“You make too much fuss about your condition, girl!  What is done cannot be undone.  All you can now do is to turn it to the best possible account.”

“What do you mean, William?”

“Make money by it.”

“Alas,” said the girl, “what was given away freely cannot be redeemed with gold.  Had I the wealth of the whole world, I would gladly give it to regain my lost peace of mind.  Oh, for one night of calm fresh sleep, such as I used to enjoy after a hard day’s work in the field.  What would I not give for such a night’s rest?  Rest!  I never rest now.  I work and toil all day; I go to bed—­heart-weary and head-weary—­but sleep never comes as it used to come.  After long hours of tossing from side to side, just about the dawn of day, a heavy stupor comes over me, full of frightful sights and sounds, so frightful that I start and awake, and pray not to sleep again.”

“And what has made such a change—­that one act?” said the ruffian.  “Pshaw! girl.  God will never damn your soul for the like of that.  It was foolish and imprudent; but I don’t call that sin.”

“Then what is sin?” said the girl solemnly.

“Why, murder, and theft, and—­”

“And what?”

“Hang me! if I wish to go deeper into the matter.  But if that is sin, which you make such a to-do about, then the whole world are sinners.”

“Do you think that you are not a sinner, William?”

“I never thought a word about it,” said the man.  “I am not a whit worse than others; but I am poorer, and that makes my faults more conspicuous.  There is Godfrey Hurdlestone, every whit as bad as I am, yet were we to be tried by the same jury, the men that would hang me would acquit him.  But his day is over,” he continued, talking to himself.  “He is now as poor as me; and if the rich heiress does not marry him, will be much worse off.”

“Marry!” cried Mary, springing from her seat, and grasping her brother’s arm.  “Who talks of Godfrey Hurdlestone marrying?”

“I talk of it—­every one talks of it—­he boasts of it himself.  I was told last night by Captain Whitmore’s serving-man, that his master had given his consent to the match, and that the young lady was coming round, and that Mr. Godfrey was every day at the house.  Perhaps the Colonel being cooped up in jail may spoil the young man’s wooing.”

“In jail!  Colonel Hurdlestone in jail!  Can that be true?”

“Fact.”

“And Mr. Godfrey?  What will become of Mr. Godfrey?”

“He will become one of us, and have to take care of himself.  And if he does marry Miss Whitmore, he will have enough to take care of you.”

“Do you think that I would share his affections with another woman?” cried the girl, her pale cheeks flushing to crimson.  “Brother, I am not sunk so low as that—­not quite so low.”