of sin and sorrow; but it is too late, it is too late!’

‘It is never too late,’ said Rose, ‘for penitence and atonement.’

‘It is,’ cried the girl, writhing in agony of her mind; ‘I cannot leave him now! I could not be his death.’

‘Why should you be?’ asked Rose.

‘Nothing could save him,’ cried the girl. ‘If I told others what I have told you, and led to their being taken, he would be sure to die. He is the boldest, and has been so cruel!’

‘Is it possible,’ cried Rose, ‘that for such a man as this, you can resign every future hope, and the certainty of immediate rescue? It is madness.’