You taught me my alphabet that week, and the hymns I have said every night since then before I go to sleep.

You helped me to teach myself painting; and if I ever paint a picture worth looking at it will be your doing." "No, no; you are a born artist, Phebe Marlowe," he said, "though perhaps the world may never know it.

But being such friends as you say, I will trust you.

Do you think me worthy of trust, true and honest as a man should be, Phebe ?" "As true and honest as the day," she cried, with eager emphasis.
"And a Christian ?" he added, in a lower voice.
"Yes," she answered, "I do not know a Christian if you are not one." "That is the sting of it," he groaned; "true, and honest, and a Christian! And yet, Phebe, if I were taken by the police to-night, or if I be taken by them to-morrow, I shall be lodged in Riversborough jail, and tried before a jury of my towns-people at the assizes next month." "No, it is impossible!" she cried, stretching out her brown, hard-working hand, and laying it on his white and shapely one, which had never known toil.
"You would not send me to jail," he said, "I know that well enough.

But I deserve it, my poor girl.