"And why now? Do you dread more such nights, or are you worn out, or----"
"No, no; it was not for myself. It was shame.--O, I am so ashamed!"
"Of me, love? Do not you like my duty? or, do I not perform it well?"
"O, no, no. I am so ashamed at the whole world, and especially at our own nation, which thinks itself so Christian. Here we send one another out man-hunting. We make a crime, tempt a man into it, and punish him for it. Is this Christian?"
"It would be a disgrace to paganism."
"We are proud of being made in God's image, and we take pains to make human governments the reverse of the Divine. How dare we ask a blessing upon them?"
"Come, come, my good girl, you must think of something more cheerful. The hearing of a life being lost has been too much for you. You never were so near the scene of a murder before, I dare say."
"Never," replied Matilda, with quivering lips.
"It will not affect you so much again. You will become more used to the circumstances of such a situation as ours. You will feel this sort of adventure less painfully henceforward."
"But I do not wish that," was all that Matilda chose to say, lest her sorrow should be charged upon discontent with her individual lot. She looked out once more upon the sea, darkening as the moon went down, and satisfied herself that the time would come for which she had been inquiring,--when man would look above and around him, and learn of Providence.