"And—and—I hope you will forgive me, sir; but—but he was so handsome I couldn't help liking him!"
"Miss Black!" cried the horrified pastor.
"There! I knew you'd just go and bite my head off the very first thing! Oh, dear, what shall I do?" sobbed Capitola.
The good pastor, who had started to his feet, remained gazing upon her in a panic of consternation, murmuring to himself:
"Good angel! I am fated to hear more great sins than if I were a prison chaplain!" Then, going up to the sobbing delinquent he said:
"Unhappy girl! who is this person of whom you speak?"
"H—h—h—him that I met when I went walking in the woods," sobbed Capitola.
"Heaven of heavens! this is worse than my very worst fears! Wretched girl! Tell me instantly the name of this base deceiver!"
"He—he—he's no base deceiver; he—he—he's very amiable and good-looking; and—and—and that's why I liked him so much; it was all my fault, not his, poor, dear fellow!"
"His name?" sternly demanded the pastor.