When Mr. Ellis left the house of his sister, he called a carriage that happened to be going by, and reached the wharf at Walnut street in time. to spring on board of the steamboat just as the plank was drawn in at the gangway.  He then passed along the boat until he came to the ladies’ cabin, which he entered.  Almost the first persons he saw were Burton and his niece.  The eyes of Miriam rested upon him at the same moment, and she drew her veil quickly, hoping that she was not recognised.  Hiram Ellis did not hesitate a moment, but, walking up to where Miriam sat, stooped to her ear, and said, in a low, anxious voice—­

“Miriam, are you married yet?”

Miriam did not reply.

“Speak, child.  Are you married?”

“No,” came in a half audible murmur.

“Thank God! thank God!” fell in low accents from the lips of Mr. Ellis.

“Who are you, sir?” now spoke up Burton, whom surprise had till now kept silent.  There was a fiery gleam in his eyes.

“The uncle of this dear girl, and one who knows you well,” was answered, in a stern voice.  “Knows you to be unworthy to touch even the hem of her garment.”

A dark scowl lowered upon the face of Burton.  But Mr. Ellis returned his looks of anger glance for glance.  Miriam was in terror at this unexpected scene, and trembled like an aspen.  Instinctively she shrank towards her uncle.

Two or three persons, who sat near, were attracted by the excitement visible in the manner of all three, although they heard nothing that was said.  Burton saw that they were observed, and, bending towards Mr. Ellis, said—­

“This, sir, is no place for a scene.  A hundred eyes will soon be upon us.”

“More than one pair of which,” replied Mr. Ellis, promptly, “will recognise in you a noted gambler, who has at least one wife living, if no more.”

As if stung by a serpent, Burton started to his feet and retired from the cabin.

“Oh, uncle! can what you say of this man be true?” asked Miriam, with a blanching face.

“Too true, my dear child! too true!  He is one of the worst of men.  Thank God that you have escaped the snare of the fowler!”

“Yes, thank God! thank God!” came trembling from the lips of the maiden.

Mr. Ellis then drew his niece to a part of the cabin where they could converse without being overheard by other passengers on board of the boat.  To his inquiry into the reasons for so rash an act, Miriam gave her uncle an undisguised account of her mother’s distressed condition, and touchingly portrayed the anguish of mind which had accompanied her reluctant assent to the offer of Burton.

“And all this great sacrifice was on your mother’s account?” said Mr. Ellis.

“All! all!  He agreed to settle upon her the sum of two thousand dollars a year, if I would become his wife.  This would have made the family comfortable.”

“And you most wretched.  Better, a thousand times better, have gone down to your grave, Miriam, than become the wife of that man.  But for the providential circumstance of my seeing you in the carriage with him, all would have been lost.  Surely, you could not have felt for him the least affection.”