being, and
deserve any chastisement which I begin to hope
will fall on me."

Though the captain was now a little familiar
with these bursts, still they alarmed him.
"Now, now," he would say, in expostulation,
"don't now, my dear fellow! You know yourself
how my heart was in that little child, and I
don't think I ever got such a scald as on that
night. But still it couldn't be helped, and I
don't believe there was a cleverer doctor in the
universe than that Dr. Delahorney; and you
know, Tillotson," added the captain, humbly,
"if it was God's will——"

"I know," said he, softly, " you are right.
But who did it? Ah! you can't deny it! No.
My neglect, my cold sense of duty, froze up her
heart. I should have gone to her, been with
her, broken through all that folly, and fondled
her like a child. Time would have done everything;
time would have made us forget everything;
and time would have taught us much.
But I should have my wretched pride and my
miserable brooding over my pet sorrows, and
now I have something genuine to feed on for
the rest of my days."

"Now this is folly, Tillotson," said the captain,
nervously, " and I tell you again, put the
whole thing out of your head. Indeed, the poor
little soul brought it on herself, as I have told
you again and again. And she was a giddy little
creature, and d'ye know, Tillotson," added the
captain, wistfully, " during those last few weeks
something seemed to come over her, and even
to me she got very positive and determined—
quite a change, you know—and I couldn't make
it out; and, d'ye know, after puzzling this old
head of mine, I put it all to the account of that
travelling fellow we picked up on the road. At
last I blundered on it, for a wonder!"

Mr. Tillotson stopped short. "What!" he
said, " that gentleman you were always praising?"

"Ah! there's Tom all over for you," said the
captain, shaking his head sadly; "he'd pick up
any one with a good coat on his back out of the
street. I ought to have known better—indeed
I ought, an old fogie like me. But you know
he was so book-learned, and could talk so finely
and so long. Why, he'd have a page out before
you or I could manage a sentence, so that it