"How are you now, you young land-shark in petticoats?" inquired the old
sailor. "Has your conscience been quiet enough to let you go to sleep?"
"I have not slept," said Magdalen, drawing back from him in doubt of
what he might do next. "I have no remembrance of what happened after you
locked the door--I think I must have fainted. Don't frighten me again,
Mr. Mazey! I feel miserably weak and ill. What do you want?"
"I want to say something serious," replied old Mazey, with impenetrable
solemnity. "It's been on my mind to come here and make a clean breast of
it, for the last hour or more. Mark my words, young woman. I'm going to
disgrace myself."
Magdalen drew further and further back, and looked at him in rising
alarm.
"I know my duty to his honor the admiral," proceeded old Mazey, waving
his hand drearily in the direction of his master's door. "But, try
as hard as I may, I can't find it in my heart, you young jade, to be
witness against you. I liked the make of you (especially about the
waist) when you first came into the house, and I can't help liking the
make of you still--though you _have_ committed burglary, and though you
_are_ as crooked as Sin.
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