Burley's hand).--"Ah, sir," she cried, "before he knew you he was so
different; then he was cheerful, then, even when his first disappointment
came, I grieved and wept but I felt he would conquer still, for his heart
was so good and pure. Oh, sir, don't think I reproach you; but what is
to become of him if--if---No, it is not for myself I speak. I know that
if I was here, that if he had me to care for, he would come home early,
and work patiently, and--and--that I might save him. But now when I am
gone, and you live with him,--you to whom he is grateful, you whom he
would follow against his own conscience (you must see that, sir), what is
to become of him?"

Helen's voice died in sobs.

Burley took three or four long strides through the room; he was greatly
agitated. "I am a demon," he murmured. "I never saw it before; but it
is true, I should be this boy's ruin." Tears stood in his eyes, he
paused abruptly, made a clutch at his hat, and turned to the door.

Helen stopped the way, and taking him gently by the arm, said, "Oh, sir,
forgive me,--I have pained you;" and looked up at him with a
compassionate expression, that indeed made the child's sweet face
as that of an angel.

Burley bent down as if to kiss her, and then drew back, perhaps with a
sentiment that his lips were not worthy to touch that innocent brow.

"If I had had a sister,--a child like you, little one," he muttered,
"perhaps I too might have been saved in time. Now--"

"Ah, now you may stay, sir; I don't fear you any more."