"In short," I concluded, "she doesn't care a rush for anything in heaven or earth, and will yield to neither man nor God." The Pilot's eyes had been kindling as I talked, but he only answered, quietly: "What could you expect ?" "Well, I do think she might show some signs of gratitude and some gentleness towards those ready to die for her." "Oh, you do!" said he, with high scorn.

"You all combine to ruin her temper and disposition with foolish flattery and weak yielding to her whims, right or wrong; you smile at her imperious pride and encourage her wilfulness, and then not only wonder at the results, but blame her, poor child, for all.

Oh, you are a fine lot, The Duke and all of you!" He had a most exasperating ability for putting one in the wrong, and I could only think of the proper and sufficient reply long after the opportunity for making it had passed.

I wondered what The Duke would say to this doctrine.

All the following day, which was Sunday, I could see that Gwen was on The Pilot's mind.